The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

"Maria Indiana," she said, with mock severity, "you'll have to behave yourself better from now out, because I'm your mother."

The child's eyes filled and a big tear rolled down one cheek. She slid out of her chair and instinctively went to Robert, as one who might be trusted. "Is Tuzzin Bee my muzzer?" she asked plaintively.

"No, dear," he laughed, taking her up in his arms.

"Give her to me!" cried Beatrice, snatching her away from him. "You darling," she said tenderly, as another tear followed the first one; "I'm not your 'muzzer,' – I'm only your 'Tuzzin Bee.'"

"She's too little to joke with," said Forsyth, in an aside.

"And I'm too big to be lectured," replied Beatrice, with a saucy smile. "We get on all right, don't we, baby?"

Something in the girl's attitude, as she held the child in her arms, reminded Forsyth of a picture of the Madonna, and an unreasoning giddiness took possession of his senses. With a blind impulse to get away, he went out on the piazza, but Beatrice followed him.

"Cousin Rob," she said, in a low tone, "please tell me the truth – is there danger?"

There was no denial of that look in the eyes of the girl he loved, no chance to conceal the truth. He drew a quick inward breath as he thought, for the first time, what danger might mean to her. "Yes," he said, in a voice that was scarcely audible; "I am afraid there is."

In a flash he saw that she had misunderstood him, but it was too late to explain. The colour flamed into her cheeks, and she held her head high. "I'm sorry you're afraid," she said, scornfully, "I'm not!"

He looked after her helplessly as she went into the house, dazed by the consciousness that he had lost her forever. He knew then that she had never forgotten his failure to go up-stream with Ronald the night the Indians had been at Lee's, even though she had asked him to forgive her.

"I have lost her," he said to himself, over and over again, – "I have lost her." Second thought convinced him that he had had no chance from the beginning – since the night he leaned on his musket in the shelter of the Fort; confused past the power of action, when the Ensign asked for volunteers.

"Want to go over, Rob?" It was Mackenzie who asked the question, and Forsyth gladly welcomed the respite from his torturing thoughts.

At the Fort all was changed, for the order had been read that morning on parade, and the men stood about in little groups earnestly discussing it. Mrs. Franklin and Katherine were on the porch at the Lieutenant's, and Robert went there, feeling that their society would be more bearable than that of the men.

"If we go," said Katherine, "there'll be very little we can take with us."

"If we go!" snapped Mrs. Franklin. "Do you think for a minute we're not going? A soldier's first duty is to obey orders!"

Katherine turned a shade paler as she welcomed Forsyth. "Have you packed your belongings?" she asked.

"Not yet," he answered, with a hollow laugh. The impending danger was obscured, in his mind, by something of infinitely more moment. "When do we start?" he inquired of Mrs. Franklin.

"I don't know – Wallace hasn't decided. But we'll start when he says we will, and nobody need think we won't!"

"Kit," said Mackenzie, as he joined the group, "I wish you'd go over to your mother – she isn't well. Bee is with her, but perhaps you could do something."

"I'll go at once," replied Katherine.

"And I must go home," said Mrs. Franklin. "If I can do anything, just let me know."

Ronald and Lieutenant Howard were standing near the gate, and Forsyth stopped there when Mackenzie and Katherine went on home. "It's usual in such circumstances," Ronald was saying, bitterly, "to call a council of war."

"And by the Lord," flashed the Lieutenant, "there shall be a council of war! What are we – children, or fools?"

Ronald put a friendly arm across Forsyth's shoulders. "What do you think about it, old man?"

"I haven't thought about it. I'm not a soldier, you know, and I'm not supposed to think. Of course, I'll obey orders, and if it comes to trouble, here's one more man to fight – I'm with you to the last."

"Bully for you!" said Ronald. "If the Captain would listen to reason, there wouldn't be any trouble; but he won't – I know him too well."

"He is only one man," put in the Lieutenant, with sinister significance.

"And he is our superior officer," concluded Ronald. "Hello, Norton!"

The Doctor and the Lieutenant exchanged cool salutations. The faces of the others were clouded, but the Doctor was as serene as the clear blue sky overhead. "Haven't you heard?" asked Forsyth, in astonishment.

"What's the odds?" queried Norton, with a cynical shrug of his broad shoulders. "So far, we have one life and one death; at the end of one we meet the other – how does it matter, when or which way?"

"It matters to me," said Ronald, huskily, "whether I die like a soldier or like a beast."

"'Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,'" quoted Norton, suggestively. "Clay we were in the beginning and clay we shall be at the end. 'Dust thou art; to dust shalt thou return.'"

Lieutenant Howard's white teeth showed in a sarcastic smile, but he said nothing. He seemed interested and even amused by the surgeon's point of view.

"That's all very well for you," retorted Ronald, "because you're a selfish brute, with water in your veins instead of a man's blood. If you loved a woman – "

The Lieutenant instantly stiffened. His smile disappeared, leaving a frown in its place, and Norton's face changed, almost imperceptibly. "If I loved a woman," he said, "I would protect her at the risk of my own life, my own happiness, my own soul. If need be, I would protect her even from herself. If I loved a woman she should think of me in just one way – as her shield."

For the sheerest fraction of an instant his eyes met Howard's, openly and unashamed; then, with another shrug of his shoulders, he turned away, saying, "I must go back to my lint and my bandages – we may need them before long."

Forsyth went back to the trading station, and the other two continued their uneasy march around the parade-ground. "I think," said the Lieutenant, "that the sane, reasoning men in the settlement, outside the ranks, ought to get together and talk to the Captain."

"It won't do any good," replied Ronald, dubiously.

"No? Perhaps not, but there's nothing like trying. We don't have to go, you know – it's not compulsory. The boys would be with us, and, as I said before, he's only one man."

Ronald recoiled as if from a blow. "God, man," he said, thickly, "don't make me forget I'm a soldier!" He swallowed hard, and it was some time before he spoke again. "I don't mind telling you, privately, that I don't think much of Captain Franklin, nor," he added, as an afterthought, "of General Hull; but, in one sense at least, they're my superior officers. I don't know what's going to happen to me in the next world, nor even if there is any next world; but I'll march to the end of my enlistment with my soldier's honour still unstained."

The Lieutenant gnawed his mustache in silence while Ronald walked beside him, breathing heavily. "It's madness," said the Ensign; "we all know that. The North-western Army is at Detroit, and the British are at Fort Mackinac – unless they've already started down here. Meanwhile, the Indians, leagued to a man with the enemy, are waiting for us to set foot outside the Fort. That fellow that brought the despatches dared to inquire what we were going to do – so the tribes could act in harmony, I suppose! Of course, it's possible that we can get through to Fort Wayne in safety, and go on to Detroit with a force large enough to clear our path – but I doubt it."

"Well," said Howard, "let's have a try at it. Let's call a council of war."

"All right – I'll go across for Mackenzie and Forsyth, while you get Norton."

The Lieutenant waited until he saw the others coming before he delivered the message. The two men stood facing each other for a moment after the salute. "Doctor Norton," said Howard, stiffly, "we have called a council of war at Captain Franklin's, immediately. Will you be present?"

"Yes; if you wish it, I will."

"I do wish it," answered the Lieutenant, clearing his throat.

Captain Franklin himself opened the door to the five men, and there was no trace of agitation in his manner as he welcomed them and bade them be seated. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?" he inquired, after an awkward silence.

"We have come for a word with you, Captain," replied Lieutenant Howard. "In effect, this is a council of war."

"One moment please." The Captain went to the door, summoned his orderly, and gave him a whispered message. "Now, then, I am ready to listen."

"Do you intend to obey this order from General Hull's headquarters?"

"Certainly – why not?"

"Captain," said Ronald, "we appreciate your position, but you must see that it is highly improbable that we should ever reach Detroit, or even Fort Wayne, in safety. Since war was declared against England, the Indians have been openly hostile. The country through which we must pass is infested with them, and they are in league with our enemies. For what reason do the English pay an annual tribute to the Indians, at the same time searching our ships on the high seas? Do you remember, before war was declared, two of the Calumet chiefs told you that our women would soon be hoeing in their corn-fields? If you need further proof, consider for a moment that the Indian who brought the despatches wore the blood-red flag of our enemy.

"Captain, our march must be slow. We have women and children to protect, and feeble men of seventy and more in our own ranks. We have only a few horses, scarcely enough for the women, and about fifty fighting men. If General Hull had been acquainted with the conditions, he would not have given the order. As it is, we must act upon our own judgment, and, short of suicide, only one course seems to be open."

"Is this your opinion also, Lieutenant Howard?"

"It is."

"Doctor Norton?"

"I am not a military man, but I agree in substance with what has been said."

"Mr. Mackenzie?"

"I'm no soldier, either," said the trader, "but I think the proper course has been described. Of course, if we go, I'll lose everything I've got in the world; but I don't care for that, if we only do what's best."

"Mr. Forsyth?"

"Like my uncle, I'm no soldier, but I agree with Ensign Ronald. Still, I will do what seems best, obey whatever orders may be given by those in authority, and if you wish to send a messenger to Detroit I am at your service. I will take my horse and start at once."

"Gentlemen," said the Captain, ignoring the suggestion, "I appreciate the spirit in which you have come to me, but it is impossible to disobey orders. A soldier's obedience is paramount to all other considerations. Special orders have been issued by the War Department that no post is to be surrendered without battle having been given. Our force is inadequate to cope with either Indians or British, and I should be severely censured for remaining, if not court-martialed.

"On the other hand, even if the Indians are in league with the enemy because of the yearly distribution of presents, we have weapons of the same kind in our hands, and I shall not hesitate to use them. There is a prospect of a safe march through, and I propose to ally the Indians, temporarily at least, with us."

Here the orderly entered, bringing with him Black Partridge.

"Say to him," said Franklin to Mackenzie, "that the White Father bids him assemble his people from the four quarters of the earth before noon of to-morrow's sun." The trader translated rapidly as the Captain spoke.

"Tell him that we have long dwelt side by side in peace and content, except when our brother, Black Partridge, was away from us, and the Winnebagoes, fearing nothing because our protectors were gone, fell upon us to kill.

"Say that our Great White Father in Washington has bidden us to assemble at another place, even as he will bid his people to assemble here, and that, while our hearts are torn with sorrow, we must obey the command. Tell him that we wish him and his people to see us start upon our journey, and that our cattle and our provisions, our clothing and our supplies, at present in the storehouses of the Great White Father, will be given to him and his people as a parting gift. Tell him all this and ask him if he understands."

Mackenzie was translating, sentence by sentence, and all eyes were turned upon Black Partridge. The Indian stood as calm and as immovable as stone, listening intently, with only the glitter of his eyes betraying any interest whatsoever.

"Tell him that long shall remain in our hearts the memory of the kindness received at the hands of our brethren the Pottawattomies, and the wise counsel of the Great Chief who rules them. Some day, when other suns have run their course, and the Great White Father gives us permission, we shall return to live in peace once more with our brethren, the Pottawattomies, and their Great Chief, Black Partridge, who is our brother and our friend. Ask him if he understands."

The harsh gutturals of the question fell upon the ears of the bronze statue, and, for the moment, there was a tense stillness in the room. Then the Indian signified that he understood, and withdrew as silently and as sinuously as a snake in the grass.

CHAPTER XVIII

"IF I WERE IN COMMAND"

Long before the word had been given, the Indians were coming in. Winnebagoes, Ottawas, Chippewas, and Pottawattomies, from north, south, and west, were gathering in the woods around Fort Dearborn. Like the rattlesnake coiled to strike, like vultures drawn to a battlefield, silent, sinister, and deadly, the lines were closing in.

Noon was the hour appointed for the council, and at that time Black Partridge, through Mackenzie, made known to Captain Franklin that it would be another day before all the Pottawattomies could be assembled. "Till noon of to-morrow's sun," said the Captain, sternly; "not one moment more."

Beatrice, from the window of the trading station, saw innumerable Indians, dressed and painted in the manner of other tribes, carefully inspecting the house and barn as if appraising their value. The Agency building was haunted by others, who peered in furtively at the windows, hoping for an early look at the goods which were to be distributed among the tribes.

Mrs. Mackenzie had recovered from the first shock and went about the house as usual, quiet yet cheerful, and patient with the children and her manifold household tasks. To Beatrice only she admitted her fear.

"Don't talk about it, Aunt Eleanor – we must all try to think about something else."

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Mackenzie, "we must not fret away the strength we will need for the journey. Your uncle has slept scarcely an hour since the news came."

"I know, Aunt Eleanor, I know."

"You must help me be brave, dear. Someway, of late, I have felt myself a coward, and it has made me ashamed. Not for myself alone, but for the children – "

The sweet voice quivered, then broke; and for the moment Beatrice's eyes were dim, but she swiftly put the weakness from her.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Aunt Eleanor. The British haven't come, and as for the Indians, why, they wouldn't dare to attack the soldiers. We'll get to Fort Wayne, safe and sound, and perhaps the whole army will go on to Detroit with us. I wonder what my aunt and uncle will say when they see me riding Queen into Fort Wayne at the head of the troops!"

Mrs. Mackenzie laughed in spite of herself. "I hope you're right, Bee."

Forsyth and Ronald were walking back and forth in front of the Fort, talking earnestly. A little apart stood Mackenzie and Captain Franklin, while Indians went in and out of the stockade, apparently at pleasure.

"Aunt Eleanor," said Beatrice, thoughtfully, "I read a story once about a girl. There were two men who – who – well, they liked her, you know. They were both good, but there was a difference. One always teased her and tormented her and made her feel at odds with herself, even though she knew he was just in fun.

"The other always rested her. No matter how tired she was, or how much out of sorts she happened to be, it always made her feel better to be with him. He was quiet and his ways were gentle, and he knew more about – about books and things, you know. The other one was a soldier, and this one was a student, but he – he wasn't brave. He couldn't help it, but he was afraid."

"A woman never could love a man who wasn't brave," said Mrs. Mackenzie.

"No, of course she couldn't."

"And if a man always teased and tormented a woman, and made her feel irritable, she would never be happy with him."

"No; she couldn't expect to be."

"Perhaps she had made a mistake about the other one – perhaps he really was brave."

"No; because she saw him twice when she knew he was afraid."

"Then she shouldn't marry either one."

"That's what I thought," said Beatrice.

"Which one did she marry?"

"Who, Aunt Eleanor?"

"Why, the girl in the story?"

"Oh," answered Beatrice, colouring; "why, I – I've forgotten. It's queer, isn't it, how people forget things?"

"What book was it in?"

"I – I don't remember. My memory is poor, Aunt Eleanor. I'm going to my room, now, if you don't want me, and pack up some of my things."

Red and white clover blossomed in the yard, where the children were playing, and a butterfly winged its way through the open window, then flew swiftly out again. Mrs. Mackenzie sat by the table with her face hidden in her hands, while childish voices came to her ears in laughing cadence and filled her heart with fear and pain. Then there was a touch upon her shoulder.

"Eleanor!"

"Why," she said, looking up, "I didn't hear you, John."

Her clear eyes revealed a sadness beyond tears. "Eleanor," said her husband, with the muscles working about his mouth, "I can't bear for you to feel so."

"I – I'm all right, John. Don't fret about me."

"No, you ain't all right – don't you think I know? I've brought you into danger, Eleanor – I see it now, and that's the thing that hurts me most of all. It's nothing to lose all I've got, for that's happened to me before, and I'm only fifty – I can get it all back again, but I can't ever change the fact that I've brought you into danger. I promised before God that I'd protect you, and I haven't done it. I've taken you to a place where it ain't safe."

The man's distress was pitiful. His gigantic frame was bent like an oak in the path of a furious storm and every line on his haggard face was distinct, as if it had been cut. His dark eyes, under their bushy brows, were utterly despairing; he was like one whose hope is dead and buried past the power of resurrection.

"John, dear – " she began, with her hand on his bowed head.

"I've brought you into danger," he said helplessly, "I've brought you into danger, you and – " A lump in his throat put an end to speech, and with his hand he indicated the children.

"John, dear, don't talk so. I – I can't help feeling anxious, but I'm not afraid. In all the nine years we've lived here, the Indians have been our friends. There isn't one who would lift his hand against you or yours."

"They ain't all our friends, Eleanor. There's hundreds and hundreds of them coming in, even from as far away as the Wabash. How should they know that we are their friends? I've brought you into danger," he repeated. "I can't ever forget that."

"My husband," she said, and the tone was a caress, "we promised each other for better or for worse. 'Where thou goest, I will go, thy people shall be my people, and – ' I forget the rest.

"If we've come to danger, we'll meet it together, side by side. When I promised to marry you, I didn't mean it just for the smooth places, I meant it for all. In all these twelve years you've shielded me – whatever you could do to make things easier for me, you've done, and all that love and care has been in vain if I am not strong enough to do my part now.

"There's never been a harsh word between us, John; we've never fussed and quarrelled as some married people do, and we never will. The road has been long, and sometimes it's been dusty and hot, but we've never walked on thorns, and whatever we've come to, you've always helped me through it.

"If this is the end, why, there's nothing to look back on to make either of us ashamed, nothing to regret, not a word to be sorry for, not a single thing for which either of us should say 'Forgive me.' If this is death, we'll face it as I have dreamed we should, if God were good to us; we'll face it as I've prayed we might – hand in hand!"

"Eleanor!" he cried, clasping her in his arms. "Brave heart, you give me faith! True soul, you make me strong!" His trembling lips sought hers, then on her face she felt his tears.

"Well, upon my word!" said Beatrice, from the doorway. "I hope I don't interrupt?"

Blushing like a schoolgirl, Mrs. Mackenzie released herself and the trader laughed mirthlessly. "You're a saucy minx, Bee," he said, with a little catch in his voice. Then the primitive masculine impulse asserted itself and he went out, covered with confusion.

"What have you been doing, Bee?"

"Nothing much. How pretty you are, Aunt Eleanor! I haven't seen your cheeks so pink for many a day."

The deep colour mantled Mrs. Mackenzie's fair face. "Where's Robert?" she asked hastily.

"Don't know," murmured Beatrice, instantly beating a retreat. "See, Aunt Eleanor."

Out of the mysterious recesses of her pocket, she drew a bag, made of gay calico, with a long string attached to it.

"Very pretty – what is it for, dear?"

"It's for cartridges," laughed Beatrice. "If I ride with the soldiers, I have to bear arms. I've got my pistol – the one Mr. Ronald gave me the day after I came here, and I'm going over to the Fort now, after ammunition."

She seemed to be in high spirits as she pirouetted around the room, but there was an undertone of sadness, even in her laugh. She was half-way to the door when she turned, moved by a sudden tenderness, and came back.

"Dear, sweet Aunt Eleanor," she said, rubbing her cheek against Mrs. Mackenzie's, "you've always been so good to me. Perhaps you've thought me ungrateful, but truly I'm not, and I want to thank you now."

"You've been like a second daughter to me, dear," said the other, a little unsteadily, "you've done more for me than I ever could do for you."

Ronald was waiting for Beatrice on the other side of the river while she was pulling across, and she waved her bright coloured bag at him in gay fashion. "You gave me a gun," she said, "but you didn't give me anything to put in it. I want cartridges."

"How many?" he asked, smiling.

"As many as the bag will hold."

"Foolish child, you never can carry all those."

"Oh, but I can – you don't know how strong I am! I'm going to tie it around my waist, you know."

"Happy bag," said Ronald, as he took it from her. "I'll get them for you," he continued, seriously.

"One thing more," she said, with lowered voice. "If – if – well, the Indians will never get me. And they shall not have Queen. Where shall I shoot?"

"Fire at the exact centre of the line between Queen's eyes."

In spite of herself the girl shuddered. "And – and – ?" she asked, looking up into his face.

"The right temple," answered Ronald, huskily. "Heart's Desire, you are a mate for a king!"

Forsyth passed them on his way to the entrance of the Fort, and Beatrice put out a restraining hand. "Where are you going, Cousin Rob?"

"Home – to open school."

"I thought this was vacation?"

"It is, but it is better for the children, under the circumstances, to have their minds occupied."

The oars splashed in the water, and Ronald turned to her again. "Darling – "

"Look," interrupted Beatrice, "there's the Lieutenant." She hailed him merrily. "Cousin Ralph, is Katherine at home?"

"I believe so," he answered, coming toward them; "if not, she's at Mrs. Franklin's."

"I'm going to find her." She made an elaborate courtesy to each of them, and departed.

"Ronald," said the Lieutenant, "this is absolute foolishness, and something has got to be done. How many hundred Indians do you suppose have already gathered here – and Black Partridge postponing the council till the rest get in – any fool can see what it means!"