CHAPTER VIII.Night—Sagacity of the hounds—Reflection—The sneaking savages—Joe’s disaster—The approach of the foe under the snow—The silent watch.The night was beautiful. The moon sailed through a cloudless sky, and the north wind, which had whistled loudly among the branches of the trees in the valley at the close of day, was hushed, and a perfect calm pervaded the scene.“What’re you leaving your post for?” asked Sneak, as Joe suddenly abandoned his watch on the west side of the inclosure, and tripped across to Roughgrove.“Mr. Roughgrove—Mr. Roughgrove,” said Joe, in a low tone.“Well, what do you want with me?” responded the old ferryman.“I wanted to tell you that your two oarsmen are forgotten, and to ask you if we hadn’t better call to them to come up here, where they’ll be out of danger?”“They arenotforgotten,” said Roughgrove; “I sent them over the river to procure assistance, if possible.”“Thank you. I’m glad they’re out of danger. I couldn’t rest till I found out something about them,” said Joe, retiring; but instead of resuming his watch, he slipped into the house.“He’s at his old tricks agin,” said Sneak, when he observed him stealthily enter the door. “Come out, I say!” he continued, in a loud voice.“What is the matter?” interrogated Glenn, from his station on the north.“Why, that feller’s crept into the house agin,” replied Sneak.“Well, but he’s come out again,” said Joe, reappearing, and walking reluctantly to his loophole.“What did you go in for?” demanded Glenn.“I just wanted to tell Miss Mary that the two oarsmen that helped us to bury Posin were gone over the river, and were safe.”“Did she ask for this information?” inquired Glenn.“No, not exactly,” responded Joe; “but I thought if I was uneasy about the young men myself, that she, being more delicate than a man, must be considerably distressed.”“A mere subterfuge! See that you do not leave your post in future, under any circumstances, without permission to do so.”“I won’t,” replied Joe, peering through his loophole.Matters remained quiet for a great length of time, and Glenn began to hope that even Boone had been mistaken. But Boone himself had no doubts upon the subject. Yet he seemed far more affable and cheerful than he did before the plan of resistance was formed in his mind. Occasionally he would walk round from post to post, and after scanning the aspect without, direct the sentinels to observe closely certain points, trees or bushes, where he thought the enemy might first be seen. He never hinted once that there was a possibility of escaping an attack, and the little party felt that the only alternative was to watch with diligence and act with vigor and resolution when assailed.“Do you think they are now in this immediate neighbourhood?” inquired Glenn.“They are not far off, I imagine,” replied Boone; and calling the hounds from the stable, he continued, “I can show you in which quarter they are.” The hounds well understood their old master. At his bidding they snuffed the air, and whining in a peculiar manner, with their heads turned towards the west, the vicinity of the savages was not only made manifest, but their location positively pointed out.“I was not aware, before, of the inestimable value of your gift,” said Glenn, gazing at the hounds, and completely convinced that their conduct was an unerring indication of the presence of the foe.“Eh! Ringwood!” exclaimed Boone, observing that his favorite hound now pointed his nose in a northern direction and uttered a low growl. “Indeed!” he continued, “they have got in motion since we have been observing the hounds. I was not mistaken. Even while we were speaking they divided their strength. One party is even now moving round to the east, and at a given signal the other will attack us on the west, precisely as I predicted. See! Ringwood turns gradually.”“And you think the greatest danger is to be apprehended from those on the east?” said Glenn.“Yes,” said Boone, “for the others cannot approach near enough to do much injury without exposing themselves to great peril.”“But how can you ascertain that they will cut a passage under the snow, and the precise direction in which they will come?”“Because,” said Boone, “we are situated near the cliff on the east, to the summit of which they can climb, without being exposed to our fire, and thence it is likewise the shortest distance they can find to cut a passage to us under the snow. Mark Ringwood!” he continued, as the hound having made a semicircle from the point first noticed, became at length stationary, and crouching down on the earth, (where the snow had been cleared away at Boone’s post,) growled more angrily than before, but so low he could not have been heard twenty paces distant.“This is strange—very strange,” said Glenn.A sound resembling the cry of an owl was heard in the direction of the cliff. It was answered on the west apparently by the shrill howl of a wolf.“The signal!” said Boone. “Now let us be on the alert,” he continued, “and I think we will surprisethem, both on and under the snow. Let no one fire without first consulting me, even should they venture within the range of your guns.”The party resumed their respective stations, and once more not a sound of any description was heard for a considerable length of time. Roughgrove was at the side of Boone, and the other three men were posted as before described. The hounds had been sent back to their lair in the stable. Not a motion, animate or inanimate, save the occasional shooting of the stars in the begemmed firmament, could be observed.While Glenn rested upon his gun, attracted ever and anon by the twinkling host above, a throng of unwonted memories crowded upon him. He thought of his guileless youth; the uncontaminated days of enjoyment ere he had mingled with the designing and heartless associates who strove to entice him from the path of virtue; of the hopes of budding manhood; of ambitious schemes to win a name by great and honourable deeds; of parents, kindred, home; ofher, who had been the angel of all his dreams of paradise below: and then he contemplated his present condition, and notwithstanding his resolution was unabated, yet in spite of all his struggles, a tear bedewed his cheek. He felt that his fate was hard, but heknewthat his course was proper, and he resolved to fulfil his vow. But with his sadness, gloomy forebodings, and deep and unusual thoughts obtruded. In the scene of death and carnage that was about to ensue, it occurred to him more than once that it might be his lot to fall. This was a painful thought. He was brave in conflict, and would not have hesitated to rush reckless into the midst of danger; but he was calm now, and the thought of death was appalling. He would have preferred to die on a nobler field, if he were to fall in battle. He did not wish to die in hisyouth, to be cut off, without accomplishing the many ends he had so often meditated, and without reaping a few of the sweets of life as the reward of his voluntary sacrifice. He also desired to appear once more in the busy and detracting world, to vindicate the character that might have been unjustly aspersed, to reward the true friendship of those whose confidence had never been shaken, and to rebuke, perhaps forgive, the enemies who had recklessly pursued him. But another, and yet a more stirring and important thought obtruded upon his reflections. It was one he had never seriously considered before, and it now operated upon him with irresistible power. It was a thought of thingsbeyondthe grave. The stillness of midnight, the million stars above him, the blue eternal expanse through which they were distributed—the repose of the invisible winds, that late had howled around him—the never-ceasing flow of the ice-bound stream before him, and the continual change of hill and valley—now desolate, and clothed in frosty vestments, and anon with verdure and variegated beauty—constrained him to acknowledge in the secret portals of his breast that there was a great, ever-existing Creator. He then called to mind the many impressive lessons of a pious mother, which he had subsequently disregarded. He remembered the things she had read to him in the book of books—the words of prayer she taught him to utter every eve, ere he closed his eyes in slumber—and henowrepeated that humble petition with all the fervency of a chastened spirit. He felt truly convinced of the fallacy of setting the heart and the affections altogether on the things of this world, where mortals are only permitted to abide but a brief space; and a hearty repentance of past errors, and a firm resolve to obey the requisitions of the Omnipotent in future, were in that hour conceived and engraven indelibly upon his heart.“Mr. Boone—Mr. Boone—Mr. Boone!” cried Joe, softly.“Dod! don’t make sich a fuss,” said Sneak.“Be silent,” whispered Boone, gliding to Joe, and gazing out on the snow, where he beheld about twenty savages standing erect and motionless, not eighty paces distant.“I came within an ace of shooting,” said Joe, “before I thought of what you had said. I pulled the trigger with all my might before I remembered that you said I musn’t shoot till you told me, but as good luck would have it, my musket wasn’t cocked.” Boone went to each of the other loopholes, and after scrutinizing every side very closely, he directed Sneak and Glenn to abandon their posts and join him at Joe’s stand, for the purpose of discharging a deadly volley at the unsuspecting foe.“Does it not seem cruel to spill blood in this manner?” whispered Glenn, when he viewed the statue-like forms of the unconscious Indians.“Had you witnessed the barbarous deeds thatIhave seenthemperform—had you beheld the innocent babe ruthlessly butchered—your children—your friends maimed, tomahawked, scalped,burnedbefore your eyes—could you know the hellish horrors they arenowmeditating—you would not entertain much pity for them,” said Boone, in a low tone, evidently moved by terrible memories, the precise nature of which the one addressed could not understand. But Glenn’s scruples vanished, and as a matter of necessity he determined to submit without reserve to the guidance of his experienced friend.“I should like to know how them yaller rascals got up here so close without being eyed sooner,” said Sneak to Joe.“That’s what’s been puzzling me, ever since I first saw them,” said Joe, in scarce audible tones.“Split me if you havn’t been asleep,” said Sneak.“No indeed I havn’t,” said Joe. “I’ll declare,” he continued, looking out, “I never should have thought ofthat. I see now, well enough, how they got there without my seeing them. They’ve got a great big ball of snow, half as high as a man’s head, and they’ve been rolling it all the time, and creeping along behind it. They’re all standing before it now, and just as I looked one moved his leg, and then I saw what it was. This beats the old boy himself. It’s a mercy they didn’t come all the way and shoot me in the eye!”“Hush!” said Boone. “They must have heard something, or supposed they did, or else your neglect would have been fatal to you ere this. They are now waiting to ascertain whether they were mistaken or not. Move not, and speak no more, until I order you.”“I won’t,” said Joe, still gazing at the erect dark forms.“See how many there is—can’t you count ’em?” said Sneak, in a whisper, leaning against Joe, and slyly taking a cartridge from his belt, slipped it in the muzzle of the musket which was standing against the palisade.“What’re you doing with my gun?” asked Joe, in a very low tone, as he happened to turn his head and see Sneak take his hand away from the muzzle of the musket.“Nothing—I was only feeling the size of the bore. It’s big enough to kick down a cow.”“What are you tittering about? you think it’s a going to kick me again, but you’re mistaken—it ain’t got two loads in this time.”“Didn’t Mr. Boone jest tell you to keep quiet?” said Sneak.“Don’t you speak—then I won’t,” responded Joe.The moon had not yet reached the meridian, and the dark shadow of the house reaching to the palisade on the west, prevented the Indians from observing the movements of the whites through the many slight apertures in the inclosure, but through which the besieged party could easily observe them.After a long pause, during which neither party had uttered a word or betrayed animation by the least movement, Glenn felt the weight of a hand laid gently on his shoulder, and turning beheld Mary at his side. Without a motion of the lips, she placed in his hand some bullets she had moulded, and then passing on to the other men, gave each a like quantity.“Retire, now, my lass,” said Boone; and when she returned to the house, he continued, addressing Glenn—“If they do not move one way or the other very soon, we will give them a broadside where they are.”“And we could do execution at this distance,” observed Glenn.“I’d be dead sure to kill one, I know I would,” said Sneak.“Let me see if I could take aim,” said Joe, deliberately pointing his musket through the loophole. The musket had inadvertently been cocked, and left in that condition, and no sooner did Joe’s finger gently press upon the trigger, than it went off, making an astounding report, and veiling the whole party in an immense cloud of smoke.“Who did that?” cried Boone, stamping with vexation.“Was that you, Joe?” demanded Glenn.Joe made no answer.“Oh, dod! my mouth’s smashed all to pieces!” said Sneak, crawling up from a prostrate position, caused by the rebound of the musket, for he was looking over Joe’s shoulder when the gun went off.“Where’s Joe?” inquired Glenn, pushing Sneak aside.“He’s dead, I guess—I believe the gun’s busted,” said Sneak.“Now, sir! why did you fire?” cried Glenn, somewhat passionately, stumbling against Joe, and seizing him by the collar. No answer was made, for poor Joe’s neck was limber enough, and he quite insensible.“He’s dead in yearnest, jest as I told you,” said Sneak; “for that gun kicked him on the shoulder hard enough to kill a cow—and the hind side of his head struck my tooth hard enough to’ve kilt a horse. He’s broke one of my upper fore-teeth smack in two.”“Every man to his post!” exclaimed Boone, as a shower of arrows rattled about the premises.Sneak now occupied Joe’s station, and the first glance in the direction of the savages sufficed to determine him how to act. Perhaps no one ever discharged a rifle more rapidly than he did. And a brisk and well-directed fire was kept up for some length of time, likewise, by the rest of the besieged.It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing that Joedidfire without orders, and without any intention of doing so himself. It seemed that the savages had been meditating a desperate rush upon the fort, notwithstanding Boone’s prediction; for no sooner did Joe fire, than they hastily retreated a short distance, scattering in every direction, and, without a moment’s consultation, again appeared, advancing rapidly from every quarter. It was evident that this plan had been preconcerted among them; and had all fired, instead of Joe only, they might easily have scaled the palisade before the guns could have been reloaded. Neither had the besiegers been aware of the strength of the garrison. But they were soon made to understand that they had more than Glenn and his man to contend against. The discharges followed in such quick succession that they paused, when but a moment more would have placed them within the inclosure. But several of them being wounded, and Boone and Glenn still doing execution with their pistols, the discomfited enemy made a precipitate retreat. An occasional flight of arrows continued to assail the besieged, but they came from a great distance, for the Indians were not long in scampering beyond the range of the loopholes.When Glenn could no longer see any of the dark forms of the enemy, he turned round to contemplate the sad condition of Joe. Joe was sitting up, with his hands locked round his knees.“Well, split me in two!” cried Sneak, staring at his companion.“What’s the matter, Sneak?” asked Joe, with much simplicity.“That’s a purty question foryouto ask, after there for dead this half-hour almost”“Have the Indians been here?” asked Joe, staring round wildly.“Hain’t you heard us shooting?”“My goodness,” cried Joe, springing up. “Oh! am I wounded? say!” he continued, evincing the most lively alarm.“Well, if this don’t beat every thing that ever I saw in all my life, I wish I may be shot!” said Sneak.“What is it?” asked Joe, his senses yet wandering.“Jest feel the back of your head,” said Sneak. Joe put his hand to the place indicated, and winced under the pain of the touch. He then looked at his hand, and beholding a quantity of clotted blood upon it, fell down suddenly on the snow.“What’s the matter now?” asked Glenn, who had seen his man sitting up, and came swiftly to him when he fell.“I’m a dead man!” said Joe, mournfully.“That’s a lie!” said Sneak.“What ails you, Joe?” asked Glenn, his tone much softened.“I’m dying—oh! I’m shot through the head!”“Don’t believe him, Mr. Glenn—I’ll be smashed if its any thing but my tooth,” said Sneak.“Oh—I’m dying!” continued Joe, pressing his hand against his head, while the pain and loss of blood actually produced a faintness, and his voice became very weak.“Are you really much hurt?” continued Glenn, stooping down, and feeling his pulse.“It’s all over!” muttered Joe. “I’m going fast. Sancte Petre!—Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificeter nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tu—”Here Joe’s voice failed, and, falling into a syncope, Glenn and Sneak lifted him up and carried him into the house.“Is he shot?” exclaimed Mary, instantly producing some lint and bandages which she had prepared in anticipation of such an event.“I fear he has received a serious hurt,” said Glenn, aiding Mary, who had proceeded at once to bind up the wound.“I’ll be split if he’s shot!” said Sneak, going out and returning to his post. Glenn did likewise when he saw the first indications of returning consciousness in his man; and Mary was left alone to restore and nurse poor Joe. But he could not have been in better hands.“I should like to know something about them curious words the feller was speaking when he keeled over,” said Sneak, as he looked out at the now quiet scene from the loophole, and mused over the events of the night. “I begin to believe that the feller’s a going to die. I don’t believe any man could talk so, if he wasn’t dying.”“Have you seen any of them lately?” inquired Boone, coming to Sneak’s post and running his eye along the horizon through the loophole.“Not a one,” replied Sneak, “except that feller laying out yander by the snowball.”“He’s dead,” said Boone, “and he is the only one that we are sure of having killed to-night. But many are wounded.”“And smash me if Joe didn’t kill that one when his musket went off before he was ready,” said Sneak.“Yes, I saw him fall when Joe fired; and that accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us,” continued Boone.“But I’m sorry for poor Joe,” said Sneak.“Pshaw!” said Boone; “he’ll be well again, in an hour.”“No, he’s a gone chicken.”“Why do you think so?”“Didn’t he say so himself? and didn’t he gabble out a whole parcel of purgatory talk? He’s as sure gone as a stuck pig, I tell you,” continued Sneak.“He will eat as hearty a breakfast to-morrow morning as ever he did in his life,” said Boone. “But let us attend to the business in hand. I hardly think we will be annoyed any more from this quarter, unless yonder dead Indian was a chief, and then it is more than probable they will try to steal him away. However, you may remain here. I, alone, can manage the others.”“Which others?” inquired Sneak.“Those under the snow,” replied Boone; “they are now within twenty paces of the palisade.”“You don’t say so?” said Sneak, cocking his gun.“I have been listening to them cutting through the snow a long while, and it will be a half hour yet before I spring the mine,” said Boone.“I hope it will kill ’em all!” said Sneak.“Watch close, and perhapsyouwill kill one yet from this loophole,” said Boone, returning to his post, where the slow-match was exposed through the palisade near the ground; and Roughgrove stood by, holding a pistol, charged with powder only, in readiness to fire the train when Boone should give the word of command.Boone applied his ear to a crevice between the timbers near the earth, where the snow had been cleared away. After remaining in this position a few moments, he beckoned Glenn to him.“Place your ear against this crevice,” said Boone.“It is not the Indians I hear, certainly!” remarked Glenn. The sounds resembled the ticking of a large clock, differing only in their greater rapidity than the strokes of seconds.“Most certainly it is nothing else,” replied Boone.“But how do they produce such singular sounds? Is it the trampling of feet?” continued Glenn.“It is the sound of many tomahawks cutting a passage,” replied Boone.“But what disposition do they make of the snow, when it is cut loose.”“A portion of them dig, while the rest convey the loose snow out and cast it down the cliff.”While the above conversation was going on, a colloquy of a different nature transpired within the house. Joe, after recovering from his second temporary insensibility, had sunk into a gentle doze, which lasted many minutes. Mary had bathed his face repeatedly with sundry restoratives, and likewise administered a cordial that she had brought from her father’s house, which seemed to have a most astonishing somniferous effect. When the contents of the bottle were exhausted, she sat silently by, watching Joe’s apparent slumber, and felt rejoiced that her patient promised a speedy recovery. Once, after she had been gazing at the fawn, (that had been suffered to occupy a place near the wall, where it was now coiled up and sleeping,) on turning her eyes towards the face of Joe, she imagined for a moment that she saw him close his eyelids quickly. But calling him softly and receiving no answer, she concluded it was a mere fancy, and again resigned herself to her lonely watch. When she had been sitting thus some minutes, watching him patiently, she observed his eyes open slowly, and quickly smack to again, when he found that she was looking at him. But a moment after, conscious that his wakefulness was discovered, he opened them boldly, and found himself possessed of a full recollection of all the incidents of the night up to his disaster.“Have they whipt all the Indians away that were standing out on the snow, Miss Mary?”“Yes, long ago—and none have been seen, but the one you killed, for some time,” she replied, encouragingly.“Did I kill one sure enough?” asked Joe, while his eyes sparkled exceedingly.“Yes, indeed,” replied she; “and I heard Mr. Boone say he was glad it happened, and that the accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us.”“Accident!” iterated Joe; “who says it was an accident?”“Wasn’t it an accident?” asked the simple girl.“No, indeed!” replied Joe. “But,” he continued, “have they blown up the other Indians yet?”“Not yet—but I heard them say they would do it very soon. They can be heard digging under the snow now, very plainly,” said Mary.“Indeed!” said Joe, with no little terror depicted in his face. “I wish you’d go and ask Mr. Boone if he thinks you’ll be entirely safe, if you please, Miss Mary,” said Joe beseechingly.“I will,” responded Mary, rising to depart.“And if they ask how I am,” continued Joe, “please say I am a great deal better, but too weak yet to go out.”Mary did his bidding; and when she returned, what was her astonishment to find her patient running briskly across the room from the cupboard, with a whole roasted prairie-hen in one hand, or at least the body of it, while he tore away the breast with his teeth, and some half dozen crackers in the other! In vain did he attempt to conceal them under the covering of his bed, into which he jumped as quickly as possible. Guilt was manifest in his averted look, his trembling hand, and his greasy mouth! Mary gazed in silent wonder. Joe cowered under her glance a few moments, until the irresistible flavour of the fowl overcame him, and then his jaws were again set in motion.“I fear that eating will injure you,” remarked Mary, at length.“Never fear,” replied Joe. “When a sick person has a good appetite, it’s a sure sign he’s getting better.”“If you think so you can eat as much as you please,” said Mary; “and you needn’t hide any thing from me.”Joe felt a degree of shame in being so palpably detected, but his appetite soon got the better of his scruples, and he gratified the demands of his stomach without reserve.“But what did Mr. Boone say?” asked he, peeping out.“He says he thinks there is no danger. But the Indians are now within a few feet of the palisade, and the explosion is about to take place.”
Night—Sagacity of the hounds—Reflection—The sneaking savages—Joe’s disaster—The approach of the foe under the snow—The silent watch.
The night was beautiful. The moon sailed through a cloudless sky, and the north wind, which had whistled loudly among the branches of the trees in the valley at the close of day, was hushed, and a perfect calm pervaded the scene.
“What’re you leaving your post for?” asked Sneak, as Joe suddenly abandoned his watch on the west side of the inclosure, and tripped across to Roughgrove.
“Mr. Roughgrove—Mr. Roughgrove,” said Joe, in a low tone.
“Well, what do you want with me?” responded the old ferryman.
“I wanted to tell you that your two oarsmen are forgotten, and to ask you if we hadn’t better call to them to come up here, where they’ll be out of danger?”
“They arenotforgotten,” said Roughgrove; “I sent them over the river to procure assistance, if possible.”
“Thank you. I’m glad they’re out of danger. I couldn’t rest till I found out something about them,” said Joe, retiring; but instead of resuming his watch, he slipped into the house.
“He’s at his old tricks agin,” said Sneak, when he observed him stealthily enter the door. “Come out, I say!” he continued, in a loud voice.
“What is the matter?” interrogated Glenn, from his station on the north.
“Why, that feller’s crept into the house agin,” replied Sneak.
“Well, but he’s come out again,” said Joe, reappearing, and walking reluctantly to his loophole.
“What did you go in for?” demanded Glenn.
“I just wanted to tell Miss Mary that the two oarsmen that helped us to bury Posin were gone over the river, and were safe.”
“Did she ask for this information?” inquired Glenn.
“No, not exactly,” responded Joe; “but I thought if I was uneasy about the young men myself, that she, being more delicate than a man, must be considerably distressed.”
“A mere subterfuge! See that you do not leave your post in future, under any circumstances, without permission to do so.”
“I won’t,” replied Joe, peering through his loophole.
Matters remained quiet for a great length of time, and Glenn began to hope that even Boone had been mistaken. But Boone himself had no doubts upon the subject. Yet he seemed far more affable and cheerful than he did before the plan of resistance was formed in his mind. Occasionally he would walk round from post to post, and after scanning the aspect without, direct the sentinels to observe closely certain points, trees or bushes, where he thought the enemy might first be seen. He never hinted once that there was a possibility of escaping an attack, and the little party felt that the only alternative was to watch with diligence and act with vigor and resolution when assailed.
“Do you think they are now in this immediate neighbourhood?” inquired Glenn.
“They are not far off, I imagine,” replied Boone; and calling the hounds from the stable, he continued, “I can show you in which quarter they are.” The hounds well understood their old master. At his bidding they snuffed the air, and whining in a peculiar manner, with their heads turned towards the west, the vicinity of the savages was not only made manifest, but their location positively pointed out.
“I was not aware, before, of the inestimable value of your gift,” said Glenn, gazing at the hounds, and completely convinced that their conduct was an unerring indication of the presence of the foe.
“Eh! Ringwood!” exclaimed Boone, observing that his favorite hound now pointed his nose in a northern direction and uttered a low growl. “Indeed!” he continued, “they have got in motion since we have been observing the hounds. I was not mistaken. Even while we were speaking they divided their strength. One party is even now moving round to the east, and at a given signal the other will attack us on the west, precisely as I predicted. See! Ringwood turns gradually.”
“And you think the greatest danger is to be apprehended from those on the east?” said Glenn.
“Yes,” said Boone, “for the others cannot approach near enough to do much injury without exposing themselves to great peril.”
“But how can you ascertain that they will cut a passage under the snow, and the precise direction in which they will come?”
“Because,” said Boone, “we are situated near the cliff on the east, to the summit of which they can climb, without being exposed to our fire, and thence it is likewise the shortest distance they can find to cut a passage to us under the snow. Mark Ringwood!” he continued, as the hound having made a semicircle from the point first noticed, became at length stationary, and crouching down on the earth, (where the snow had been cleared away at Boone’s post,) growled more angrily than before, but so low he could not have been heard twenty paces distant.
“This is strange—very strange,” said Glenn.
A sound resembling the cry of an owl was heard in the direction of the cliff. It was answered on the west apparently by the shrill howl of a wolf.
“The signal!” said Boone. “Now let us be on the alert,” he continued, “and I think we will surprisethem, both on and under the snow. Let no one fire without first consulting me, even should they venture within the range of your guns.”
The party resumed their respective stations, and once more not a sound of any description was heard for a considerable length of time. Roughgrove was at the side of Boone, and the other three men were posted as before described. The hounds had been sent back to their lair in the stable. Not a motion, animate or inanimate, save the occasional shooting of the stars in the begemmed firmament, could be observed.
While Glenn rested upon his gun, attracted ever and anon by the twinkling host above, a throng of unwonted memories crowded upon him. He thought of his guileless youth; the uncontaminated days of enjoyment ere he had mingled with the designing and heartless associates who strove to entice him from the path of virtue; of the hopes of budding manhood; of ambitious schemes to win a name by great and honourable deeds; of parents, kindred, home; ofher, who had been the angel of all his dreams of paradise below: and then he contemplated his present condition, and notwithstanding his resolution was unabated, yet in spite of all his struggles, a tear bedewed his cheek. He felt that his fate was hard, but heknewthat his course was proper, and he resolved to fulfil his vow. But with his sadness, gloomy forebodings, and deep and unusual thoughts obtruded. In the scene of death and carnage that was about to ensue, it occurred to him more than once that it might be his lot to fall. This was a painful thought. He was brave in conflict, and would not have hesitated to rush reckless into the midst of danger; but he was calm now, and the thought of death was appalling. He would have preferred to die on a nobler field, if he were to fall in battle. He did not wish to die in hisyouth, to be cut off, without accomplishing the many ends he had so often meditated, and without reaping a few of the sweets of life as the reward of his voluntary sacrifice. He also desired to appear once more in the busy and detracting world, to vindicate the character that might have been unjustly aspersed, to reward the true friendship of those whose confidence had never been shaken, and to rebuke, perhaps forgive, the enemies who had recklessly pursued him. But another, and yet a more stirring and important thought obtruded upon his reflections. It was one he had never seriously considered before, and it now operated upon him with irresistible power. It was a thought of thingsbeyondthe grave. The stillness of midnight, the million stars above him, the blue eternal expanse through which they were distributed—the repose of the invisible winds, that late had howled around him—the never-ceasing flow of the ice-bound stream before him, and the continual change of hill and valley—now desolate, and clothed in frosty vestments, and anon with verdure and variegated beauty—constrained him to acknowledge in the secret portals of his breast that there was a great, ever-existing Creator. He then called to mind the many impressive lessons of a pious mother, which he had subsequently disregarded. He remembered the things she had read to him in the book of books—the words of prayer she taught him to utter every eve, ere he closed his eyes in slumber—and henowrepeated that humble petition with all the fervency of a chastened spirit. He felt truly convinced of the fallacy of setting the heart and the affections altogether on the things of this world, where mortals are only permitted to abide but a brief space; and a hearty repentance of past errors, and a firm resolve to obey the requisitions of the Omnipotent in future, were in that hour conceived and engraven indelibly upon his heart.
“Mr. Boone—Mr. Boone—Mr. Boone!” cried Joe, softly.
“Dod! don’t make sich a fuss,” said Sneak.
“Be silent,” whispered Boone, gliding to Joe, and gazing out on the snow, where he beheld about twenty savages standing erect and motionless, not eighty paces distant.
“I came within an ace of shooting,” said Joe, “before I thought of what you had said. I pulled the trigger with all my might before I remembered that you said I musn’t shoot till you told me, but as good luck would have it, my musket wasn’t cocked.” Boone went to each of the other loopholes, and after scrutinizing every side very closely, he directed Sneak and Glenn to abandon their posts and join him at Joe’s stand, for the purpose of discharging a deadly volley at the unsuspecting foe.
“Does it not seem cruel to spill blood in this manner?” whispered Glenn, when he viewed the statue-like forms of the unconscious Indians.
“Had you witnessed the barbarous deeds thatIhave seenthemperform—had you beheld the innocent babe ruthlessly butchered—your children—your friends maimed, tomahawked, scalped,burnedbefore your eyes—could you know the hellish horrors they arenowmeditating—you would not entertain much pity for them,” said Boone, in a low tone, evidently moved by terrible memories, the precise nature of which the one addressed could not understand. But Glenn’s scruples vanished, and as a matter of necessity he determined to submit without reserve to the guidance of his experienced friend.
“I should like to know how them yaller rascals got up here so close without being eyed sooner,” said Sneak to Joe.
“That’s what’s been puzzling me, ever since I first saw them,” said Joe, in scarce audible tones.
“Split me if you havn’t been asleep,” said Sneak.
“No indeed I havn’t,” said Joe. “I’ll declare,” he continued, looking out, “I never should have thought ofthat. I see now, well enough, how they got there without my seeing them. They’ve got a great big ball of snow, half as high as a man’s head, and they’ve been rolling it all the time, and creeping along behind it. They’re all standing before it now, and just as I looked one moved his leg, and then I saw what it was. This beats the old boy himself. It’s a mercy they didn’t come all the way and shoot me in the eye!”
“Hush!” said Boone. “They must have heard something, or supposed they did, or else your neglect would have been fatal to you ere this. They are now waiting to ascertain whether they were mistaken or not. Move not, and speak no more, until I order you.”
“I won’t,” said Joe, still gazing at the erect dark forms.
“See how many there is—can’t you count ’em?” said Sneak, in a whisper, leaning against Joe, and slyly taking a cartridge from his belt, slipped it in the muzzle of the musket which was standing against the palisade.
“What’re you doing with my gun?” asked Joe, in a very low tone, as he happened to turn his head and see Sneak take his hand away from the muzzle of the musket.
“Nothing—I was only feeling the size of the bore. It’s big enough to kick down a cow.”
“What are you tittering about? you think it’s a going to kick me again, but you’re mistaken—it ain’t got two loads in this time.”
“Didn’t Mr. Boone jest tell you to keep quiet?” said Sneak.
“Don’t you speak—then I won’t,” responded Joe.
The moon had not yet reached the meridian, and the dark shadow of the house reaching to the palisade on the west, prevented the Indians from observing the movements of the whites through the many slight apertures in the inclosure, but through which the besieged party could easily observe them.
After a long pause, during which neither party had uttered a word or betrayed animation by the least movement, Glenn felt the weight of a hand laid gently on his shoulder, and turning beheld Mary at his side. Without a motion of the lips, she placed in his hand some bullets she had moulded, and then passing on to the other men, gave each a like quantity.
“Retire, now, my lass,” said Boone; and when she returned to the house, he continued, addressing Glenn—“If they do not move one way or the other very soon, we will give them a broadside where they are.”
“And we could do execution at this distance,” observed Glenn.
“I’d be dead sure to kill one, I know I would,” said Sneak.
“Let me see if I could take aim,” said Joe, deliberately pointing his musket through the loophole. The musket had inadvertently been cocked, and left in that condition, and no sooner did Joe’s finger gently press upon the trigger, than it went off, making an astounding report, and veiling the whole party in an immense cloud of smoke.
“Who did that?” cried Boone, stamping with vexation.
“Was that you, Joe?” demanded Glenn.
Joe made no answer.
“Oh, dod! my mouth’s smashed all to pieces!” said Sneak, crawling up from a prostrate position, caused by the rebound of the musket, for he was looking over Joe’s shoulder when the gun went off.
“Where’s Joe?” inquired Glenn, pushing Sneak aside.
“He’s dead, I guess—I believe the gun’s busted,” said Sneak.
“Now, sir! why did you fire?” cried Glenn, somewhat passionately, stumbling against Joe, and seizing him by the collar. No answer was made, for poor Joe’s neck was limber enough, and he quite insensible.
“He’s dead in yearnest, jest as I told you,” said Sneak; “for that gun kicked him on the shoulder hard enough to kill a cow—and the hind side of his head struck my tooth hard enough to’ve kilt a horse. He’s broke one of my upper fore-teeth smack in two.”
“Every man to his post!” exclaimed Boone, as a shower of arrows rattled about the premises.
Sneak now occupied Joe’s station, and the first glance in the direction of the savages sufficed to determine him how to act. Perhaps no one ever discharged a rifle more rapidly than he did. And a brisk and well-directed fire was kept up for some length of time, likewise, by the rest of the besieged.
It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing that Joedidfire without orders, and without any intention of doing so himself. It seemed that the savages had been meditating a desperate rush upon the fort, notwithstanding Boone’s prediction; for no sooner did Joe fire, than they hastily retreated a short distance, scattering in every direction, and, without a moment’s consultation, again appeared, advancing rapidly from every quarter. It was evident that this plan had been preconcerted among them; and had all fired, instead of Joe only, they might easily have scaled the palisade before the guns could have been reloaded. Neither had the besiegers been aware of the strength of the garrison. But they were soon made to understand that they had more than Glenn and his man to contend against. The discharges followed in such quick succession that they paused, when but a moment more would have placed them within the inclosure. But several of them being wounded, and Boone and Glenn still doing execution with their pistols, the discomfited enemy made a precipitate retreat. An occasional flight of arrows continued to assail the besieged, but they came from a great distance, for the Indians were not long in scampering beyond the range of the loopholes.
When Glenn could no longer see any of the dark forms of the enemy, he turned round to contemplate the sad condition of Joe. Joe was sitting up, with his hands locked round his knees.
“Well, split me in two!” cried Sneak, staring at his companion.
“What’s the matter, Sneak?” asked Joe, with much simplicity.
“That’s a purty question foryouto ask, after there for dead this half-hour almost”
“Have the Indians been here?” asked Joe, staring round wildly.
“Hain’t you heard us shooting?”
“My goodness,” cried Joe, springing up. “Oh! am I wounded? say!” he continued, evincing the most lively alarm.
“Well, if this don’t beat every thing that ever I saw in all my life, I wish I may be shot!” said Sneak.
“What is it?” asked Joe, his senses yet wandering.
“Jest feel the back of your head,” said Sneak. Joe put his hand to the place indicated, and winced under the pain of the touch. He then looked at his hand, and beholding a quantity of clotted blood upon it, fell down suddenly on the snow.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Glenn, who had seen his man sitting up, and came swiftly to him when he fell.
“I’m a dead man!” said Joe, mournfully.
“That’s a lie!” said Sneak.
“What ails you, Joe?” asked Glenn, his tone much softened.
“I’m dying—oh! I’m shot through the head!”
“Don’t believe him, Mr. Glenn—I’ll be smashed if its any thing but my tooth,” said Sneak.
“Oh—I’m dying!” continued Joe, pressing his hand against his head, while the pain and loss of blood actually produced a faintness, and his voice became very weak.
“Are you really much hurt?” continued Glenn, stooping down, and feeling his pulse.
“It’s all over!” muttered Joe. “I’m going fast. Sancte Petre!—Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificeter nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tu—”
Here Joe’s voice failed, and, falling into a syncope, Glenn and Sneak lifted him up and carried him into the house.
“Is he shot?” exclaimed Mary, instantly producing some lint and bandages which she had prepared in anticipation of such an event.
“I fear he has received a serious hurt,” said Glenn, aiding Mary, who had proceeded at once to bind up the wound.
“I’ll be split if he’s shot!” said Sneak, going out and returning to his post. Glenn did likewise when he saw the first indications of returning consciousness in his man; and Mary was left alone to restore and nurse poor Joe. But he could not have been in better hands.
“I should like to know something about them curious words the feller was speaking when he keeled over,” said Sneak, as he looked out at the now quiet scene from the loophole, and mused over the events of the night. “I begin to believe that the feller’s a going to die. I don’t believe any man could talk so, if he wasn’t dying.”
“Have you seen any of them lately?” inquired Boone, coming to Sneak’s post and running his eye along the horizon through the loophole.
“Not a one,” replied Sneak, “except that feller laying out yander by the snowball.”
“He’s dead,” said Boone, “and he is the only one that we are sure of having killed to-night. But many are wounded.”
“And smash me if Joe didn’t kill that one when his musket went off before he was ready,” said Sneak.
“Yes, I saw him fall when Joe fired; and that accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us,” continued Boone.
“But I’m sorry for poor Joe,” said Sneak.
“Pshaw!” said Boone; “he’ll be well again, in an hour.”
“No, he’s a gone chicken.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Didn’t he say so himself? and didn’t he gabble out a whole parcel of purgatory talk? He’s as sure gone as a stuck pig, I tell you,” continued Sneak.
“He will eat as hearty a breakfast to-morrow morning as ever he did in his life,” said Boone. “But let us attend to the business in hand. I hardly think we will be annoyed any more from this quarter, unless yonder dead Indian was a chief, and then it is more than probable they will try to steal him away. However, you may remain here. I, alone, can manage the others.”
“Which others?” inquired Sneak.
“Those under the snow,” replied Boone; “they are now within twenty paces of the palisade.”
“You don’t say so?” said Sneak, cocking his gun.
“I have been listening to them cutting through the snow a long while, and it will be a half hour yet before I spring the mine,” said Boone.
“I hope it will kill ’em all!” said Sneak.
“Watch close, and perhapsyouwill kill one yet from this loophole,” said Boone, returning to his post, where the slow-match was exposed through the palisade near the ground; and Roughgrove stood by, holding a pistol, charged with powder only, in readiness to fire the train when Boone should give the word of command.
Boone applied his ear to a crevice between the timbers near the earth, where the snow had been cleared away. After remaining in this position a few moments, he beckoned Glenn to him.
“Place your ear against this crevice,” said Boone.
“It is not the Indians I hear, certainly!” remarked Glenn. The sounds resembled the ticking of a large clock, differing only in their greater rapidity than the strokes of seconds.
“Most certainly it is nothing else,” replied Boone.
“But how do they produce such singular sounds? Is it the trampling of feet?” continued Glenn.
“It is the sound of many tomahawks cutting a passage,” replied Boone.
“But what disposition do they make of the snow, when it is cut loose.”
“A portion of them dig, while the rest convey the loose snow out and cast it down the cliff.”
While the above conversation was going on, a colloquy of a different nature transpired within the house. Joe, after recovering from his second temporary insensibility, had sunk into a gentle doze, which lasted many minutes. Mary had bathed his face repeatedly with sundry restoratives, and likewise administered a cordial that she had brought from her father’s house, which seemed to have a most astonishing somniferous effect. When the contents of the bottle were exhausted, she sat silently by, watching Joe’s apparent slumber, and felt rejoiced that her patient promised a speedy recovery. Once, after she had been gazing at the fawn, (that had been suffered to occupy a place near the wall, where it was now coiled up and sleeping,) on turning her eyes towards the face of Joe, she imagined for a moment that she saw him close his eyelids quickly. But calling him softly and receiving no answer, she concluded it was a mere fancy, and again resigned herself to her lonely watch. When she had been sitting thus some minutes, watching him patiently, she observed his eyes open slowly, and quickly smack to again, when he found that she was looking at him. But a moment after, conscious that his wakefulness was discovered, he opened them boldly, and found himself possessed of a full recollection of all the incidents of the night up to his disaster.
“Have they whipt all the Indians away that were standing out on the snow, Miss Mary?”
“Yes, long ago—and none have been seen, but the one you killed, for some time,” she replied, encouragingly.
“Did I kill one sure enough?” asked Joe, while his eyes sparkled exceedingly.
“Yes, indeed,” replied she; “and I heard Mr. Boone say he was glad it happened, and that the accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us.”
“Accident!” iterated Joe; “who says it was an accident?”
“Wasn’t it an accident?” asked the simple girl.
“No, indeed!” replied Joe. “But,” he continued, “have they blown up the other Indians yet?”
“Not yet—but I heard them say they would do it very soon. They can be heard digging under the snow now, very plainly,” said Mary.
“Indeed!” said Joe, with no little terror depicted in his face. “I wish you’d go and ask Mr. Boone if he thinks you’ll be entirely safe, if you please, Miss Mary,” said Joe beseechingly.
“I will,” responded Mary, rising to depart.
“And if they ask how I am,” continued Joe, “please say I am a great deal better, but too weak yet to go out.”
Mary did his bidding; and when she returned, what was her astonishment to find her patient running briskly across the room from the cupboard, with a whole roasted prairie-hen in one hand, or at least the body of it, while he tore away the breast with his teeth, and some half dozen crackers in the other! In vain did he attempt to conceal them under the covering of his bed, into which he jumped as quickly as possible. Guilt was manifest in his averted look, his trembling hand, and his greasy mouth! Mary gazed in silent wonder. Joe cowered under her glance a few moments, until the irresistible flavour of the fowl overcame him, and then his jaws were again set in motion.
“I fear that eating will injure you,” remarked Mary, at length.
“Never fear,” replied Joe. “When a sick person has a good appetite, it’s a sure sign he’s getting better.”
“If you think so you can eat as much as you please,” said Mary; “and you needn’t hide any thing from me.”
Joe felt a degree of shame in being so palpably detected, but his appetite soon got the better of his scruples, and he gratified the demands of his stomach without reserve.
“But what did Mr. Boone say?” asked he, peeping out.
“He says he thinks there is no danger. But the Indians are now within a few feet of the palisade, and the explosion is about to take place.”