THE END OF HOPE.
A body of Indians—nine or ten in number—were advancing at a run straight for the house, and each painted savage carried wrapped in his arms a mass of bedding from the abandoned sleeping quarters. I had no sooner caught a glimpse of the party and divined their alarming purpose, than a straggling volley was fired from the loopholes right and left of me. Crack! crack, crack!
Three Indians fell with their burdens, and one of them began to crawl away, dragging a broken limb after him. A fourth took fright and darted back, but the rest kept on. They were lost to view for an instant as they gained the very wall of the house and stacked the bedding against it. Then back they scurried to the shelter of the outbuildings, a single one falling by my musket, which I thrust quickly out and fired. Unfortunately my companions’ weapons were empty.
“Load up, men, fast!” cried Menzies. “The devils intend to fire the house! They will be coming back with timber next!”
“God help us if they get a blaze started with bedding and dry wood!” said I. “The house will go—we won’t be able to save it! I never counted on anything like this!”
“I was afraid of it from the first,” replied Captain Rudstone, “though I hoped we should have time enough to dig the tunnel. Our only chance is to keep the redskins away from the wall.”
“And that’s a mighty poor one!” muttered Carteret.
“We must do it,” groaned Menzies, “or it’s all up with us. We can’t get at the bedding; the fiends have put it too far off from the window.”
A noisy clamor interrupted our conversation, as the men from other parts of the house poured into the room, drawn thither by Menzies’ summons of a moment before. They were under the impression that a rush had been made and repelled; when they learned the truth they quieted down, and a sort of awed horror was visible on every face.
No time was wasted in words. At any instant the savages might return to complete their devilish task; the chance of beating them back, slight as it was must be made the most of. Our last card was staked on that, and we grimly prepared to play it. Eight men were assigned to the loopholes—there were four on each side of the shuttered windows—and five others, including Christopher Burley, brought powder and ball, and set to work to load spare rifles. The rest were sent back to watch at their posts, lest a counter attack should be made in those directions.
It had all been so sudden, so overwhelming, that I felt dazed as I looked from my loophole into the murky, snow-flecked night. Across the crust, dotted with ghastly forms, the outbuildings loomed vaguely. Behind them hundreds of bloodthirsty redskins lay sheltered; but there was scarcely a sound to be heard save the pitiful whining of the husky dogs who were shut up in the canoe house.
“Fate is against us!” I reflected bitterly. “A few moments ago I believed we could hold out for days—I was confident that we should all escape; and now this black cloud of despair, of death, has fallen upon us! Flora, my darling, I pray Heaven to spare you! God help us to beat the savages off—to save the house!”
Just then I detected a movement in the distance, and I knew too well what it meant. My companions saw it also, and they broke out with warning exclamations:
“Here they come!” “Be ready, boys!” “Give the devils a hot reception!” “Keep the spare muskets handy!”
“Take sharp aim and make every shot tell!” Menzies cried hoarsely. “Fire at those nearest your own side. My God, look yonder—”
His voice was drowned by one blood-curdling screech poured from a hundred throats. Through the driving snow a dusky mass rolled forward, and when it was halfway across the space we made out no less than a score of Indians each shouldering three or four planks of short length. With reckless valor they came on, whooping and yelling defiantly.
“They’ve taken the cut timber that was stored in the powder house!” cried Carteret. “It’s as dry as touchwood and will burn like wildfire!”
“We’re lost!” exclaimed Menzies. “There are too many of the fiends; we shall never drive them back!”
“It’s our last chance!” I shouted. “Steady, now. Fire!”
Bang! went my musket. Bang! bang! bang! rang other reports. The volley caught the savages at a range of twenty yards and as the smoke drifted up from the loopholes I saw the foremost, at whom I had aimed, sprawled on the snow. Three or four others were down, and two more dropped quickly. The rest darted on unchecked.
“Again!” I shouted. “Quick, let them have it! All together!”
We snatched spare guns from the men behind us, throwing down our empty weapons, and a second straggling volley of lead and flame blazed from the loopholes. But the smoke partly spoiled our aim, and the interval gave the redskins a terrible advantage. Half of them dashed on, under our very guns, and right up to the wall of the house, and the next instant we heard an ominous sound—the thump and clatter of the dried timbers as they fell against the logs.
“That’s our death knell!” cried Menzies. “Heaven help us now! We are lost!”
Heaven help us indeed! That there was no hope save for the intervention of Providence, every man of us knew. Some cursed their hard fate, and some shrieked threats and imprecations. Others seized the guns as fast as the relief men could load them, and fired at the now retreating savages, who went back with more caution than they came; for they first crept along the base of the wall to the left angle, and then darted over the crust in zigzag fashion toward the outbuildings, where their comrades were howling and whooping with triumph.
“Two down!” cried Captain Rudstone.
“And one for me!” exclaimed Carteret.
I watched for a moment, but no more Indians appeared. The rest had escaped to shelter, and they must have been few in number; for I could count eight bodies lying about in the falling snow, amid scattered strips of planking, and four wounded wretches were trying to crawl away. Their attempt had succeeded, but at a terrible cost of life. With a gesture of despair. I turned round.
“Have they all gone back?” I asked.
“I think so,” Menzies replied huskily. “They will rush us again directly, and fire the bedding and the wood. It’s all up with us!”
Crack! A gun spoke shrilly from a loophole on the right, and Baptiste’s voice shouted with elation:
“Bonne! bonne! another redskin! He ran out from beneath the window! He is dead now—I shot him in the back!”
“But why did he stay behind the rest?” Menzies asked suspiciously.
“To light the fire!” cried Carteret. “My comrades, it is Heaven’s will that we perish!”
The old voyageur was right. As he spoke he pointed with one band to the loopholes. We saw a red glare spreading farther and farther across the trampled snow crust, and heard a hissing, crackling noise. The dead Indian had ignited the heaped-up material, probably by means of flint and steel.
The flames leaped higher, throwing ruddy reflections yards away. They roared and sang as they devoured the inflammable mattresses, stuffed with straw, and laid hold of the dry timbers piled above. They spat showers of sparks, turned the falling snowflakes to specks of crimson, and drove curls of thick yellow smoke into the room through the chinks of the now burning logs. The house was doomed, and we who were caught there in the meshes of death, fated to perish by agonizing torture, looked at one another with white faces and eyes dilated by horror, with limbs that trembled and lips that could not speak. Outside, across the inclosure, the hordes of savages shrieked and yelled with the voices of malicious demons. From the hall, from the rooms beyond it, the rest of our little band came running in panic to learn the worst and share our misery.
Christopher Burley fell on his knees and clasped his hands in prayer.
“O, God, save us!” he cried. “Let me live to see London again.”
“The fire is just to the left of the window,” exclaimed Captain Rudstone. “If we had water—”
“There’s only one small cask in the house,” interrupted Carteret, “and if we had plenty we could do nothing. Fifty bullets would enter by the window the moment the shutter was opened.”
With terrible rapidity the flames spread, roaring like a passage of a wind storm through treetops. Out in the snow it was as light as day, and one could have counted the streaks of paint on the faces of the dead savages by the awful red glare. The chinks between the logs were flickering lines of fire, and the smoke puffed through so thickly as to make us cough and choke, and fill our smarting eyes with water. The heat grew intense, and drops of perspiration rolled down our cheeks.
Crack! crack—crack—crack! The Indians suddenly began to fire at the loopholes, which were now distinctly outlined against the flame-lit wall. By twos and threes the guns went off, blending with a din of whooping voices, and the bullets pattered like hail. Menzies spun around and clutched at his right arm, which was bleeding above the elbow. A ball whizzed by my ear and another struck Dr. Knapp just between the eyes; he fell with a crash and lay quite still.
It was clear that the savages had the range of the loopholes, and with one accord we fled from the room, taking the powder canisters with us. In the hall a candle was burning on a shelf, and by the dim glow I saw Mrs. Menzies and Flora coming hurriedly down the stairs.