The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

"Not much, I admit," answered Wells; "but I'm here to stand by you. If worst comes to worst, here's one more man to fight. I'm with you to the last."

"It is a great relief to me," said Franklin, after an eloquent silence, "for I have felt myself alone – one man against the world."

"I'd do all I could for your wife's sake, if for no other reason. Call an Indian council this afternoon and let me talk to them."

Franklin's face brightened. "The very thing!" he cried. "I'll give the order at once." Then he grasped the other's hand and said again, "God bless you!"

At the appointed hour in the afternoon the entire company of Indians assembled upon the esplanade. After ceremonious greetings were exchanged with the chiefs, Captain Wells turned to the others.

"A good day to you, my brothers," he said. "The time has seemed long indeed since we parted. I see among you many new faces from the far country, and I am rejoiced to learn that you have promised to accompany the White Father and his people to the assembling place. Had I known of this I should not have come, but should have trusted wholly to my brothers.

"However, it is a happiness to me to see my friends once more. Although I am a white man, I have been brought up like one of you. I have learned the secrets of the forest and the trail and I have fought side by side with the red men. For many of you I have sad news. The Great Chief, Little Turtle, whose daughter I have taken in marriage, went to the happy hunting grounds on the fourteenth day of the last moon.

"Were he alive he would send his greetings to his brothers who are here assembled. Thirty of his people have come with me to lead the Americans safely upon the trail. For three or more days must we journey, since the feet of the palefaces are slow, but we have no fears. From the dangers of the day and the night, from wild beasts, from every creature that stalks abroad with intent to slay; from the unlearned tribes who are unfriendly to the whites, and from the warriors of another White Chief, who may be known by their red coats, we will protect our friends. It has been written by the Great White Father that after we have led his people safely to the assembling place, many gifts shall be distributed among us there. My brothers, I bid you farewell."

Silently the Indians went back to the woods. No answer was made to the speech except that it was good, and that all should be as it was written.

"Franklin," said Wells, when they were again alone, "everything seems to be all right, and yet I scent trouble. Do you suppose they have received orders from the British to cut us off?"

"I wish I knew," answered Franklin, sadly; "and yet what could I do?"

"We must get out of here as quickly as possible. How much ammunition have you reserved?"

"Twenty-five rounds per man."

"How about provisions?"

"We have enough for a long march. We'll take all we can, and give the remainder to the Indians on reaching Fort Wayne."

"How many horses have you?"

"Enough for the officers and the women, as well as for the waggons. The children can go in the waggons."

"Things are better than I feared," said Wells. "I hope we'll get through all right – at any rate we'll do our best."

Orders were given for an early start on the following morning, and the baggage of each person was limited to the absolute essentials. The day passed in active preparations for departure, and the appearance of Captain Wells, with the guard, had lightened the situation considerably.

All of the pine knots that were left were fastened between the bars of the stockade, as the soldiers had determined to illuminate in honour of Captain Wells. The day had promised to be a little cooler, but the lake breeze of early morning soon retreated before the onslaught of the south-west wind.

The women had packed up their toilet articles and a few little trinkets valued for their associations, and the kit of every soldier was in readiness. Forsyth made a belt for his sword, pistol, and cartridges, which looked oddly enough when it was fastened over his suit of rusty black. Beatrice had recovered her spirit enough to laugh heartily at the picture he presented.

All save Ronald were more cheerful than they had been for many a day. He walked about as if he were in a trance, and when he was spoken to he did not seem to hear. More than once he was seen staring into space with a glassy look in his eyes.

In the evening the Mackenzies became sad at the prospect of leaving their old home, as they sat before the desolate hearth, side by side, for the last time. For a little while Beatrice sat there with them. The children were asleep, Robert was finishing his packing, and she felt herself an intruder, so at last she stole away and went over to the Fort, where the pine knots blazed with a lurid light and cast shadows afar.

Lieutenant Howard and Katherine were on the piazza at Franklin's, where Captain Wells sat with his hosts. Under cover of the darkness the Lieutenant was holding Katherine's hand, and Captain Franklin sat with his arm over the back of his wife's chair.

"See what it is to be a spinster," laughed Beatrice, as she approached. "Captain Wells, would you mind holding my hand?"

Wells stammered an excuse, for he was unused to the ways of women, and Beatrice made him the subject of her playful scorn. "Am I so unattractive, then?" she queried, looking sideways at the discomfited Captain from under her drooping lids.

"N – no," answered Wells, miserably; "but – " He floundered into helpless silence, not at all relieved by the laughter of the others.

That evening, if at no other time, Beatrice was beautiful. Her high colour had faded to a languorous paleness, and the harshness of her manner was gone. Her trailing white gown was turned in a little at her round, white throat, and her long, shining hair hung far below her waist in a heavy braid.

"Ronald," called the Lieutenant, "come here!"

The Ensign came slowly across the parade-ground. His shoulders drooped and his face was very pale. "What is it?" he asked.

The tone was unlike Ronald. "Nothing," replied the Lieutenant, "except that Beatrice wants somebody to hold her hand and Captain Wells won't. He's too bashful, and the rest of us are occupied."

"It's too hot," sighed the Ensign. He sat down on the piazza, near Beatrice, and fanned himself with his cap; but he took no part in the conversation, and did not even answer Katherine's "good-night" when her husband took her home.

"I'm going in, too," said Mrs. Franklin, "if nobody minds. I'm very tired."

Franklin and Wells talked listlessly, feeling the restraint of the others' presence. "Come out for a little while," said Ronald to Beatrice. "I don't think they want us here."

The full moon was low in the heavens and the lake was calm. They went out of the Fort and down near the water, but still he did not speak. Then Beatrice put her hand on his arm. "What's wrong with you?" she asked softly; "can't you tell me?"

His breath came quickly at her touch and he swallowed hard. "Heart's Desire," he said huskily, "I die to-morrow – will you tell me you love me to-night?"

"Die!" cried Beatrice. "What do you mean?"

"Sweet, the death watch ticked last night – Norton and I heard it and most of the men. To-night, while I have eyes to see and ears to hear, let me dream that you are kind. Since that first day, when I saw you across the river, I have hungered for you; yes, I have thirsted for you like a man in the desert who sees the blessed, life-giving water just beyond his reach. My arms have ached to hold you close – my rose, my star, my very soul!"

"All my life has been lived only for this; to find you and to tell you what I tell you now. I have no gift of words – I'm only an awkward soldier, but with all my life I love you. Poets may find new words for it, but there is nothing else for a man to say. Just those three words, 'I love you,' to hold the universe and to measure it, for there is nothing else worth keeping in all the world!"

Shaken by his passion, he stood before her with the moonlight full upon his face. His shoulders were straight once more, but his eyes were misty and he breathed hard, like a man in pain.

The girl was sobbing, and very gently he put his arm around her. "Heart's Desire," he said again, "I die to-morrow – will you tell me you love me to-night?"

"I do – I do," she cried, as he drew her closer; "but, oh, you must not talk so! You cannot die to-morrow – you are young – you are strong! Don't! Don't! I must not let you misunderstand! It is not what you think!"

His cry of joy changed to an inarticulate murmur, and his arms stiffened about her as she stood with her face against his breast. "I must be a stone," she sobbed, "or I would care. Don't think I haven't known, for I have; but I've been afraid – I've always been afraid to care, and now I've grown so hard I can't! Pity me – be kind to me – I cannot care, and on my soul I wish I could!"

His arms fell to his sides and she was free. Half fearfully she lifted her lovely, tear-stained face to his. "I wish I could!" she sobbed. "Believe me, upon my soul, I wish I could!"

"Heart's Desire, I would have no words of mine bring tears to your dear eyes. To see you so is worse than death to me. I was a fool and a brute to speak, but the words would come. I have known you were not for me. I have walked in the mire, and you are a star; but sometimes men dream that even a star may descend to lift one up. Forget it, Sweet, forget that I was mad, and if you can, forgive me!"

"I never shall forget," she answered, with her lips still quivering, "for it is the sweetest thing God has yet given to me. But all my life I have been afraid to trust, afraid to yield, and now, when I would, I cannot. It is my punishment, and even though I hurt you, I must be honest with you."

"Sweetheart, the hurt is naught – it is a kindness since it comes from you. I ask your pardon, and remember I shall never speak of it again. Others, perhaps, would say I have had enough – my youth, my strength, and all that makes life fair. I have served my country well and to-morrow I die fighting, as soldiers pray that they may. Women have loved me, and yet – My darling, I die to-morrow – ah, kiss me just once for to-night!"

She was very near him, but she turned her face away. "No," she whispered, "I can't. I will give you nothing unless I give you all."

"So let it be," he sighed. He put his arm around her again, and she tried to move away, but he held her fast. "Don't be afraid of me," he said. "Dear Heart, can't you trust me? You might lay your sweet lips full on mine, and yet mine would not answer unless you said they might. I just want to tell you this. I can see no farther than to-morrow, and after that – I do not know. But I'm not afraid of death, nor hell, nor of God Himself, because I take with me these two things. I think all else will be forgiven, Sweet, because I have served my country well and I have been man enough to love you."

"Oh," cried Beatrice, with the tears raining down her face, "I can bear it no longer – let me go home!"

She went across the river alone, and the sound of her sobbing came through the darkness and cut into his heart like a knife. The dull stupor of the day gave place to keenest pain. He was alive to the degree that no man knows till he is wounded past all healing. Every sense was eager for its final hurt. "How shall I live!" he muttered. "How shall I live until to-morrow, when I die!"

He went back into the Fort with his head bowed upon his breast. As in a dream he saw Wells and Franklin sitting by a table in the Captain's house. The single tallow dip, with its tiny star of flame, was almost too much light for his eyes to bear. The pine knots in the crevices of the stockade filled the place with a lurid glare that seemed like the blaze of a noonday sun.

He sat alone in a dark corner, muttering, "How shall I live! How shall I live until to-morrow, when I die!" Lieutenant Howard passed him, but did not see him. Then Doctor Norton called out, "Do you know where Ronald is?" – but the Lieutenant did not know.

There was a stir at the gate and Mackenzie came in, accompanied by Black Partridge. They went straight to the Captain's quarters and were admitted at once. Mackenzie's face was grey and haggard, but the Indian was as stolid as ever, save that his eyes glittered cruelly. Wells and Franklin felt an instant alarm. "What is it?" asked Franklin, hurriedly.

Black Partridge took off the silver medal which Captain Wells had given to him and laid it on the table. The light of the tallow dip shone strangely on the metal, and picked out the figures upon it in significant relief. Then he spoke rapidly, and Mackenzie translated.

"Father, I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. But our young men are resolved to bury their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy."

"Captain," cried a soldier, rushing in, "the Indians are having a war dance in the hollow!"

"Close the gates," commanded Franklin, "and call the pickets in." He was outwardly calm, though cold sweat stood out upon his forehead, and Captain Wells stood by in silent distress. Before any one had time to speak, Black Partridge was gone. He passed through the gates almost at the moment they rumbled into place, and fled like a deer to join his people.

"I suppose," said the trader, "that in the face of this you will not march to-morrow."

"Yes," cried the Captain, in a voice that rang; "we march to-morrow in spite of hell!"

Beside himself with fear, anger, and pain, Mackenzie rushed out and told the first soldier he met all that had passed. In an instant there was the sound of hurrying feet and the Fort was aflame with rebellion. "Wells," said Franklin, quietly, "I wish you'd go to the barracks. You may be needed there."

But the barracks were empty. As the guns thundered the signal for the pickets to return, the men gathered around Ronald. Instinctively, in times of trouble, they looked to him.

"Go to the barracks, boys," he said, in a low tone, "and wait for me there. I'll do what I can."

A white figure appeared at a window and the Lieutenant went in to speak to Katherine. Doctor Norton went straight to the Captain.

Franklin's eyes were blazing and his body was tense. The martial spirit of the frontier had set his blood aflame. His fingers fairly itched for his sword, and his hands were clenched. "Captain," said the Doctor, calmly, "is there no other way?"

"No," cried Franklin; "there is no other way! Are you a coward that you ask me this?"

The Doctor laughed unpleasantly, and went out without another word. Hardly had his footsteps died away before Lieutenant Howard came in, white to the lips with wrath.

"Is this true?" he shouted. "Do we march to-morrow, with our women and children, when the Indians have declared war?"

"Yes," said Franklin, meeting his gaze steadily, "we do."

"Captain, this is madness. The men will never go. It is certain death to leave the Fort. Your orders will not be obeyed, if it comes to that."

"Lieutenant Howard, my orders will be obeyed. The man who refuses will be shot."

"Captain, can't you listen to reason? Our force is small. We never can cope with those fiends that even now are having their war-dance in the hollow. I said it was certain death, but death in itself is nothing to fear. Torture waits for us – for our women and children. Captain, change the order – stay!"

"Sir, I have my orders."

The Lieutenant turned away. "Stop!" commanded the Captain. "You need not go to the men. I am in command of this Fort and I will have no mutiny. The soldier who attempts to disobey my orders will be shot down like a dog, be he officer or man. We march to-morrow, if I go alone!"

The Lieutenant staggered out and almost into the Ensign's arms. "Ronald," he pleaded thickly, "go to the Captain. See if you cannot do something to save us all. Don't ask for ourselves – he is pitiless there – but the women and the children – " His voice broke at the words, but he kept on. "Ronald, for God's sake, go!"

The thought of Beatrice's danger stirred the Ensign's blood to fever heat, and he rushed into the house like a madman. "Captain!" he cried.

There was an instant of tense silence. A torrent of words was on Ronald's lips, but the Captain raised his hand. "I suppose," he said coolly, "that you are merely following the general tendency. Mackenzie, Norton, and the Lieutenant have all been here to suggest that I disobey my orders. Is that your purpose, also?"

"Yes," shouted Ronald, "it is!"

"By what right do you presume to offer unasked advice to your superior officer?"

"By the right of one who has kept your men from mutiny!"

The Captain cleared his throat. "Well?"

"I have no plea to make for myself, Captain. I have come to ask at your hands the lives of the women and children who are under our protection – to ask you not to betray the most sacred trust that can be given to man. You speak of orders. As I understand it, no time was set for the evacuation of the Fort?"

"We have delayed too long already."

"Suppose the British army was at our gates – would those orders hold good?"

"Sir, you are impertinent!"

"Captain, that medal which Black Partridge returned to you to-night was equivalent to a declaration of war. If you are not willing to act upon your own responsibility, send Captain Wells and his Indians to General Hull to ask for reinforcements. If Captain Wells is not willing to go, I am. I know the provisions have been given to the Indians, but we have the cattle and perhaps enough else to last the garrison two weeks or more. With reinforcements we can hold the Fort against any force that may be brought against it. Captain – let me go!"

"Sir, I have my orders."

"Orders be damned!"

"At West Point," asked the Captain, hoarsely, "were you taught to speak to your superior officer in that way?"

"Captain, I speak to you not as my superior officer, but as man to man. Our force is small, some of our boys are too old to fight, and we have women and children to protect. I ask nothing for myself, nor for men like me – we are soldiers. I plead for the helpless ones under our care. I ask you only to wait, not to disobey. I beg you to save the women and children from torture – from cutting their flesh to ribbons while they still live – from things that one man cannot look another in the face and name."

Franklin turned away, his muscles rigid as steel.

"You have a wife, Captain – a tender, loving, helpless woman. Are you willing to give her to the Indians and let them do as they please with her? Suppose you had a child, just old enough to walk – a little daughter, whose flesh was so soft that you almost feared to touch her – a child who loved you, trusted you, and leaned upon you, knowing that you would risk your life to save her from the slightest hurt. Suppose two thousand Indians in their war-paint were pounding at the gates of the Fort, and the knife and the stake were waiting for their victims – would you stand upon the stockade and throw that child to those beasts?

"That is what you are going to do to-morrow. You will sacrifice your own wife, the wife of every man at the post, and every little child, but it touches you only at one point. In the name of the woman who loves you – in the name of the children who might have called you father – Captain – in God's name – stay!"

The Captain's face was ashen, but his voice was clear. "Sir, I am a soldier – I have my orders!"

With a muttered curse, Ronald flung himself out of the room. He staggered to the parade-ground blindly, gasping with every breath. Then the door opened softly and a white figure, barefooted, came quietly into the room.

"What!" cried the Captain; "you, too?"

Her gown was no whiter than her face, but she came to him steadily. "Wallace," she said, "you are a soldier, and I am a soldier's wife. I could not help hearing what they said. Don't think I blame you – I know you will do what is right. Captain Wells and I will stand by you!"

He took her into his arms, and then a hoarse murmur came to their ears. She started away from him in fear. "What is it?" she cried.

"It's only the barracks," he answered, trying to smile. "Come, dear, come!"

When Ronald opened the door, where the men were drinking heavily, the confusion was heard to the farthest limits of the Fort. "Boys," he cried, "it's all over – there's nothing any one of us can do!" Lieutenant Howard, the Doctor, and Captain Wells were standing together near the door, but he did not seem to see them.

Straight to the middle of the room he went, and a soldier filled his glass. "Make merry while you can, my brave boys," he shouted, "for this is the last of life for us! To-night we are men – to-morrow we are food for the vultures! To-night we are soldiers – to-morrow we are clay! To-night we may sleep – to-morrow we wake to the knife, the scourge, and the flames! To-night, for the last time, we stand side by side – to-morrow we fight a merciless foe of ten times our strength!

"If you have neither wife nor child, thank God that you stand alone. If you have, load your muskets and strike them down at sunrise to-morrow, – yes, stain your hands with their innocent blood that you may save them from something worse. Twelve hours of life remains – waste none of it in sleep! Fill your glasses to the brim and drink till the night is past. Pray that your senses may leave you – that your reason may be replaced by the madness of beasts! Pray for strong arms to-morrow – pray for a soldier's fate! Drink while the stakes are being put in place for us – drink to your ashes and the fall of Fort Dearborn – drink, boys – to Death!"

The room had been deadly still while he was speaking, but now the cry rang to the rafters, – "To Death!"

"Again," shouted Ronald, "fill your glasses once more! To the strong arm and the fearless heart – to the torture that waits for us to-morrow – to the red spawn of hell that is grinning at our gates – a toast to Death!"

The door opened and Captain Franklin came into the room. Every man turned accusing eyes upon him save one. "To the Captain!" cried Wells, lifting his glass.

He drank alone, since, for the moment, no one else moved. Then, with one accord, the wine was thrown to the floor and the sharp crash of glass followed it, as the deep-throated bell sounded taps – for the last time.

CHAPTER XXII

THE RED DEATH

"Attention! Forward – march!"

To the music of the Dead March the column swung into line and turned southward from the Fort. At the head rode Captain Wells, who, after an Indian custom, had blackened his face with wet gunpowder in token of approaching death. Half of the Miami escort followed him, then came the regulars, accompanied by the women, all of whom were mounted; then the three waggons, and the remainder of the Miami escort.

Mrs. Mackenzie and her four children were in the bateau, with their clothing and a limited amount of supplies. Chandonnais and a friendly Indian were at the oars. Black Partridge had appeared at the trading station before daylight, to ask Mackenzie and his family to go in the boat. The trader refused, saying he would march with the soldiers; and Robert also declined the opportunity. Both Mackenzie and his wife insisted that Beatrice should take the safer course, but it was useless.

"What?" she asked, "and leave Queen? Not I! We're going with the soldiers!"

The other children at the post, eleven or twelve in all, were in the first waggon, which was driven by a soldier. The second waggon contained the supplies for the march; and in the third, where the ammunition was stored, sat Mad Margaret. She had come very early in the morning, with a small bundle, ready for departure.

The day was intensely hot, and the lake was like a sea of glass. The line of march was along the water's edge, where sand hills intervened between the beach and the prairie. The Pottawattomies, more than six hundred strong, kept behind the sand hills and were seldom visible.

As the little company proceeded toward Fort Wayne, heavy hearts grew lighter and anxious faces became peaceful. No Indians were in sight save the Miami escort at front and rear. The music of the Dead March ceased, and then upon the silence came Mad Margaret's voice, as she croaked dismally, "I see blood – much blood, then fire, and afterward peace."