“But I am constant as the northern star.”
“But I am constant as the northern star.”
—Julius Caesar.
The remainder of that day, the 12th of August, passed over without incident, but not without anxiety; for the Indians, no longer indulging in the indolence of the wigwam or the activity of the chase, occupied themselves with running, leaping, wrestling, jumping, throwing the rude stone quoit, and firing at a target with the bow. It might have seemed as though they sought to intimidate, as much by exuberance of spirits as by a display of numbers, the little garrison, who, it was clear, from the closing of the gate and the firing of the gun, no longer regarded them with the confidence they had ever hitherto manifested. These sports were evidently the prelude to some ulterior purpose, either immediate or not distantly remote, and the energy with which they were followed, attested the excitement with which the accomplishment was looked for. It seemed as though none would permit a moment of repose to the blood until the fond object for which it had been excited should have been attained.
All this was remarked from the fort; but, notwithstanding a vigilant lookout was kept up, Captain Headley had given orders that if small parties of the Indians should seek admission, it was not to be refused to them. This made the duty exceedingly severe, for the men, being compelled to work in harness under a scorching sun, suffered greatly, and none were sorry when, at the close of the day, not only their own task had partially terminated, but the jaded Indians, drunk with too much joy and excitement, were seen wending lazily for the night to their several places of repose.
At about midnight Captain Headley and his officers stood, not together, but on different parts of the rampart, watching the encampment of the Pottowatomies. Most of their fires had been extinguished, but towards the centre where stood the tent of Winnebeg, there was a bright flickering glare, around which forms of men could be seen moving to the measured sound of the faintly audible and monotonous drum.
“Now, then, gentlemen, is the moment for exertion. Winnebeg has evidently found it easier, in their present humor, to get his warriors into a war-dance than a sober council; but no matter in what manner, provided their detention be secured. You will now move your men to the stores, and, in order not only to prevent accident, but noise, see that all are provided with their moccasins. Mr. Elmsley, you will take command of the party conveying the ammunition through the sallyport, and empty it into the well; and you, Mr. Ronayne, will proceed through the northern gate, roll the casks which I have directed each to be covered with a blanket to the edge of the river, cause their heads to be forced in noiselessly with chisels, then empty the contents—powder as well as rum—into the stream. No light must be used to betray your movements to the Indians, or to incur the risk of explosion. One lantern only hangs up in the store out of the reach of all harm, and it is transparent enough to enable you to see what you are about, to distinguish the several casks, those containing the powder and rum, from those in which are packed the bags of shot, flints, gun-screws, &c. All these latter you will throw into the well, with the spare muskets, the stocks of which must be noiselessly broken up. This operation will take up some hours, gentlemen. The nights are not long, and it will require all the time until dawn to complete the work. Now, then, that you have your instructions, proceed to work with your respective parties. For myself, I shall superintend the whole.”
Without replying, the two officers departed to execute the but too agreeable duty assigned to them, while Von Voltenberg, who had paid his professional visits for the night, was instructed to keep a vigilant lookout on the common until dawn, in order to detect any movement on the part of the Indians, singly or in parties, to approach the fort. Corporal Green, whose sight was remarkable for its keenness, was instructed to keep pacing the circuit of the rampart during the night, and to report to the doctor, for whom, in consideration of his being a non-combatant, a chair had been placed in a sentry box overlooking the encampment, anything remarkable that he might observe.
Nothing particular at first occurred during the execution of this important duty. The casks were silently rolled, knocked in, and emptied in the well and river. This took up many hours; but towards dawn, as Ensign Ronayne was following at some little distance in the rear of his men, he thought he observed a dark moving form as of a man crawling upon his belly, and endeavoring to approach as near as possible to the spot where the men were at work. Impressed at once with the assurance that it was some one sent by Pee-to-tum to watch the actions of the garrison, he advanced boldly up to him, being then distant at least fifty feet from his party, and near the awning which had been left standing for the accommodation of the Indians who were to receive their presents the next day. The prowler, finding it impossible to elude the officer in the position in which he was then gliding, suddenly started to his feet, and sought to escape detection in flight; but Ronayne, who was a very quick runner, and moreover wore moccasins as well as his men, soon came up with him, when the Indian rapidly turned, and, upraising his arm, prepared to strike a desperate blow at the chest of the unarmed youth. But even while the knife was balancing, as if to select some vulnerable part, another figure started suddenly from behind a part of the awning, close to which they all were, and grasping the arm of the assailant, dexterously wrested the weapon from his hand, and flung it far away from him upon the glacis.
All this was the work of a moment. The spy turned fiercely upon the intruder, and, saying something fiercely and authoritatively to him in Indian, strode leisurely away. Ronayne could not be mistaken. The first was Pee-to-tum, and even if he could not have traced the graceful outline of the well—knit figure, the soft and musical voice which replied to the scorning threat of the fierce chief sufficiently denoted it to be Wau-nan-gee.
“Heavens! how is this? Wau-nan-gee!” he asked, sternly, yet trembling with excitement in every limb, “why came you here? Why have you saved my life? Speak! are you not my enemy? Where is my wife?”
All these questions were asked with the greatest volubility, and in a state of mind so confused by the host of feelings the presence of the young Indian inspired, that he scarcely comprehended the latter as he replied:—
“All! love him too much, Ronayne wife—love him Ronayne too —Wau-nan-gee friend, dear friend—Wau-nan-gee die for him—Ronayne wife in Ingin camp—pale—pale, very much!”
“Answer me,” said Ronayne, grasping him by the shoulder in pure excitement, “tell me truly, Wau-nan-gee—I will not hurt you if you do—but tell me, on the truth of an Indian warrior, is not my wife your wife? did she not go to you? does she not love you?”
“Ugh?” exclaimed the boy, with an expression of deep melancholy in his manner; “Wau-nan-gee love him too much, but not make him wife. Spose him not Ronayne wife, then Wau-nan-gee; die happy spose him Wau-nan-gee wife. Feel him dere, my friend—feel him heart—oh much sick for Maria—but Wau-nan-gee Ronayne friend no hurt him wife.”
“Can all this be possible?” he exclaimed, vehemently to himself. “Oh, what a noble, what a generous being; he restores life and happiness to my heart! But still I am not yet convinced, the joy is too great for such light testimony. One question more, Wau-nan-gee: why did my wife leave this? Did you persuade her to go?”
“Yes, Ronayne, Wau-nan-gee tell him go. Shuh!” he continued, as if enjoining silence, and looking cautiously round, “no speak, Ronayne—Ingin very wicked—kill him garrison by by—Ronayne and Maria—Wau-nan-gee friend, dear friend—Wau-nan-gee save him—Ingin kill him—Maria cry very much, promise no.” Then drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, which the officer recognised, even in the gloom, as that which he had thrown down at Hardscrabble, and which was subsequently waved from the window of the farm-house, he handed it to him.
“Now, then,” he exclaimed, “is all my doubt removed, and again am I the happiest of men in the assurance of the continued love of the adored one. Oh, Wau-nan-gee, my friend, my brother!” He threw himself into his embrace; he pressed him forcibly to his heart. “Oh, how true, how just was the feeling which caused me not to hate, even when I fancied you had most injured me! Wau-nan-gee, you must always be my friend; you must be Maria's friend; you must love us both!”
“Yes,” said the Indian, warmly and with difficulty maintaining the stoicism of his race; “Wau-nan-gee happy to lay down his life for Ronayne and Maria; oh! Ronayne,” and he took the hand of the Virginian and placed it on his chest which he bared, “can't tell how much Wau-nan-gee love him Maria—want to make him happy. Suppose Ronayne come now with Wau-nan-gee—take him to squaw camp. Stay there till battle over. Yes, come, come!”
“Noble and generous boy! how do you win my very soul to you!” returned the officer, as he again affectionately embraced him. “No, no, I cannot do that, great and severe as is this sacrifice of inclination. But what battle do you speak of?”
“Letter tell him all,” said the youth. “Not say Wau-nan-gee say so.”
“Wau-nan-gee,” said Ronayne, impressively, “no doubt there is danger. We all know it. Was it not you who brought me a line from Maria this morning?”
“Yes, my friend. Pee-to-tum say attack him council. Wau-nan-gee tell him Maria write—afraid to say much.”
“No doubt, then, we shall be attacked before many days are over; but thank God, she at least is safe. Wau-nan-gee, you must take care of her in the camp of your women. When all is safe, you will come to me with her.”
“Mr. Ronayne,” called a voice near the river, “where are you?”
It was Captain Headley.
“Good by, Wau-nan-gee,” said the officer, “I must go. Give my love to Maria, and tell her I am sick to see her,” and he put his hand over his heart, “and that I will join her when all danger is over; to-morrow night I shall have a letter for her. You can contrive to steal into the fort at night, and into my room unnoticed, Wau-nan-gee?”
“Spose him come,” again urged the Indian, “Wau-nan-gee find him little tent for Ronayne and his wife for two three days? Wau-nan-gee wait upon him, bring him food. Maria say come—must come.”
“No, Wau-nan-gee, my dear friend, you know I cannot as a warrior think of myself alone; I must do my duty; but I am called. Good by, my noble boy. To-morrow night at twelve. God bless you! I leave my wife wholly to your care.”
“Wau-nan-gee die for him,” said the youth energetically, as, after again pressing the extended hand of the Virginian, he traced his way cautiously to the encampment.
“Mr. Ronayne,” repeated Captain Headley, “where are you?”
“Here, sir; I have for a few moments been absent from my post, but I thought I remarked an Indian skulking near to watch our movements, and I followed him. I was not wrong; it was Pee-to-tum. When discovered, he rose to his feet and would have stabbed me, but Wau-nan-gee was near and warded off the blow.”
“Wau-nan-gee! said you, Mr. Ronayne? Did he ward off the blow aimed at your life?”
“He did, sir; why should he not? We have always been friends.”
Had it not been dark, Captain Headley would have looked as he felt, exceedingly puzzled for a reply.
“To tell the truth, Mr. Ronayne, I had not suspected this. I should rather have imagined that he was the chief instigator of the young men to discontent; but I am glad to find it otherwise.”
For a moment it flashed across the mind of the Virginian that Mrs. Headley had, from policy or in confidence, communicated all she knew in regard to Maria's evasion to her husband. The idea of any man possessing the slightest knowledge of wrong in his wife would have maddened him; but now that he in some measure knew the facts, and looked upon her in all the purity of her spotless nature, he was not sorry to have an opportunity to remove the impression; he, therefore, answered calmly, yet without adverting to the actual position of his wife.
“So far from that being the case, Captain Headley, Wau-nan-gee is the last person to engage in an outrage of the kind. Doubtless these letters, of which the youth has been the bearer, will explain much that is now a mystery.”
The laborious duty of the night being now ended, the gates were once more fastened; and as the officers passed the lamp which hung over the entrance of the commandant's quarters, Ronayne glanced at the superscriptions of the two missives. The one was written in ink, and directed to Mrs. Headley; the other in pencil, and addressed to himself.
Ronayne was too impatient to know the contents of the letters to waste further time in conversation. At the invitation of Captain Headley, he entered and unfolded the note, while the commandant sought the apartment of his wife.
Mrs. Headley had thrown herself towards morning on her bed, but not to sleep; her mind was too full of apprehensions for the fast coming future, and for the melancholy, sad past; and, even at the moment when her husband entered, her thoughts were of the unfortunate Mrs. Ronayne.
“From Maria! is it possible?” she exclaimed, as she broke the seal. “Whence comes this? who brought it?”
“What think you of Wau-nan-gee!” he answered, significantly —“Wau-nan-gee, who saved within the hour her husband's life!”
“Then, by my soul, is she innocent!” exclaimed the generous woman, rising up. “Almighty God, I thank thee. Oh, how rashly have we judged; but let me read. The document is dated from this, the night before her departure; it is the same, no doubt, she should have inclosed before—not a word in addition. I will read it later. Where is Ronayne?”
“In the next room. He, too, has received a communication, which he is now reading. You had better go in to him, while I give some directions to Elmsley, which require to be attended to immediately. I shall rejoin you presently.”
When Mrs. Headley entered, unannounced, into the apartment where the Virginian was sitting, he brushed his hand across his eyes, but now they wept not only the emotion of grief that he betrayed, but of joy, of pride, of the fulness of life. He rose, pressed her hand warmly, and, giving her Maria's note to read, took the letter which she proffered in return.
“Ah! Ronayne,” began the first, “what language can express my feelings—my fears—my agony. For the last week I have not seemed to live a human existence. My mind has been all chaos and confusion. I have been feverish, excited, scarcely conscious of my own acts, and filled with a strong dread of an evil which I know will come, must come, although only protracted. And yet, with all the horror of my position, how much more bitter might have been my self-reproach, my remorse, in having neglected, in my distraction, to inclose the packet for Mrs. Headley, which the noble-hearted, the devoted Wau-nan-gee now conveys. I thought I had given it to Sergeant Nixon, but Wau-nan-gee found it in the pocket of my saddle only yesterday. Oh, but for the arrival of Winnebeg with the intelligence he brings, it would now be too late, and what, then, would have been my sensations? His appearance has altered the plans of the unfriendly portion of the Indians, who, presuming that the troops will soon leave the fort, have determined to wait for the division of the stores, and attack you on the march. But still they could not restrain their impatience, and the day of the council was fixed. All this I learned from Wau-nan-gee, who makes me acquainted with everything that is going on, and is both hated and suspected by Pee-to-tum, who would willingly find him guilty of treachery, and destroy him if he could. I begged him, in my deep sorrow, to be the bearer to you, even amid all danger of detection, of a few words of warning which I knew you would sufficiently understand. He did go, while dashing up seemingly in defiance to the gate; and with a joy you may well understand, I marked the result. So far, then, has the step which my great love for you induced me to take, regardless of minor considerations, been of vital service to you all; for good and generous as Wau-nan-gee is, nothing short of his deep and respectful attachment would have led him to reveal the secrets of his people, and thus defeat their cruel purpose. But, oh! when I think that the danger is only deferred, not removed, how poor is the consolation! Dear Ronayne, my heart is sad, sad, sad! Last night I dreamed you were near, and this morning I awoke to horror, to know that, perhaps, your hours are numbered, while for me there is no hope of death, which then would be a blessing, except from my own hand! Oh, suffer me not to pray in vain if you would have me live! Once you evaded (oh, how cruelly!) the stratagem which would have saved your life and honor—which would have made you an unwilling prisoner with those who, for my own safety, hold me captive.
“Alas! had I not hoped that you would have been compelled to share my weary bondage until the dread crisis had passed, I had never been here; and now that the great object of my heart has failed, I would return, and share the danger that surrounds you. One more embrace would give me greater strength to die. One more renewal of each well-remembered face would make me firmer in resolve to meet the coming danger, that danger shared by all. But Wau-nan-gee, in all things else docile as a slave, in this denies me. In his mother's tent I dwell, disguised from the wretch Pee-to-tum in Indian garb, and, although she does not seem to do so, she watches my motions closely. Oh! then, since I may not go to you, come for a brief period to your adoring wife! Come with the occasion back with Wau-nan-gee. He will conduct you to the tent where now I am, some little distance from the general encampment, and never visited but by Winnebeg and his son. You will say I am but an indifferent soldier's wife to give such counsel to a husband. I confess it; my love for you is greater than my regard for your glory. But what glory do you seek? March with the troops and ingloriously you perish; for what can avail defence against the strong force I know to be fully bent upon your destruction. Join me here and you are saved—saved for a long and future course of glory for your country—and, oh! far dearer to me, for a long and future course of wedded happiness. Yet, oh, God! how can my pencil trace this icy language, while my heart is desolate—longing—pining for your presence. Oh, beloved Ronayne! by all the vows of love you ever poured into my willing ear—by all the fires of passion you ever kindled in my heart, I conjure you to come, for I can endure this suspense, this cruel uncertainty no longer. To-night I shall count the long, long hours; and, oh! if Wau-nan-gee return without you, without one ray of hope to animate this breaking heart, I will not leave him until I have won his promise to conduct me at midnight to the secret entrance through which he has so often gained admission into the fort; or failing in my plea to him, I will make the attempt to fly myself. But, dear Ronayne, if you come not, the measure of my grief will be full indeed to overflowing. I can no longer endure this.”
Such was the last note of the unhappy and distracted Maria Ronayne. The document addressed to Mrs. Headley was more voluminous, and written of course under the impression that when read by the latter, her own husband would be secure from the danger it detailed. It was in substance as follows:
Wau-nan-gee, who had been absent for nearly a month in the immediate theatre of war near Detroit, and heard rumors of an intended attack upon Chicago, had hastened back with great expedition to announce to his friends the approaching danger; but much to his surprise, he found on his arrival that the news of that event had been known in the camp several days previously through the agency of certain emissaries who used every exertion to win the Pottowatomies over to Tecumseh and the British cause. A council had been secretly held before the return of Winnebeg with the despatch from General Hull, and terms had been offered and proposals made on that occasion which were variously received, according to the humor, interests, and rapacity of the parties. By the majority of the chiefs, to their honor be it said, the proposal of treachery to the Americans was sternly rejected, but there was one of their number—Pee-to-tum —not a full-blooded Pottowatomie, but a sort of mongrel Chippewa, adopted in the tribe for his untamably fiendish disposition, connected with certain other mere animal qualities, who was loud in his invectives against the Americans for their asserted aggressions on the Indian territory, and he, by pointing out the advantages that would accrue to themselves by an alliance with England, won upon almost all the young warriors to decide in abandoning the American cause immediately. Thus, although there was no decided treaty made, there was a tacit understanding that all possible advantage was to be taken of circumstances, and whenever a favorable opportunity presented itself, the mask was to be thrown off. In vain Black Partridge, Kee-po-tah, Waubansee, and other Pottowatomie chiefs declared they washed their hands of all wrong that might be perpetrated. The young men, or the great majority of them, wanted excitement, blood, plunder; and they sustained Pee-to-tum in all that he advanced. Hoping, however, that the tumult would subside with the absence of those who first incited it, the chiefs did not like to alarm the commandant by a knowledge of what was going on among themselves, but were contented with recommending, as has already been seen, that he should remain in defence of his own post rather than confide himself to the safe keeping of those on whom he depended for an escort.
The night of the arrival of Wau-nan-gee he gleaned all this information; and filled with anxiety for the danger that threatened the wife of Ronayne, whom really he loved with a deep passion—yet one utterly unfed by hope or expectation of any kind whatever—he determined that night to enter the fort while her husband was on guard, and acquainting her with her danger, entreat her to allow him to conceal her until all was over. He succeeded, though not without some risk of being discovered in consequence of the exclamation of surprise and almost terror, which Mrs. Ronayne uttered on his appearance so suddenly and unexpectedly before her; but the humble manner of the boy—the deprecating yet earnest look he threw on her, and the lowly posture in which he crouched, soon satisfied her that there was some important reason for his appearance at that hour of the night, which it was essential she should learn. She, therefore, took his hand to reassure him, and with an attempt at lightness, bade him tell her what brought him there after so long an absence at that late hour of the night, and when he must have known that Ronayne was on guard and herself alone?
The boy shook his head with a solemn, sad expression, “Come alone, come!” he replied; “no speak him Ronayne. Pottowatomie kill him Wau-nan-gee—oh, Wau-nan-gee very sick!”
Those few brief sentences, delivered in that melancholy and significant manner, rendered Mrs. Ronayne extremely nervous. She made him sit on the sofa. She took his hand—she asked him what he meant. With tears swimming in his large, soft, languishing black eyes, he told her everything relating to the subject—of his own return for the express purpose of looking to her safety—of the secret council of the Indians—of the fierce determination of Pee-to-tum and the misguided young men whose cupidity and passions he had so strongly awakened. He said he came to save her, to take her out of the fort until all the trouble was over, to conceal herself in a spot, to watch her, and to protect her as a brother.
“And Ronayne—your friend, my husband—what will you do with him?” exclaimed Mrs. Ronayne, greatly excited and terrified by what she had heard. “Oh, Wau-nan-gee, can you not save us all? Will it not be enough to tell Capt Headley what you know, and thus put him on his guard!”
“Suppose him tell Captain Headley, Ingin knew it—Ingin know Wau-nan-gee tell him. Kill him Wau-nan-gee like a dog. Save him Maria!”
“And will you not save Ronayne? If you care for me, Wau-nan-gee, you will save my husband.”
“Spose him love him very much husband?” he said, fixing a penetrating yet softened look on her.
“Yes, Wau-nan-gee, very much,” returned Mrs. Ronayne with emphasis. “If you save one you must save the other.”
Without pursuing the conversation further, it may suffice to remark that Wau-nan-gee left not Mrs. Ronayne until he had exacted her promise to meet him on the following afternoon in the summer-house, when he said he would be enabled to show her a place where, with her husband, she might be concealed as soon as it was known on what day the Indians should have decided on their attack. This he pledged himself to have arranged in the course of the morning, so that by the afternoon she should be enabled to judge of the convenience it afforded. The trunks seen by Ronayne at Hardscrabble, were hastily packed by Mrs. Ronayne with articles of clothing for both, and conveyed by Wau-nan-gee that night through his secret entrance to the summer-house, and subsequently removed.
Not liking to call attention to the circumstance of her crossing the water unaccompanied, and moreover, really desiring the presence of one of her own sex to sustain her in the course that had been forced upon her, she had requested Mrs. Headley to bear her company. On her entering the summer-house, the trap-door, which appeared to have been made that very morning, was open; but instead of Wau-nan-gee, she beheld standing near its entrance another dark Indian whom she had too much reason to fear and dread.
It has already been remarked that Pee-to-tum was not a genuine Pottowatomie, but one of that race whose very name is a synonym with treachery and falsehood—a Chippewa. With low, heavy features; a dark, scowling brow; coarse, long, dark hair, shading the restless, ever-moving eye that, like that of the serpent, seemed to fascinate where most the cold and slimy animal sought to sting; the broad, coarse nose; the skin partaking more in the Chippewa, of that offensive, rank odor peculiar to the Indian, than any others of the race; with all these loathsome attributes of person, yet with a soul swelling with the most unbounded vanity and self-sufficiency, based on ignorance and assumption; this man, although having a wife and children grown up, had dared to cast the eye of desire on Mrs. Ronayne. Long had he watched her, not as the gentle, the pure, the self-sacrificing Wau-nan-gee, but as a tiger gloating for his prey. To possess her had been one of his leading motives in urging the alliance with the tribes in the British interests—to hasten the moment she might become a prisoner in his hands, his chief aim in stirring up the young warriors into a determination of early attack.
Only two days prior to the return of Wau-nan-gee he had been in the fort, and passing near Mrs. Ronayne as she was amusing herself at battledore with her friend, Mrs. Elmsley, remarked to a companion as he bent his eyes insolently upon her: “The white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves. They are wise. In a few days we shall have them in our wigwams.”
No notice was taken of the remark at the time. Mrs. Ronayne had more than once noticed the eyes of the loathsome Chippewa fixed upon her with an expression she shuddered at but could not define, and she had attributes his words on that occasion to impotent anger and disappointment, at the dislike she had conceived for him.
This was the loathsome being she now met, and knowing, as she did from Wau-nan-gee, all that he meditated in regard to himself and friend, the horror she experienced may be conceived. Rapidly, and in time to suppress in a great measure the scream she attempted to give, the savage placed one hand upon her mouth, and clasping her tightly round the waist, bore her to the opening through which he made her rudely descend, still keeping his hand upon her mouth.
When the feet of Mrs. Ronayne touched the bottom of that seemingly living tomb, she was so paralysed by fear that she had not strength to support herself, and but for the arm of the dark chief still clasped around her waist, she must have fallen. The very sight of her weakness inflamed the Chippewa the more. He removed her hat and threw it on the ground. The vast volume of her brown hair he unfastened from the comb. It fell, enveloping her figure to her knees. The eyes of the brutal Chippewa flashed fire in the half darkness that prevailed around. The hand hitherto held upon her mouth, now fell upon and fiercely pressed her bosom, and his hideous lips sought hers. With a violent effort she tore them from the pollution of his touch, and uttering a fault cry of despair, sank fainting from his now loosening grasp. What followed she could not tell; but when some minutes afterwards she came to her senses, weak and exhausted from excitement, Wau-nan-gee was sitting at her side chafing her palms with his own, and with the large tears coursing down his cheeks.
At the first sight of the boy Mrs. Ronayne started, for she fancied that she must have been laboring under the influence of a dream, and that not Pee-to-tum, but himself, had used the violence she experienced; but when she recalled all that had passed, perceived her own disorder of dress, and remarked the unfeigned affliction of the youth, she knew that it could not be so. Still deeply agitated, she asked him anxiously where the Chippewa was, and wherefore, he and not Wau-nan-gee had been in the summer-house as promised, when she came in. With every appearance of profound sorrow and sincerity, the youth replied that he knew not how Pee-to-tum had got there—that he himself, after leaving the trap-door open ready for the descent of Mrs. Ronayne, had gone to the further extremity of the vault for the purpose of removing a large stone which blocked up a hole admitting the fresh air from above near the cottage, and that he was returning by this passage, which was narrow but nearly six feet in height, when he heard the cry for aid, and knowing it to be hers he had flown to her assistance, but that the sound of his approaching footsteps must have alarmed the Chippewa and caused him to fly—stopping motionless, perhaps, till he, Wau-nan-gee, had passed him, and then escaping by the same outlet. He it must have been whom Mrs. Headley had remarked stealing across the garden just before she entered it with Maria.
Once reassured of the fidelity and truth of the boy, Mrs. Ronayne, although painfully, distractingly ignorant of the extent to which the insolence of Pee-to-tum had been carried, was too much absorbed in the consideration of her husband's safety to lose sight of the subject more immediately at her heart, in mere personal regrets that now were of little avail. She said to Wau-nan-gee that the place in which she then was would certainly have been well suited to the purpose intended but for two reasons; firstly, that now having been discovered by Pee-to-tum, it would no longer be secure; and secondly, that her husband would never consent to abandon his comrades to secure his own safety. She proposed, instead, that a plan should be arranged to make them both prisoners while out on the following day, and in such manner that it should be supposed in the garrison that the capture had been effected by hostile Indians; and to this the youth joyfully assented, stating that a number of his friends less hostile in their intentions might be procured to aid him in the matter. It was arranged that this should be done on the following day, and this at so great a distance from the encampment that Pee-to-tum should know nothing of the occurrence till both husband and wife were beyond his reach.
“It is a strange and a wild project,” she remarked, “but the crisis is desperate, and anything to save my husband's life. But now I must go, dear Wau-nan-gee; Mrs. Headley is in the garden waiting for me.”
“No, no go,” he said; “spose him Mrs. Headley go home. Wau-nan-gee take Maria home by by. Got canoe here. No let him go home. Pee-to-tum wicked—Pee-to-tum got Ingin plenty yonder,” and he pointed in the direction of the cottage; “Pee-to-tum carry off Maria—go see where he is. Shut him door till Wau-nan-gee come back. Mrs. Headley come, no see him here; no tink him here.”
He accordingly ascended, fastened down the trap-door and departed, as we have said, little anticipating to have been seen by Mrs. Headley.
He had not been five minutes gone when she heard a dull, heavy sound which satisfied her that the stone was being rolled from the orifice spoken of by Wau-nan-gee. Feeling assured that Pee-to-tum had seen him depart, and knowing her to be there and helpless, was returning to renew his odious and brutal passion, she sought to rise in order to force up and escape by the trap-door. This she did, regardless of her disordered appearance, and without even thinking of hat or comb; but she had no sooner moved a step forward when she again fell down, as much paralysed by fear as exhausted by weakness. In her helplessness she could only sob and moan and vainly deplore the absence of her late rescuer, while all her thoughts and feelings were of her husband. The footsteps advanced; she grew at each moment more nervous, more terrified. She had scarcely the power to move herself on the spot where she half sat, half reclined. Presently the trap-door was heard to move, soon it opened, and there to her astonishment, yet not less to her exceeding embarrassment, inasmuch as she could not, without compromising the saviour of her honor—the purposed saviour of her life, explain in what manner she had been placed in the strange position in which she had been found, she beheld Mrs. Headley. What followed is known to the reader. It was not, however, Pee-to-tum whom Mrs. Ronayne had heard rolling away the stone, but Wau-nan-gee returning to set her free for the present, as he had seen the soldiers at the gate and knew that she was safe.
“This is my glove—by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear.”
“This is my glove—by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear.”
—Henry V.
The following morning was as bright and glorious as an August sun could render it, but its very brilliancy seemed a mockery to the gloom and despair that filled the hearts of the little garrison. Still, notwithstanding the treachery few were ignorant the Indians intended, there was a bearing among all, from the commanding officer down, that, while attesting determination and confidence in themselves, left no ground for a suspicion that the designs of their treacherous allies had been revealed.
The guard was mounted, as usual, and the customary formalities of the military service complied with, and arrangements were made, soon after the men had eaten their breakfasts, for the conveyance of the stores to the glacis.
At twelve o'clock all was ready, and the mass of Indian warriors, painted and armed, moved in loose and disorganized bodies across the plain, and grouped around their chiefs, who, seated on the ground, received for the young men the presents which had been set apart in divisions for every ten. The cloths, blankets, trinkets, and provisions, were first handed over, but when on coming to the ammunition and liquor only one cask of each was, found, the indignation of the whole band, the chiefs excepted, was, as had been expected, excessive.
“My Father promised us plenty of powder and plenty of liquor,” exclaimed Pee-to-tum, stamping with his feet and gesticulating violently; “Where is it?”
“This is all that is left of the stores,” exclaimed Capt. Headley. “When we reach Fort Wayne you shall have more.”
“My Father lies,” returned the Chippewa. “Pee-to-tum did not sleep like a lazy hound in his tent last night; he crawled near the fort; he heard the powder barrels knocked in with axes; he heard the rum poured into the river like water. Even to-day,” and he pointed with his clenched tomahawk, “the river is red with liquor till it is 'strong grog.' What should prevent us from avenging ourselves for this cheat, by mixing the blood of our father with the same water till it looks like strong rum also?” A terrific yell burst from the surrounding warriors, who all brandished their tomahawks in a menacing manner.
“What should prevent you?” said Capt. Headley, suddenly carried out of his usual prudence by the insolence of the ruffian—“what should and will prevent you!” and he pointed to the bastion, which had been manned as on the former occasion, while the burning matches seemed only to await his signal. “Each of those guns contains a bag of fifty bullets, and each bullet can kill its enemy. Now then, have but the courage to lay a hand upon me and you will see the result. See, I am alone—only Mr. McKenzie to witness the act.”
There was a pause of a few moments, during which low murmurs broke from the younger Indians, and the dark and subtle eye of Pee-to-tum quailed before the bold look of the commanding officer, who continued:
“As for you, vile Chippewa, you are the sole cause of all these troubles, all this excitement in the young men of the Pottowatomie Nation. You are of that dark and malignant race, as far below the Pottowatomie in everything that is noble and generous and good as the Evil Spirit is below the Good Spirit. There is nothing but falsehood and treachery in their selfish and avaricious nature. They are deceitful, and so given to love rum that when an Indian is seen wallowing like a hog in the gutter, and with the foam disgorging from his blue and lizard-like lips, stabbing right and left indiscriminately, as if hatred and the sight of blood were essential to his very existence, you may at once know him to be a Chippewa. How then can such a man, and of such a race, disgrace and dishonor the councils of the war path of the nobler Pottowatomies? How, I ask, can Black Partridge, Winnebeg, Waubansee, To-kee-nee-bee, and Kee-po-tah consent to allow such a mongrel chief to exercise an influence among their warriors hostile to the Americans, who have ever treated them with kindness, even when they themselves do not seem to second him in his views?”
The scorn Captain Headley threw into his voice and manner as he uttered these words, which they perfectly understood, was such that Pee-to-tum, whose fingers played tremulously with the handle of his tomahawk, could not, without difficulty, refrain from using it; but when he glanced upwards and saw Lieutenant Elmsley attentively watching all that passed with his glass, his rage was stifled, but inwardly he vowed to be revenged. The young men evinced great excitement also; and from that moment, on this occasion particularly, it was evident to Captain Headley that they were entirely under the influence of the Chippewa.
“Father,” said Black Partridge, rising and solemnly replying to the appeal just made by Captain Headley, “this medal I have worn for many years upon my breast. It was given me by the Great Father of the Americans as a token of a friendship I never have broken; but since everything tells me that my young men, who I grieve to say will no longer obey the voice of their grey-headed chiefs, have determined to wash their hands in American blood, it would not be right in me to keep this token of peace any longer. Father,” he concluded, removing the ribbon by which it was suspended over his chest, “I deliver the medal back to you, and may you live to see and tell our Great Father that Black Partridge was ever faithful to the United States, and washes his hands of all that may now happen.”
The same disclaimer was made by “Winnebeg and the other friendly chiefs; lastly, Pee-to-tum rose:
“Dog!” he said, insolently, as he tore his medal from his chest and held it up for a moment, dangling in his hands, “tell him you serve, if you live to see him, that Pee-to-tum, the dark Chippewa, is for ever his enemy—that wherever he can do so he will spill the blood of the Yankee, till it runs like the rum your warriors spilt last night; tell him that Pee-to-tum spits upon his face thus!” Then, throwing it contemptuously on the ground and stamping upon it with his moccasined feet, he burst forth into a laugh intended to be as insulting as the act itself.
This profanation was too much for Captain Headley. He rose from his chair, and exclaiming in his fury, “take that, damned Chippewa, in return!” first spat in his face and then hurled at him his heavy military glove, which happening to strike the pupil of his eye while in full glare of indignation at the first insult, it was deprived of sight for ever.
Great was the tumult that now ensued. Incapable of acting himself from the intensity of agony he suffered, Pee-to-tum could only utter fierce howlings and threats of vengeance, but several of the warriors advanced furiously upon the commanding officer with the most startling yells and threatening manner. The latter, hopeless of escape, but determined to sell his life dearly, drew his sword while he presented a pistol with his other hand.
“McKenzie,” he said quickly, “get out of the way! remember me to Ellen!” and then elevating his voice to such a pitch as he knew would be heard in the fort, he distinctly uttered the command “fire!”
But the order had been anticipated. Even as the word fell from his lips the curling smoke from a gun was seen, and loud cheers succeeding to the report burst from every man upon the ramparts, while a second and smaller American flag was waved triumphantly by the hand of Ronayne above the piece which had just been discharged.
Astonished at this unexpected scene, the Indians, who had been greatly startled not only at the command which had been so coolly given by the commanding officer, but by the discharge they had incorrectly deemed aimed at themselves, suddenly ceased their clamor, and following the course to which the attention of those within the garrison appeared to be directed, beheld, to their surprise, five-and-twenty tall and well—mounted horsemen dressed in the costume of warriors, and headed by a man of great size, pushing rapidly along the road leading from Hardscrabble for the fort. The nearer they approached the louder became the shouts of the soldiers, until finally the latter all left the ramparts, evidently to open the gates and welcome the new-comers, who soon disappeared through the opening.
The arrival of these strangers, small as their number was, had evidently an effect upon the Pottowatomies, who for a moment looked grave, and attempted no longer to molest Captain Headley. Mr. McKenzie, who was still present and knew how to take advantage of the occasion, profited by the surprise, and suggested to the commanding officer, that as the conference was now over and the presents all delivered, they should return to the fort to know who the new-comers were. The friendly chiefs were, moreover, invited to accompany them; and thus they returned leisurely, without further interruption, into the stockade. Pee-to-tum, suffering severely, had been led to his tent; and the threat bulk of the warriors, freed from the excitement of his presence, busied themselves with collecting together their individual shares of the presents they had received. During the whole of the afternoon they were to be seen wending their way leisurely, and in small and detached groups—sometimes in single file—from the glacis to their own encampment.
“Headley, my dear fellow,” exclaimed the leader of the party—a tall, powerful, sunburnt man, dressed like his companions, who now stood dismounted, holding the bridle of his jaded horse and conversing with the Doctor, for the other officers were still at their posts. “Is what I hear then true—and have I only arrived in time to be too late? Is all your ammunition then destroyed—all, all, all—none left?” These questions were anxiously put as the stranger held the hand of the commanding officer grasped in his own.
“It is even so,” returned Captain Headley, impressed with deep regret for the act, for in a moment he saw that this addition to his little force would have enabled him to maintain his post until the arrival of the British at least—“all that remains are twenty rounds of cartridges for the pouches of the men, and a single keg for use if necessary on the march—not six rounds of ammunition remain for the guns.”
“By G—, how unfortunate!” returned the stranger, striking his brow with his palm; “had I been but eighteen hours sooner you were all saved, for here are five-and-twenty as gallant and willing hearts as ever wielded tomahawk or rifle. Hearing of your extremity I had hastily collected them to afford you succor. Oh, I could eat my heart up with disappointment!” he continued, “to think that all my exertions, my speed, have been in vain. Headley, what could have induced you to destroy the ammunition—your only hope of salvation?”
“What has been done,” replied the commanding officer, with unfeigned sorrow at his heart as he reflected on the subject, “cannot be undone; but, ray dear Wells, it was impossible that we could divine the generous interest which was sending you to our rescue; and had not the powder and other ammunition been destroyed it must have fallen into the hands of those who I grieve to say are but too ready to use it against us. Moreover, purposing as I did, and do, to march to-morrow morning, at all risks and under whatever circumstance, I had given up this day all provisions not necessary for our subsistence on the march. If then even the ammunition had remained, we must have suffered from want of food.”
“What, with those five-and-twenty horses, Headley?” returned the other, pointing to the group that stood in the centre of the barrack square. “Not so. They would have been sufficient when killed and dried to have yielded us food for a month. No man knows better how to make pimmecan than myself. Still,” he continued, with greater vivacity, “there is a hope. I have shown the manner in which the provisions can be replaced, and I know you have a well within the sally-port into which can be received the waters of Lake Michigan —let search be made and instantly, and no doubt out of all that you have thrown away, sufficient serviceable powder may be found to enable us to defend the fort for ten days longer, when something will assuredly turn up to better our condition.”
“Would that it could be so,” returned Captain Headley, with a solemnity rendered more profound from the very smallness of the contingency on which the safety of so much depended, “but there is no hope. Anticipating that the Indians would attempt the very course you now suggest—that of saving what powder might be uninjured by the slimy bed into which it was thrown, all has been so mixed up with rum and other liquids as to be rendered utterly useless. Everything seems to be against us.”
“Then, since all hope is over,” returned the stranger with marked disappointment, “we will not indulge in vain regrets for the past, but make the best preparation for to-morrow. It is only to die in harness after all. But, alas! I pity the poor women. How is my dear Ellen—how does she support this severe affliction?”
“Bravely—nobly, like herself,” returned the commanding officer with emotion. “She will be delighted, yet grieved to behold you—delighted at the generous devotion that has brought you so far, and at the head of so small a force to our assistance; grieved because she will know that you have only come in time to share our fate. But dispose of your party and come in. Serjeant Nixon,” he called to that official, whom he saw passing from the rampart to the guard-house.
The non-commissioned officer was soon at his side, and the captain having given him directions to quarter the Indians for the night in the officers' mess-room, liberally supplying them and their horses with whatever they might require, and the stranger having himself addressed some remarks to his people in the Miami tongue, they both repaired with heavy hearts to the quarters of the former.
The meeting between Captain Wells and Mrs. Headley—the uncle and niece, both of whom entertained a strong natural affection, founded as much on similarity of character as on mere blood connexion—was a very affecting one. They had long been separated, and year after year a visit of a few weeks had been promised by the former to Chicago; but the multiplicity of his public duties, for he was an active agent in the Indian Department, had always prevented him from carrying his intention into execution. But now when he heard of the danger to which the garrison was exposed, and his beloved niece in particular, he lost not a moment in appointing a deputy to perform his duties during his absence, and collecting five-and-twenty warriors whom he knew to be not only devoted to him but the most resolute of the Miami race, he hurried off with the object of forming a sort of body-guard to the ladies of the detachment which he had been informed had received the instructions of General Hull to proceed forthwith to Fort Wayne. Had he had reason to doubt the faith of the Pottowatomies intended to form the escort of the detachment generally, he might and would have brought with him a much larger force; but it was not until after he had traversed almost the whole of the one hundred and eighty miles which he and his party had ridden without rest, that he obtained information of the Indian disaffection. Alarmed lest he should be too late, he and his party urged their harassed steeds to greater speed, and having made a signal to the garrison, which was seen by Ronayne through the telescope he kept constantly to his eye, the gun was fired, the flag waved, and the shouts pealed forth that, in all probability, in drowning his words of command saved the life of his friend and relative.
“Well, Ellen, my love,” proposed Capt. Headley, after a good deal of conversation on the subject of their position had taken place, “as this is to be the last of the many days which, until within a week, we have passed so happily in Chicago, what say you to our all dining here together? With many of us it will, doubtless, be for the last time. We have still a few bottles of claret left in which to drink your uncle's health, mixed up only with a regret that his visit to us had not occurred at a happier period.”
“Most willingly, Headley, I approve your suggestion, and shall cause the dinner to be prepared. All I ask is the assistance of Mrs. Elmsley and Ronayne's servants. With their aid my own servants can even contrive to manage something for a dinner.”
“Dum vivimus, vivamus!” exclaimed the herculean and resolute captain. “I can see no reason why, because we are to be shot down and perhaps eaten to-morrow, we should not enjoy the pleasure of a little social eating and drinking ourselves to-day! I am not one to lament fruitlessly over that which cannot be avoided. Sufficient for the day, as scripture has it, is the evil thereof. I certainly go in for the dinner and a glass of claret. It will help to wash down half the dust I have swallowed within the last forty-eight hours.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Headley, with a playfulness extraordinary for the occasion, but which was induced solely by a design to set the minds of her friends at ease, by impressing them with a belief that her unconcern was greater, than it really was, “while I prepare the feast, go you out into what highways and byways are left to us and invite our friends. Uncle, you have not seen Mrs. Elmsley since she was a young, clashing, and unmarried belle. She will be delighted to meet with you. Tell her I will take no denial—both herself and husband must attend. We shall dine at five, becoming fashionable as we stand on the brink of the grave; and by the way, Headley, all these troubles have made me quite forget it, but this is the anniversary not only of my birth but wedding day.”
“God bless you!” said her husband, tenderly embracing her, “and grant of his great mercy that you may see many returns of the day under far brighter and more auspicious circumstances!”
It was a curious sight—one that could only have been witnessed in a military community, used to scenes of excitement and ever prepared for danger—to see under the roof of the commanding officer of Fort Dearborn, not only men but delicate and educated and highly accomplished women, partaking, with seeming unconcern, of a meal which each felt might be the last but one they were fated to taste on earth, and as it were with the sword of Damocles suspended over their heads. There was an evident desire to banish from the mind any thought of the morrow—to sustain each other, yet with the conviction strong at their hearts that none of them would ever live to see Fort Wayne. They, nevertheless, talked seriously and deprecatingly of the change they would find between the two quarters—the one just overtopping the wild flats of Ohio, like a solitary oasis in the desert; the other, that which they were about to leave—rich in rides and drives, offering every facility and amusement to the lover of the gun and of the rod—to those whose taste led them to prefer rowing over the comparatively tiny waters of the Chicago, or sailing along the broad expanse of the noble Michigan. But they could not wholly succeed in cheating themselves into temporary forgetfulness of the much that was to intervene before that change could be effected. Now and then there would be a painful pause in the conversation; and then as each glanced into the eyes of each, and could distinctly read the dominant thought that was passing in his mind, another attempt would follow to give a tone of indifference to the subject.
Not so with the humbler portion of the garrison. On the contrary, there was no attempt to conceal from each other, or from themselves, the magnitude and extent of the danger that awaited them; but in proportion as they even magnified the peril, so was their determination increased to defend themselves and families if attacked, to the last. The single men talked in groups, and hesitated not to condemn in strong language, the course pursued by their commanding officer, for it was obvious to all that had he at the first decided on defending the fort, the Indians never would have acted in the insolent and hostile manner they had manifested; and even if they had, the provisions and ammunition preserved, they might, with this newly arrived strength, have made a defence of months against their treachery. The principal spokesmen were Serjeant Nixon, Corporals Green and Weston, and Phillips, Case, Watson, and Degarmo, who having been the last whose fortune it had been to smell powder against the Indians, were considered as being more immediately competent to speak on the occasion. Such of the married men as were off guard passed what hours they could in consoling and sustaining the courage of their poor wives, who wept bitter tears and uttered ceaseless lamentations, not so much on account of the trials that awaited themselves as their helpless children, in a distressing march through the wilderness, which they regarded with nearly as great horror as the tomahawk of the Indian itself.
To return, however, to the quarters of the commandant. It must not be assumed that because the excellent claret of that officer, to which had been added a few bottles saved from Mr. McKenzie's private stock, was enjoyed with a gusto not habitual to men in the same position with our little band of martyrs, there was the disposition to drown care through that very tempting medium, or to indulge in the slightest degree in excess; or if there was an exception it was to be found in Von Voltenberg, who managed now and then dexterously to top off an extra glass, until by repeated little manoeuvres of this kind he had in the end been one bottle ahead of his companions. Soon after dinner Ronayne, whose spirits had been cheered on the one hand and depressed on the other by the letter of his wife, had, at the suggestion of Mrs. Headley, read for the satisfaction and information of all the document addressed to himself; and when this was concluded, exciting in the minds of all, and particularly those yet unacquainted with the contents, renewed interest in her fate, the ladies withdrew to complete such of their arrangements for the march as were still necessary. On their departure followed by the customary and, in this instance, heart-impelled honors, and the health of the newly-arrived guest being drunk, as “The Hero of the Valley of the Miami,” Mr. McKenzie took the occasion to remark:
“I have heard much of the prowess evinced by Captain Wells, both against General St. Clair's army and while acting with that of General Wayne, and should like much to know from his own lips whether report speaks correctly of him or not. Come, captain, the opportunity may not soon occur again—will you indulge us?”
“Willingly,” returned the captain, raising his tall and herculean frame in his chair and draining off his claret; “As you say, the opportunity may not again soon occur; there is something here,” and he pointed with his finger to his breast, “that tells me that of the many fights in which I have been engaged, that of to-morrow will be the last.”
All looked grave, but no one answered. Each seemed to think that such would be his own individual case.
“Pass the wine, Headley,” resumed his relative. “Gentlemen, you must not expect me to enter into a history of all my old fights, both against and in defence of my own country. That would occupy me until to-morrow morning; and you know we have other work cut out for us. I will simply give you an outline—a very skeleton of the causes which found me first fighting against St. Clair, and subsequently in the ranks of Wayne.”
Without encroaching on the patience of the readers of this tale by using his precise words, it can only be necessary here to give an epitome of the military career of Captain William Wells, which was indeed one of no ordinary kind. He was a native of Kentucky, and in early boyhood—being scarcely ten years of age—had been taken prisoner, during a foray into that then wild state by the Miami Indians. Being a boy of remarkable symmetry, resolution, and intelligence, he was greatly noticed by one of the principal chiefs of the tribe, who adopted him as a son, and trained him to battle, into which he invariably went whenever most was to be done. This mode of life young Wells loved so greatly, and the kindness shown him was such that he never entertained the slightest regret at the loss of old associations, or a desire to return to them. At the time of the great battle between the Indians and General St. Clair, he had gained the reputation of being one of the most formidable warriors, both from his skill and great personal strength in the ranks of the Miamis; and entertaining no scruple of conscience, simply because he had not taken the trouble to reflect on the subject, entered with all the ardor of his nature into that contest, and it was said that a greater number of the American soldiers fell by his hand than any other individual warrior engaged, and now he rose higher than ever in the estimation of his tribe. But the very circumstance of his prowess and success had the effect of dissociating him for ever from those in whose cause he had triumphed. After that sanguinary battle, so fatal to the American arms, he for the first time began to reflect on the great wrong he had done to his own race, and resolved to atone for the past by killing, in fair fight, one Indian at least for every American that had fallen beneath his tomahawk and rifle. Acting promptly on this suddenly-formed resolution he at once abandoned his adopted father, and his Indian wife and children, and hastened to Gen. Wayne, to whom he offered his services. By that officer he was gladly employed, principally as a scout, almost up to the close of the war; and during its continuance many were the daring feats he performed. One example must suffice.
A short time previous to the great battle of 1794, Wells, on whom General Wayne had conferred the rank of captain, took with him a subaltern and eleven men, for the purpose of watching the movements of his old companions in arms. His men were all well trained to the peculiar duty they were called upon to perform, and, after having marched three days with a caution and knowledge of the forest scarcely surpassed by the Indians themselves, found that they were on the fresh trail of the enemy, although how many in number they could not tell. They followed leisurely until night, when having seen but one large encampment, Capt. Wells came to the determination, if the disparity of numbers should not be too great, of attacking them. Every disposition was made. The party crept cautiously near them and then lay down in ambush, while their leader, as had been arranged, entered their camp fearlessly and as a friend, and sat himself down on the right of the circle, rapidly counting their numbers as he did so. There were found to be twenty-two warriors with one squaw. On being interrogated he stated that he had just come from the British Fort Miami, and was on his way to stir up the Indians to fight General Wayne. As he declared himself very hungry the squaw hospitably put some hominy on the fire to warm for his supper, of which he had intended to partake abundantly had not a misapprehension on the part of his men hastened the moment of action, and embittered all the satisfaction he would otherwise have derived from his success. A motion of his hand was to have been a signal to fire, each selecting his man; and the party, conceiving that he had given this, acted prematurely, not only depriving him of his supper, which was not yet ready, and of which he stood in great need, but killing the unfortunate squaw who was standing up stirring it at the time, and whom he had intended to save. The next moment the formidable and dreaded tomahawk of the captain went to work among the survivors, and out of the twenty-two warriors but three escaped; he himself receiving a wound from a ramrod shot through his wrist, and his lieutenant being hit by a bullet in the thigh. The greatest havoc committed on this occasion was by Wells himself, and it was his boast that in Wayne's war he had slain a far greater number of Indians than he had killed Americans throughout the contest with St. Clair; and cool indeed must have been the determination of the man who could composedly sit down alone and in the face of twenty-two warriors, some of whom it might have been expected would have recognised him, or to whom accident might have betrayed the proximity of his party, and resolve to dispatch an ample supper before proceeding to the work of blood. But these were the usages of the war in which he had been educated, and a nobler and more generous heart than that of Captain Wells never beat beneath the war-paint of an Indian.
Such was the man, the outline of whose story we have necessarily condensed, who now, at the head of those Indians whom he once fought for, and subsequently against, came to proffer his aid to the unfortunate garrison of Fort Dearborn. What such an arm and such daring might have accomplished, had circumstances combined to second his efforts, can easily be surmised; but, unfortunately, all was now of no avail, for the very sinews of success had been wrung from him, and he felt that the utmost desperation of courage must be insufficient to stem the tide of numbers that would lie in wait for their prey on the morrow. But although h was not mad enough to expect that if attacked anything but defeat and slaughter could ensue, nothing would have pleased him more than an encounter on the open prairie with the false Pottowatomies, notwithstanding their great odds, had not the lives of women and helpless children been at stake. These were the considerations that weighed with him the most; for independently of his strong affection for his noble niece, and his interest in her companions, he had never forgotten the occasion when the poor Indian squaw was shot down across the fire over which she was performing an act of kindness to himself; and often and often, during his after life of repose from the toils of war, had her blood risen to his imagination as if in reproach for the act. If this could be called a weakness, it was the only weak point that could be found in his character.
As there was little reason to apprehend that the Indians would occasion any annoyance during the night to those whom they were so certain to take at an advantage in the morning, when far removed from their defences, Captain Headley had caused the garrison to be divided into two watches—the one being stationed on the ramparts until midnight, when they were ordered to be relieved by the second party, who in the meantime slept—thus affording to all a few hours of that repose of which for the last week they had scarcely tasted.
Midnight had arrived. The watches had been changed, and Corporal Collins being of the new relief, had, after disposing his men in the most advantageous manner to detect an approach, taken his own station near the flag-staff, a point where the greater vigilance was necessary, by reason of the storehouses and other outbuildings of Mr. McKenzie; under cover it was not difficult for a cautious enemy to approach the place unperceived.
He had not been at this point half an hour when he fancied he could discover in the darkness the outline of a man moving cautiously across the ground which had been used for the council, and seemingly endeavoring to gain the rear of the factory. He challenged loudly and abruptly, but there was no answer. Expecting to see the same figure emerging from the opposite cover of the building, he fixed his keen eye on that spot, when, as he had conjectured, it fell upon the same, outline, but now performing a wider circuit. The challenge was repeated, but the figure instead of answering remained perfectly stationary. A third time the corporal challenged, and no answer being returned he very indiscreetly fired, when the figure fell to the earth apparently shot dead.
The report at that hour of the night naturally caused a good deal of commotion, and brought every one to the spot—not only the officers from their rooms but the watch that had thrown themselves, accoutred as they were, upon their beds. Ronayne, who had retired early for the purpose, was at the time in the act of completing a long letter which he had written in reply to his wife, in which, after pouring forth his soul in the most impassioned expressions of devotion, he urged her in the strongest manner, and by every hope of future happiness on earth, not to adopt the rash step she had threatened, and paralyse his courage, and lessen his fortitude to bear, by her presence in the midst of danger, but to remain secure where she was, with Wau-nan-gee's mother, until the crisis had passed. “I shall fight valiantly and successfully,” he concluded, “if you are not near to distract me by a knowledge of your proximity to danger. If, on the contrary, you, in your great and dear love, persist in your design, I feel that I shall perish like a coward. I inclose you a part of myself, in the meantime—a lock of my hair.”
On hearing the report of the musket a fearful misgiving had oppressed him, for he knew that this was about the hour when Wau-nan-gee had promised to come for his letter, and he hurried to ascertain what had occasioned the discharge. The result of his inquiry was not satisfactory. Had the whole Indian force been discovered stealing upon and surrounding them for a night attack, they would not have carried half the dismay to his soul that he experienced when Corporal Collins told him that he had fired at a solitary individual who was creeping up to the fort and would not answer, although challenged three times.
“Corporal,” he said, in a low tone, “I have ever been a staunch friend to you, and by that unlucky shot you have destroyed me. The person you fired at was Wau-nan-gee, I feel assured. He was coming for a letter from me to Mrs. Ronayne who is a prisoner, not with other Indians as we had supposed, but in the Pottowatomie camp. The only way you can repair this wrong is by going out secretly through the sally-port and examining the body to see if it really is he.”
“Look, look, look!” said the corporal, who had kept his eye fixed on the dark shadow hitherto motionless on the ground; “he is not dead—see, he rises, and walks rapidly but stealthily in the direction he was taking when I fired.”
“And that is to the rear of the stockade, where he has discovered some secret entrance, perhaps in consequence of the picketing having rotted away below. Not a word of this, Collins. If it is he, as I feel assured it is, he will go out again soon, and you must see that he is not interfered with. He must bear my letter to my wife.”
“You may depend upon it, Mr. Ronayne, he shall not be touched. I will again keep that post myself.”
The Virginian was right. He had not two minutes regained his room, when a slight tap at the window announced his young and faithful visitor. He flew to the door, opened it, and taking the boy by the hand, let him in. He was paler than usual, and the expression of his countenance denoted emotion and anxiety. As Ronayne cast his eye downwards he remarked that his left hand was bound round with, a handkerchief of a light color, through which the blood was forcing its way.
“My God! Wau-nan-gee, is it possible?” he exclaimed, as he grasped him fervently by the opposite palm; “were you hurt by that shot fired just now?”
The Indian nodded his head affirmatively, as with an air of chagrin and disappointment, he said, “No good fire, Ronayne—Wau-nan-gee no mind him blood—Ingin Pee-to-tum hear gun fire—see Wau-nan-gee hand—know Wau-nan-gee visit fort.”
Ronayne, seeing that the youth was mortified at the manner of his reception after the service he had rendered, explained to him fully the facts of the case. He, however, told him that he had spoken to the man who had fired at him under the idea of his being a spy, and that he might rely that nothing of the sort would happen on his return. Anxious to see the extent of the injury he had received, he untied the handkerchief, washed the wound, and found that the bullet had cut away the fleshy part of the palm just under the thumb, but without touching the bone. A little lint and diachylon plaster soon afforded a temporary remedy for this, and the whole having been covered with a light linen bandage, he gave the youth a half worn pair of loose gauntlets to wear if he felt desirous to conceal the wound from the observation of his fellow warriors. This done, and his letter to his wife folded and given to the safe guardianship of the boy, with whom he made his final arrangements for a reunion as circumstances might render prudent and expedient, he finally drew him to his heart, and expressed in tones that could not fail to carry conviction of their truth as well as deep gratification to the generous heart of Wau-nan-gee the extent of his gratitude and friendship.
When the young Indian had departed, not before renewing his strong persuasion to induce the officer to accompany him to his wife, Ronayne, determining that no mistake should occur in the compliance of both his directions to Corporal Collins, once more ascended to the bastion from which, he had soon the satisfaction to see Wau-nan-gee glide away in the direction of his encampment, until his figure was soon lost in the distance.