Chapter Twenty Five.
Preparing for the Attack.
The Indians had, at length, determined upon making an attack upon Elias Rody’s stronghold.
The governor had got wind of their intention through a spy, a slave belonging to the tribe, who had turned informer through his seductive offers.
A meeting of the settlers within the stockade was at once called.
“Fellow citizens,” said Rody, addressing them, “I have received some information that our enemies have resolved upon attacking us. It is my duty to tell you this in order that every man may be prepared to defend himself and his family. One thing I would have you remember; this war will be one of extermination; therefore be careful not to waste a bullet. Let every pull upon your trigger send an Indian to his long account. Let the cry be ‘no quarter!’”
“Perhaps that’ll be their motto too,” remarked a voice in the crowd.
“I perceive, sir,” replied Rody, a little nettled at the running commentary on his speech, “I perceive that there are still one or two dissatisfied people amongst us. Let them step forward, and declare themselves. We want neither renegades or traitors in our midst.”
“That’s so,” the voice replied.
“Again I say, let those displeased with my views step boldly out, and allow me to answer any objections they may raise. I’ve done nothing I am ashamed of. I blush for nothing that I do.”
“No, you’re past blushing!” was the ironical rejoinder.
A suppressed titter ran round the assemblage at these pertinent remarks of the unknown; and the governor’s temper was not improved by observing the effect the words had produced on his hearers.
“I scorn to answer the fellow who is afraid to show himself; but I warn you all to be prepared for a desperate contest. We have only ourselves to look to for our defence. We are in the hands of Providence.”
“We are!”
This sudden change from jeering comment to deep solemnity of utterance on the part of the unknown speaker struck awe into the crowd, and caused Rody to turn pale.
In the hands of Providence!
Yes, for good or evil. For punishment or reward.
The thought expressed in this manner was too much for the governor.
He dismissed the meeting with a hurried admonition to be prepared for the worst.
As he re-entered his house, he encountered his daughter face to face.
“Father, I was about to seek you,” said she. “They tell me that you have heard bad news.”
“Bad enough, girl! The red-skins are going to attack us.”
“Is there no hope?”
“Hope, for what?”
“That this bloodshed may be avoided. Will they not listen to an offer of reconciliation?”
“And who would dare to make it?”
“Dare, father! I do not understand you. It is the duty of those who have done wrong to contrive by concession to atone for it, and, if possible, to make peace.”
“But who has done wrong?”
Alice did not answer in words, but the look she bestowed upon her father was eloquence itself.
“I see what you’re thinking about, my girl. It’s very hard that inside of my own home I should meet with reproaches. Isn’t it enough for me to have to bear the sneers and taunts of others, without being forced to listen to them from you?”
“Father!”
“Oh, yes; now you’ll try to say you didn’t mean to reproach me; but it won’t do. I see it in your face; and, there, your eyes are full of tears. That’s the way with you girls, when you can’t use your tongues, you have always a stock of tears ready. But blubbering won’t mend this matter; it’s got to be settled with blows.”
“Oh, father! can nothing be done?”
“Nothing, but prepare for the worst. Now, girl, stop your crying, or you’ll drive me stark mad. I’ll tell you what it is, I’m just in that sort of state that if I don’t do something, I shall go clean out of my mind. What with the worrying work here, and the grumbling discontent of a few paltry hounds about the settlement, I don’t know how I keep my senses about me.”
The angry mood into which he had worked himself was, however, no novelty to his daughter. She had of late seen it too often, and sorrowfully noted the change.
Still, she was a brave girl, and knowing she had a duty to perform, she did it fearlessly.
“Oh, father!” she exclaimed, apologisingly, “I did not mean to reproach you. If my looks betrayed my thoughts, I cannot help them, much as I may regret giving you pain. What I wanted to say was, that if there is any honourable way to avoid this bloodshed, it should be tried. There is no disgrace in acknowledging a fault.”
“Who has committed one?”
“You know wrongs have been done by white people against the Indians, not alone now, but ever since the two races have been brought together. We are no better than others; but we can avoid their errors by trying to remedy the grievances they complain of.”
Old Rody stamped the floor with rage; his daughter’s remarks made him wince. Conscience, which he deemed asleep, was at work, and upon the tongue of his own child had found utterance.
“Begone, girl!” he cried, “before I forget that you are my own flesh and blood. You insult me beyond endurance. I will manage my affairs my own way, without impediment from you. Ay, not only my own affairs, but the affairs of all here. I will have blind obedience; I demand it, and will exact it. Begone!”
His daughter looked him boldly in the face.
“Be it so, father,” she answered; “I have done my duty—will always do it. Think, however, before it is too late, that to your conduct in this matter, the groans of widows and the sighs of orphans may be laid. The happiness or misery of many rests upon your single word. It is an awful risk—reflect upon it, dear father, reflect!”
Her proud bearing gave place to tears. Her womanly heart was full to overflowing. It conquered her spirit for a time; and as she parted from her father’s presence, she felt that the last hope of peace had vanished.
“By the eternal powers!” cried he, “this will prove too much for me. It must come to an end!”
As Rody uttered these words, he drew from his pocket a flask and applied it to his lips.
It was a bottle of brandy. It seemed the last friend left him.