The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

Praying that she might not be too late, she seized a loaded musket, aimed through the porthole, and fired. It seemed an age before she saw the Captain through the smoke, running back to the Fort, and the two Indians making for the woods.

"Thank God!" she breathed, "thank God!" Then she turned – and faced her husband, his face so ghastly that she scarcely knew him.

"Ralph!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Ralph!"

His eyes refused to meet hers, and a tumult surged in her brain. Detached pictures of her childhood, confused and unrelated memories, and a thousand trivial things passed swiftly before her mental vision. Then, as if by magic, there was a clearing – all things gave way to the horrible knowledge that he had seen – and had failed to warn.

"Ralph! Ralph! My husband!"

The blood beat hard in her pulses and her lips curled in scorn. Then her unspeakable contempt melted to pity, as she saw how the man was suffering. Like an avenging angel she stood before him, confronting him mutely with his sin.

Captain Franklin came into the Fort. As the Lieutenant saw him safe and sound, he groaned deeply, like one whose suspense is ended. Then he raised his eyes to the face of his wife.

"I thank you, Katherine," he said, gravely; "you have saved me from myself."

CHAPTER XX

RECONCILIATION

That night, while the sentries kept guard, Lieutenant Howard paced to and fro, as sleepless and as vigilant as they. Now and then parties of soldiers came through the gates with ammunition or liquor from the Agency, and piled it in front of the storehouse to await the Captain's orders. Throughout the night the contraband goods were transported, as quietly as possible, in order that the suspicions of the Indians might not be aroused.

The Second in Command was in the midst of that battle with self which every man fights at least once in his life. The events of the past few days and his own part in them confronted him with persistent accusation. The prairie beyond the Fort and the figure of the Captain were etched upon his mental vision with the acid of relentless memory.

The scales fell from his eyes at last, and he saw himself clearly – mutinous, insubordinate, unworthy of his office; distrusting his wife and alienating his friends. Conscience, too long asleep, awoke to demand such reparation as lay in his power to make.

Ten minutes more and it would have been too late. Ten minutes more and the deadly tomahawk of an unseen foe would have been buried in the Captain's brain. That little space of time was all that stood between him and the command of Fort Dearborn – a command which he had planned to use in open rebellion against the orders of his superior officer.

Cold sweat stood out upon his forehead, and his clenched hands trembled. Ten minutes more and he would have been a murderer in deed as well as in thought, though his hands would not have been stained and there would have been no proof of his guilt. The pine knots blazed fitfully in the crevices of the stockade, turning to a ghastly glare as daylight came on. "A murderer!" he said to himself over and over again; "a murderer!" He was like one who wakes from some horrible nightmare with the spell of it still upon him, and wondering yet if it is not true.

Behind it all was a new emotion, – a new feeling for Katherine. Her hand had saved him. She had drawn him back from the brink of the abyss even as the ground was crumbling beneath his feet – Katherine, his wife, whom he had sworn to love and to cherish, and whom he had made miserable instead. To-morrow, or at most the day after, would see the end of it all. Two days remained in which to make atonement – two days, snatched from the past, to fulfil the promise of the future that once had seemed so fair.

"All in, sir," said a soldier. "Not a box nor a barrel is left at the Agency. It's all there." He pointed to a pyramid in front of the storehouse, which was almost as high as the building itself.

"No one saw you?" queried the Lieutenant.

"No, sir; no one saw. One of the pickets has just come in, and he says, sir, that every blamed Injun is up in the north woods. There's been a dance going on all night."

"Very well," answered the Lieutenant, carelessly; but his heart sank within him.

"Mad Margaret was there, too, sir – she was havin' one of her spells."

"Well," said the Lieutenant, sharply, "what of it?"

"Nothing, sir – excuse me, sir." The soldier saluted and went away.

The night wind died down and the sun rose in a fury of heat. No clouds softened the hard, metallic sky – it was like a concave mirror on which the sun beat pitilessly.

The guard was changed, and presently Doctor Norton came out on the parade-ground. When he saw who was there, he turned to go back, then waited, for the Lieutenant was coming swiftly toward him.

They faced each other for a moment, like adversaries measuring the opposing strength, then Norton smiled. "Well?" he asked calmly.

"I have not come to you," said the Lieutenant, thickly, "as you have doubtless expected me to. We have no time to cherish any sort of a grudge when, in two days at least, we start for Fort Wayne. You know what awaits us on the way, and if worst comes to worst, and I can no longer protect her, I ask you to make Mrs. Howard your especial care."

Schooled as he was in self-control, the Doctor started, and the expression of his face changed as he looked keenly at the Lieutenant.

"What!" cried the other, scornfully, "are you not willing to do that much for her?"

"Lieutenant Howard, as you say, it is no time to cherish a grudge. What you have asked of me would be an honour at any time, but I will not accept the trust until you know from me how I stand. I love your wife with all my heart and soul."

"Have you told her so?" asked Howard, quickly.

"In words, no – but I think she understands – in fact, I hope and believe that she understands."

The silence was tense, and Lieutenant Howard gnawed his mustache nervously. His hand went to his belt instinctively, then dropped to his side.

"I fear you have misjudged her," the Doctor continued. "A purer, truer woman never drew the breath of life. In word or act or thought she has never been disloyal to you. I said a moment ago that I loved her, but it is more than that – it is the worship that a man gives to a woman as far above him as the stars."

"In that case," said Howard, in a hoarse whisper, "you are well fitted to protect her."

"You still offer me that trust?" asked the other, eagerly.

The answer was scarcely audible. "I do."

Their eyes met in a long look of keen scrutiny on one side, and of fearless honesty upon the other. Then Norton extended his hand. The Lieutenant grasped it, caught his breath quickly, then turned away, for once the master of himself.

Beatrice came out of the Captain's house and smiled at him as he stood there with his head bowed. "You're – you're out early," he said, with an effort.

"I couldn't sleep. It was hot, and – Cousin Ralph, you must tell me. I am not a child, to be kept in the dark. What is this horrible thing that seems to be hovering over us? Uncle John does not speak to any one; twice yesterday I found Aunt Eleanor crying; Cousin Rob and Mr. Ronald are not in the least like themselves; Kit and Mrs. Franklin are as pale as ghosts, and you – I saw you walking here all night. What does it mean? Tell me!"

"We fear attack," he answered sharply.

"Indians or British?"

"Indians – under British orders."

For a moment the girl stared at him as if she did not believe what he said. "Would they – would they – " she gasped, "turn those fiends upon us?"

"Yes," he cried, "they would! They have done so in times past and they will do so again! They – I beg your pardon – I have forgotten myself – I – I – "

"Cousin Ralph, you are not well. You have walked all night, and you need rest. I understand your anxiety, your fears for us, but you need not be alarmed. We are women, but we are weak only in body – at heart we are soldiers like you, and, like you, we will obey orders. Cousin Ralph! You are ill! Come!"

He staggered, but did not fall. Beatrice put her arm around him and helped him home. "Don't be frightened, Kit," she said, when the door was opened; "he's just tired. He's been up all night and sleep will bring him to himself again."

"Can I help?" asked Forsyth, anxiously. He had come to ask Beatrice if she would not breakfast at home.

"Yes, please," said Mrs. Howard, quietly. "Help me get him into bed. He has been under a great nervous strain."

Beatrice sat on the piazza and waited. She had said she was not weak, but she was suffering keenly, none the less. After a little Robert came back. "He went to sleep immediately," he said; "but Mrs. Howard prefers to stay with him."

"Then we'll go home," she sighed. Together they went out of the stockade into the merciless heat that already had set shimmering waves to vibrating in the air. She drooped like a broken lily – her strength was gone.

Robert's heart went out to her in pity, and something more. When they reached the piazza he put his hand upon her arm. "Beatrice, dear," he said, softly, "lean on me. I cannot bear to see you so – my darling, let me help you!"

His voice shook, but she did not seem to hear. "I'm tired," she answered dully; "I – I didn't sleep." She put him away from her very gently. "I – I'm so tired," she repeated, with an hysterical laugh that sounded like a sob. "I don't want any breakfast – I just want to lie down and rest. Don't let Aunt Eleanor worry."

She went down the passage unsteadily, and he watched her until she was safely within her own room. He quieted Mrs. Mackenzie's fears as best he could, and managed to eat a part of his breakfast, though it was as dust and ashes in his mouth.

"Rob," said the trader, "can you help me to-day?"

"Certainly, Uncle."

"We've got to get all the goods out of here and out of the Agency, and divide them into lots of equal value. Black Partridge says seven hundred of his people are entitled to the gifts. The Captain and I decided last night to put the things out behind the Fort, send the Indians by in single file, and let each one choose as he will. Black Partridge agreed to the plan. He will form the line himself, so there's no chance for trouble."

The bateau was put into service, and Chandonnais was instructed to carry all the stores from the trading station to the esplanade, where two of the soldiers kept guard. Mackenzie and Forsyth, with the aid of a number of soldiers, carried out nearly all the stores from the Agency House, reserving only the provisions needed for the march.

Mackenzie had made out lists the night before from his inventory, so the task was not as difficult as it first appeared. As the men brought out the goods, articles of a kind were grouped together, so, with the aid of his note-book, the lots were quickly formed.

Had it not been for the heat, the task would have been finished by noon; but two o'clock found the tired men still at work and the long line of Indians waiting impatiently, kept back by the pickets on guard and the commands of their chief.

"Why," said Mackenzie, in surprise, "the things aren't all here. Three blankets are missing, two hams, a side of bacon, some calico, and I don't know what all."

"Haven't you made a mistake, Uncle?"

"No, I'm sure I haven't. Somebody must have stolen them, but I don't know how nor when it could have happened. Go up to the Fort, Rob, and get all the blankets they can spare – I can even up while you're gone."

The Indians were waiting with ill-concealed eagerness, and in half an hour more the word was given. Each went in turn to the wide stretch of prairie where the piles of merchandise were placed, and where sentinels were stationed to prevent stealing. When one started back with his goods, another went, and so on, until late in the afternoon.

On account of the great number of Indians and the reservation of provisions for the march, as well as four months' depletion of the stores, the portion of each one was small; but there were no signs of discontent until the distribution was over and the last Indian gathered up the single pile that was left and went back to his place at the foot of the line.

Then Black Partridge called Mackenzie and said he wished to speak to Captain Franklin.

"The goods of the White Father have been given to his children, the red men," translated Mackenzie. "We have received the blankets, calicoes, prints, paints, broadcloths, and the tobacco that the White Father promised us at the second hour after noon of yesterday's sun. All is as it was written. But where is the powder and shot of the Great White Father? Where are the muskets that were in the storehouse? Why can we not have weapons for our hunting during the long Winter that is but four moons away?

"The feet of the palefaces have a strange tread. They have frightened away the deer, the wolves, and the foxes that the Great Spirit has placed in the forest for his children to slay. Where is the firewater that strengthens the arm and the heart of the red man – the firewater which is the best gift of the Great White Father? Much of it was in the storehouse – we have seen it with our own eyes, but now it is gone."

"Say to him," said the Captain, "that when the strange tread of the palefaces has died away on the trail, the forest will once more fill with the wolves and the deer and the foxes that the Great Spirit has given for his children to kill. In the meantime, we leave our cattle for our brothers, the Pottawattomies, beside whom we have so long dwelt in peace. The grass is green upon the plains and there is water for all. When the long Winter night comes upon them, the hay that we have stacked in the fields will sustain the cattle until the Great Spirit once more sends the sun. There are roots in our storehouses with which they may do as they please, and they will not miss the deer and the wolves and the foxes that the palefaces have frightened away.

"The firewater which our brothers think they have seen in our storehouses was not firewater, but only empty casks. The red man is brave, and it has been written by the Great White Father that he needs no firewater to strengthen his arm and his heart. It is for women and for children and for men who are not strong, as the medicine man of the Pottawattomies has told them many times. It would be displeasing to the Great White Father should we take away the firewater from the palefaces who need it, for the sake of the red men who need it not.

"We have given to our brothers freely all that we have to give. It is a sorrow in our hearts that there is not more, but our storehouses are empty, as they must see, and other gifts are promised at the place of our assembly.

"When other moons have waxed and waned, and when the Great White Father has made known unto us his commands, we shall return once more to the river and the plains to dwell by the Great Blue Water with our brothers, the Pottawattomies, whose kindness and whose wise counsels are forever written in our hearts."

"They say it is well," said Mackenzie, when the long speech and its brief answer had been translated; "and that they will pray unceasingly to the Great Spirit that the moons may be few ere the friends of the red men return."

Forsyth and Mackenzie went home thoroughly exhausted. Night brought no relief from the intense heat, and the guards paced listlessly to and fro. Under cover of the darkness a small company of soldiers, under Ronald's orders, broke up the muskets and flint-locks, wet down the powder, put the shot into the well in the sally-port, and knocked in the heads of the barrels containing liquor.

Careful as they were, noise was inevitable. Barrel after barrel was rolled to the river bank and its contents poured into the stream. A cask of alcohol shared the same fate, and the peculiar, pungent odour filled the air.

"It's too late, sir," said a soldier, when he came in, rolling the last empty barrel before him.

"What do you mean?" demanded Ronald.

"The Indians, sir. Three of them are lying in the grass downstream, drinking the river water for the sake of the grog."

"Where are the rest?"

"In the woods, sir, dancing, same as last night. The northern pickets told me, sir."

A long, low whistle came from the Ensign's lips. "If I might be so bold, sir," continued the man, in a low tone, "some of the boys have thought as how you weren't falling in with this order of the Cap'n's. Orders is orders – we know that – but the boys are with you, to a man. We'll do whatever you say, sir."

In spite of the threat which the words veiled, Ronald was deeply touched by the devotion of the barracks. He laid his hand on the man's shoulders before speaking.

"To be with me is to be with the Captain," he said. "It is one and the same. Trying times must come to all of us, and for a soldier there can be no nobler end than to die fighting for his country. Captain Franklin will ask no one of us to go where he would not go himself. Tell the boys that, and that to stand by the Captain is to stand by me."

"All right, sir. And the barrels isn't all emptied. There's a cask over in the barracks. The boys thought it might hearten 'em up a bit, and they said, sir, that you wouldn't care."

"You are welcome to it," answered Ronald, absently, "but make a good use of it. We'll need a steady hand, each and every man of us, when we start out on the march."

The night sentinels came on and the soldier went on to the barracks, where his comrades were making merry with the wine. "I wonder," said Ronald to himself, "what would have happened if he had said that to – to another?"

Even in his thought he did not name the Lieutenant, but, as he passed the house, he saw Katherine moving back and forth before the open window. "Poor girl," he said aloud. "Poor girl!"

Katherine had had a hard day, even though her husband had slept without a break since Forsyth helped her get him into bed. At first she thought he had been drinking, though she knew he was not in the habit of it. Mrs. Franklin had been over and had been told indifferently that the Lieutenant was tired out and was resting.

It was late when he awoke, rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed. Katherine went to him and put her cool hand upon his hot face. "Are you better, dear?" she asked.

"Yes," he sighed; "I'm all right. It's hot, isn't it?"

She sat down on the bed beside him and talked to him soothingly, as if he were a tired child. She told him everything that had occurred during the day, and said she was glad he could rest. She got him a glass of water, then bathed his flushed face with a soft cloth and stroked his hands gently with her cool fingers.

For a long time he watched her as she ministered to him with unfailing gentleness. Her straight shoulders were bent a little and there were lines upon her face; but the ashen gold of her hair and the deep blue of her eyes were the same as when he first loved her – so long ago. He remembered the mad joy that possessed him when his lips first touched hers, and the crushing sorrow of their bereavement, which should have drawn them closer together, but instead had driven them apart. He knew that another man loved her and that she knew it also, yet she had been loyal.

As she went out, he wondered whether another woman in her place would have been true to him. With a swift searching of self he tried to remember some tender word that he had said to her, but it was all blotted out, as if darkness had come between them. For the first time he looked at their life together from her point of view, and shuddered as he saw how she might think of him. Her silence and her patience were evident to him, as they had not been before. Many a time he had seen the blue eyes fill and the sweet mouth tremble at some careless word of his, and often, too, he had seen her shut her teeth together hard when some shaft was meant to sting.

Two days were left – no, only one – for it was night now. One day in which to atone for the countless hurts of the past four years. The dominant self melted into unwonted tenderness as she came back into the room.

"I was gone too long," she said quickly; "but I didn't mean to be."

"Katherine!" he said in a new voice.

"Yes, dear; what is it?" She sat down beside him once more and looked anxiously into his face, fearing that he was ill.

"What is it, dear?" she asked again.

"Nothing," he said huskily; "only that I love you and I want you to forgive me."

"Ralph! Ralph!" she cried, sinking into his arms, "there's nothing to forgive; but I've prayed so long that I might hear you say it!"

"Will you?" he pleaded, with his face hidden against her breast.

"Yes," she cried, "a thousand times, yes! I've wanted you to love me as I've never wanted anything else in the world!"

"I love you with all my soul," he said simply. "I – " A catch in his throat put an end to speech, for her love-lit face, wet with tears, was very near to his. His arms closed hungrily around her, and the lips that but a moment before were quivering with sobs, were crushed in eternal pardon against his own.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST DAY IN THE FORT

"Sir," said a soldier; "some one is coming!"

"From which way?" asked the Captain.

"South, sir."

Captain Franklin climbed the ladder that led into the blockhouse at the south-east corner of the stockade, wondering whether it was friend or foe who approached. Dim upon the far horizon was a single rider, who moved slowly, as if his horse were tired. Behind him marched a small company of Indians.

"What do you make of it, sir?" asked the guard in the blockhouse, anxiously.

"He bears no flag," answered the Captain. "Train the guns and wait for a signal."

Only the north gate of the Fort was open, and, as always of late, it was well protected; but, none the less, the Captain's heart was heavy. He strained his eyes toward the rider, far across the sun-baked prairie, and the minutes seemed like hours. The man sat his horse like an Indian, yet, someway, even at the distance, conveyed the impression that he was a white man.

The news quickly spread, and the soldiers who were off duty mounted the stockade. As the company came nearer, the rider waved his hat, but the men at the Fort made no answer until one soldier, with keener eyes than the rest, shouted joyously, "Captain Wells!"

"Captain Wells! Captain Wells!" The parade-ground rang with the cry. The two fifes and two drums struck up a military air, and a small escort marched to meet him.

"Captain Wells!" The shout brought every soldier to the front, and even the women, smiling, waited for him at the gate. The escort turned back, and, swiftly upon the sound of the music, the cannon boomed a welcome.

When the travel-stained rider dismounted, Captain Franklin wrung his hand as if he never would let it go. "God bless you," he cried; "what brought you here?"

"Orders from General Hull," answered Captain Wells. "I have brought thirty faithful Miami Indians to escort your command to Fort Wayne."

Beatrice, Forsyth, the Mackenzies and their children, as well as every one at the Fort, gave Captain Wells a warm reception. "Come to our house," said Katherine.

"He's not going to your house," answered Mrs. Franklin. "He's my uncle, and he's coming to mine."

It was some time before the Indian escort was taken care of, and Wells and Franklin had an opportunity to discuss the situation.

"How are things with you?" asked Wells, anxiously.

"All right, I guess; I've been doing the best I can. On the ninth I received orders from General Hull to evacuate the post and proceed with my command to Detroit by land, leaving it to my discretion to dispose of the public property as I thought proper. The Indians got the information as early as I did, and they have come from all quarters to receive the gifts. I asked Black Partridge to summon his people, but I don't believe all the Indians here are Pottawattomies. I have given them all the goods in the factory store, and all the provisions which we cannot take with us. I have destroyed the surplus arms and ammunition, fearing they would make a bad use of it, and I have also destroyed all the liquor."

"Do the Indians seem friendly?"

"Yes – of course they wanted the ammunition and liquor, but I explained that. There has been some friction here at the post. The Mackenzies, of course, are opposed to going, and the feeling has affected others. There does not seem to be much danger, though, unless the British come down from Fort Mackinac, which seems hardly possible. The Indians have promised to see us safely to Fort Wayne, but then – what's the promise of an Indian?"