WE ATTACK THE SAVAGES
It was already so dark that the soldier was almost upon us before I perceived his shadow, but it was evident enough from his first words that he had overheard none of our conversation.
“There are no Indians in the village,” he said gruffly, leaning on his gun, and staring at us. “I got across to a small island, along the trunk of a dead tree, and had good view of the whole bank yonder. The tepees stand, but not a squaw, nor a dog is left.”
“Were there any canoes in sight along the shore?”
“Only one, broken beyond repair.”
“Then, as I read the story, the tribe fled down the stream, either to join the others on the Illinois, or the whites at the fort. They were evidently not attacked, but had news of the coming of the Iroquois, and escaped without waiting to give battle. ’Tis not likely the wolves will overlook this village long. Are we ready to go forward?”
“Ay, the venture must be made, and it is dark enough now.”
De Artigny’s hand pressed my shoulder.
“I would that I could remain with you, Madame,” he said quietly, “but as I know the way my place is in advance. Barbeau must be your protector.”
“Nor could I ask for a braver. Do not permit any thought of me to make you less vigilant, Monsieur. You expect to gain the fort unseen?”
“’Tis merely a chance we take––the only one,” he explained briefly. “I cannot even be certain the fort is in state of siege, yet, without doubt those warriors who went down the river would be in position to prevent our approaching the rock by canoe. There is a secret path here, known only to La Salle’s officers, which, however, should give us entrance, unless some wandering Iroquois has discovered it by accident. We must approach with the utmost caution, yet I do not anticipate great peril. Barbeau, do not become separated from Madame, but let me precede you by a hundred paces––you will have no trouble following the trail.”
He disappeared in the darkness, vanishing silently, and we stood motionless waiting our turn to advance. Neither spoke, Barbeau leaning forward, his gun extended, alert and ready. The intense darkness, the quiet night, the mystery lurking amid those shadows beyond, all combined to arouse within me a sense of danger. I could feel the swift pounding of my heart, and I clasped the sleeve of the soldier’s jacket merely 280 to assure myself of his actual presence. The pressure of my fingers caused him to glance about.
“Do not be frightened, Madame,” he whispered encouragingly. “There would be firing yonder if the Iroquois blocked our path.”
“Fear not for me,” I answered, surprised at the steadiness of my voice. “It is the lonely silence which makes me shrink; as soon as we advance I shall have my nerve again. Have we not waited long enough?”
“Ay, come; but be careful where you place your feet.”
He led the way, walking with such slow caution, that, although I followed step by step, not a sound reached my ears. Dark as the night was, our eyes, accustomed to the gloom, were able to distinguish the marks of the trail, and follow its windings without much difficulty. Many a moccasined foot had passed that way before us, beating down a hard path through the sod, and pressing aside the low bushes which helped to conceal the passage. At first we followed rather closely the bank of the stream; then the narrow trail swerved to the right, entering a gap between two hills, ever tending to a higher altitude. We circled about large rocks, and up a ravine, through which we found barely room for passage, the walls rising steep and high on either side. It was intensely dark down there, yet impossible for us to escape the trail, and at the 281 end of that passage we emerged into an open space, enclosed with woods, and having a grit of sand under foot. Here the trail seemed to disappear, but Barbeau struck straight across, and in the forest shade beyond we found De Artigny waiting.
“Do not shoot,” he whispered. “I was afraid you might misjudge the way here, as the sand leaves no clear trace. The rest of the passage is through the woods, and up a steep hill. You are not greatly wearied, Madame?”
“Oh, no; I have made some false steps in the dark, but the pace has been slow. Do we approach the fort?”
“A half league beyond; a hundred yards more, and we begin the climb. There we will be in the zone of danger, although thus far I perceive no sign of Indian presence. Have you, Barbeau?”
“None except this feather of a war bonnet I picked up at the big rock below.”
“A feather! Is it Iroquois?”
“It is cut square, and no Algonquin ever does that.”
“Ay, let me see! You are right, Barbeau; ’twas dropped from a Tuscarora war bonnet. Then the wolves have been this way.”
“Could it not be possible,” I asked, “that the feather was spoil of war dropped by some Miami in flight?”
He shook his head.
“Possible perhaps, but not probable; some white man may have passed this way with trophy, but no Illinois Indian would dare such venture. I have seen them before in Iroquois foray. I like not the sign, Barbeau, yet there is naught for us to do now, but go on. We dare not be found without the fort at daybreak. Keep within thirty paces of me, and guard the lady well.”
It was a dense woods we entered, and how Barbeau kept to the trail will ever be to me a mystery. No doubt the instinct of a woodsman guided him somewhat, and then, with his moccasined feet, he could feel the slight depression in the earth, and thus cling to the narrow path. I would have been lost in a moment, had I not clung to him, and we moved forward like two snails, scarcely venturing to breathe, our motions as silent as a wild panther stalking its prey.
Except for a faint rustling of leaves overhead no sound was distinguishable, although once we were startled by some wild thing scurrying across our path, the sudden noise it made causing me to give utterance to a half-stifled cry. I could feel how tense was every muscle in the soldier’s body, as he advanced steadily step by step, his gun flung forward, each nerve strained to the utmost.
We crossed the wood, and began to climb among 283 loose stones, finally finding solid rock beneath our feet, the path skirting the edge of what seemed to be a deep gash in the earth, and winding about wherever it could find passage. The way grew steeper and steeper, and more difficult to traverse, although, as we thus rose above the tree limit, the shadows became less dense, and we were able dimly to perceive objects a yard or two in advance. I strained my eyes over Barbeau’s shoulder, but could gain no glimpse of De Artigny. Then we rounded a sharp edge of rock, and met him blocking the narrow way.
“The red devils are there,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Beyond the curve in the bank. ’Twas God’s mercy I had glimpse in time, or I would have walked straight into their midst. A stone dropping into the ravine warned me, and I crept on all fours to where I could see.”
“You counted them?”
“Hardly that in this darkness; yet ’tis no small party. ’Twould be my judgment there are twenty warriors there.”
“And the fort?”
“Short rifle shot away. Once past this party, and the way is easy. Here is my thought Barbeau. There is no firing, and this party of wolves are evidently hidden in ambush. They have found the trail, and expect some party from the fort to pass this way.”
“Or else,” said the other thoughtfully, “they lie in wait for an assault at daylight––that would be Indian war.”
“True, such might be their purpose, but in either case one thing remains true––they anticipate no attack from below. All their vigilance is in the other direction. A swift attack, a surprise will drive them into panic. ’Tis a grave risk I know, but there is no other passage to the fort.”
“If we had arms, it might be done.”
“We’ll give them no time to discover what we have––a shot, a yell, a rush forward. ’Twill all be over with before a devil among them gets his second breath. Then ’tis not likely the garrison is asleep. If we once get by there will be help in plenty to hold back pursuit. ’Tis a desperate chance I admit, but have you better to propose?”
The soldier stood silent, fingering his gun, until De Artigny asked impatiently:
“You have none?”
“I know not the passage; is there no way around?”
“No; this trail leads alone to the fort gate. I anticipated this, and thought it all out as I came along. In the surprise at the first attack, the savages will never know whether we be two or a dozen. They will have no guard in this direction, and we can creep almost upon them before attempting a rush. The two in 285 advance should be safely past before they recover sufficiently to make any fight. It will be all done in the dark, you know.”
“You will go first, with the lady?”
“No; that is to be your task; I will cover the rear.”
I heard these words, yet it was not my privilege to protest. Indeed, I felt that he was right, and my courage made response to his decision.
“If this be the best way possible,” I said quietly, for both men glanced questioningly at me, “then do not think of me as helpless, or a burden. I will do all I can to aid you.”
“Never have I doubted that,” exclaimed De Artigny heartily. “So then the affair is settled. Barbeau, creep forward about the bank; be a savage now, and make no noise until I give the word. You next, Madame, and keep close enough to touch your leader. The instant I yell, and Barbeau fires, the two of you leap up, and rush forward. Pay no heed to me.”
“You would have us desert you, Monsieur?”
“It will be every one for himself,” he answered shortly. “I take my chance, but shall not be far behind.”
We clasped hands, and then, as Barbeau advanced to the corner, I followed, my only thought now to do all that was required of me. I did not glance backward, yet was aware that De Artigny was close behind. 286 My heart beat fiercely, but I was not conscious of fear, although a moment later, I could perceive the dim figures of savages. They were but mere vague shadows in the night, and I made no attempt to count them, only realizing that they were grouped together in the trail. I could not have told how they faced, but there was a faint sound of guttural speech, which proved them unsuspicious of danger. Barbeau, lying low like a snake, crept cautiously forward, making not the slightest noise, and closely hugging the deeper shadow of the bank. I endeavored to imitate his every motion, almost dragging my body forward by gripping my fingers into the rock-strewn earth.
We advanced by inches, pausing now and then to listen breathlessly to the low murmur of the Indian voices, and endeavoring to note any change in the posture of the barely distinguishable figures. There was no alarm, no changing of places, and the success of our approach brought to us new confidence. Once a savage form, appearing grotesque in its blanket, suddenly stood erect, and we shrunk close to the ground in terror of discovery. An instant of agony followed, in which we held our breath, staring through the dark, every nerve throbbing. But the fellow merely stretched his arms lazily, uttered some guttural word, and resumed his place.
Once the gleam of a star reflected from a rifle barrel 287 as its owner shifted position; but nothing else occurred to halt our steady advance. We were within a very few yards of them, so close, indeed, I could distinguish the individual forms, when Barbeau paused, and, with deliberate caution, rose on one knee. Realizing instantly that he was preparing for the desperate leap, I also lifted my body, and braced myself for the effort. De Artigny touched me, and spoke, but his voice was so low it scarcely reached my ears.
“Do not hesitate; run swift, and straight. Give Barbeau the signal.”
What followed is to me a delirium of fever, and remains in memory indistinct and uncertain. I reached out, and touched Barbeau; I heard the sudden roar of De Artigny’s voice, the sharp report of the soldier’s rifle. The flame cut the dark as though it was the blade of a knife, and, in the swift red glare, I saw a savage fling up his arms and fall headlong. Then all was chaos, confusion, death. Nothing touched me, not even a gripping hand, but there were Indian shots, giving me glimpse of the hellish scene, of naked bodies, long waving hair, eyes mad with terror, and red arms brandished, the rifles they bore shining in the red glare.
I saw Barbeau grip his gun by the barrel and strike as he ran. Again and again it fell crunching against flesh. A savage hand slashed at him with a gleaming 288 knife, but I struck the red arm with my pistol butt, and the Indian fell flat, leaving the way open. We dashed through, but Barbeau grasped me, and thrust me ahead of him, and whirled about, with uplifted rifle to aid De Artigny who faced two warriors, naked knife in hand.
“Run, Madame, for the fort,” he shouted above the uproar. “To my help, Barbeau!”