THE SECRET OF THE FACTOR’S DESK.
I shrank from the encounter. The sight of the fair girl whom I loved so passionately made me a coward, and I felt that I could not speak the words of her doom and mine. So I lurked to one side while Mrs. Menzies rushed up to her husband and clutched him hysterically.
“The house is on fire!” she cried. “The smoke drove us downstairs, and—Oh, you are shot!”
“A mere flesh wound,” Menzies answered huskily. “Tie it up for me with a strip of your skirt.”
With trembling fingers she obeyed.
“The worse, Andrew!” she pleaded—“tell me the worst! I am a brave woman; I can bear it.”
I did not hear Menzies’ reply, for he quickly led his wife into a darkened room adjoining; but I had a glimpse of his face, and it seemed to have aged years in the last minute.
“Denzil!”
I recognized Flora’s voice, and turning, I found her at my elbow. Her cheeks were white, except for a burning red spot in the middle of each. Her lovely eyes gazed into mine with a look of deepest affection, of heart-rending fear that she could not disguise.
“Come!” I whispered hoarsely.
I drew her past the little group of men to the far end of the hall, where the staircase screened us from the light of the candle. How to begin, what to say, I did not know. With one arm about her slender form, I pressed kisses on her lips and forehead.
“My darling!” I cried. “Oh, the pity of it—the pity of it!”
“Then it is true, Denzil?” she asked in faltering tones. “Don’t deceive me at such a time. Is there really no hope?”
It would have been worse than folly to speak false words of comfort now, and with an effort I answered:
“No; all hope is gone. You must know the worst, my darling! We have but a little while to live. Heaven has deserted us. Oh, God, that it should be my lot to tell you this!” She crept closer to me, hiding her face on my breast. For nearly a minute she was still, while confusion and clamor, Indian yells, and musketry fire reigned round us. I could feel the agitated heaving of her bosom, the throbbing of her heart. Then she looked up at me bravely, with a sublime expression in her tear-dimmed eyes that brought to my mind the Christian martyrs of old.
“God is love and mercy, dearest Denzil,” she said. “If it is His will that we die we must submit. We will find in heaven the happiness that is denied us on earth.”
“It is a cruel, cruel fate!” I cried fiercely. “I would suffer ten deaths to save you—”
“It is better thus,” she interrupted. “We shall not be separated! Promise me, Denzil, that you will not let the Indians take me alive!”
I tried to speak, but a sob choked my utterance. I nodded assent, and just then my name was called from the other end of the hall. I kissed Flora and led her forward, putting her in the care of Mrs. Menzies. The men were standing about in groups, some talking, some nervously loading guns, and others staring vacantly at the floor.
“We are considering what we had better do,” said Captain Rudstone, “and we want your opinion, Carew. If we stick to the house it means death for all of us by suffocation or by flames. If we sally out there is a possibility that one or more of us may break through and escape.”
“No chance of that,” Carteret answered bluntly. “The devils will be ready for us, and we shall be hemmed in and butchered to a man. I prefer to die fighting myself; but think of the women! Suffocation will be the easiest fate for them.”
I made no reply, for I did not know what to say—what alternative to choose. It was a horrible prospect either way, and I contemplated it with rage and despair, with such a whirl in my brain that I thought I should go mad. The musketry fire was dwindling a little, but the whooping and yelling of the exultant savages suddenly rose to a higher pitch, making such a din that the voices of my companions were quite drowned.
There was still an interval of time left in which to reach a decision—perhaps half an hour. By then, at the most, the house would be a furnace in which nothing could live. As yet owing to the snow on the roof, the flames were confined to the south side. But there they had eaten through the wall, and were roaring and crackling with fury as they devoured the thick beams and timbers. They had seized both angles of the house, and were licking their way into the room. We could see the ruddy glare under the closed door, and could feel the scorching heat. From cracks and crevices puffs of yellow smoke darted into the hall; had a wind been blowing in our direction we should have been suffocated long before.
“Shall we stay here to perish like trapped beasts?” cried Andrew Menzies, his voice ringing above the infernal clamor of the savages. “Let us unbar the door, rush out, and sell our lives dearly! Take your muskets, my brave fellows! We will fight to the death, and kill as many of the devils as we can. And if no merciful bullets reach the women, we will shoot—them—with our—own—”
He could say no more. He stood with his hands clasped and his lips moving in prayer, while the men, almost unanimously shouted eager approval of his plan.
“Make ready, all!” cried Captain Rudstone, “we must be quick about it, for at any moment the heat or a spark may touch off the powder in yonder back room.”
That the explosion might come that instant, and so insure us a speedy and merciful death, was my heartfelt wish as I leaned against the wall. I groaned aloud as I pictured Flora lying in the snow, her beautiful face and hair dabbled with blood. Just then a bullet, fired through a loophole at one side of the door, whistled within an inch of my ear. It gave me such a start that I lost my balance and reeled against an old desk of the factor’s that stood under the shelf holding the candle. It yielded, and we came to the floor together.
I picked myself up and saw the desk broken open and a number of loose papers scattered at my feet. A word on one of them arrested my attention. I reached for it—it was a yellow document, faded with age, once folded—and on the outside, scrawled in big letters with a quill, I read the following:
“PLAN OF A SECRET PASSAGE FROM FORT ROYAL, 1762.”
I fairly held my breath as I tore the paper open. Inside was a rude drawing that I recognized at a glance, and more writing below it. The latter I studied for a moment, and then my head turned dizzy with joy.
“Hurrah!—hurrah!” I cried, waving the precious paper in the air. “Thank God for His wonderful mercy! If this proves true we are saved—saved!”
My companions crowded round me excitedly, some thinking that I had suddenly taken leave of my senses.
“What is it?” they demanded. “What do you mean, Carew?”
“Look, look!” I shouted. “A secret passage from the fort—an underground exit built years ago—leading from the cellar to the very bank of the river! It opens from the east wall; the stone is marked with a cross!”
The paper was quickly passed from hand to hand, studied and read. The scene that followed—the transition from blackest despair to radiant hope—I am utterly unable to describe. Indeed, I saw but little of the behavior of the men. I ran to Flora, clasping her in my arms, and we mingled our tears of happiness together.
“Listen, men!” shouted Andrew Menzies. “I fully believe that this document is to be relied upon—that the passage exists. There was a rumor years ago that one of the forts was so provided when it was built, and that the tunnel was not repeated afterward on account of the vast labor; but I did not suspect it to be Fort Royal. Griffith Hawks alone knew the secret, and he died with it untold. We will proceed at once to verify this good news; there is not a moment to spare. Denzil, you and Captain Rudstone will come with me.”
He turned to the others.
“There is much to be done,” he added, “and it must be done quickly. Load a sledge with provisions, and get others ready for the wounded who are unable to walk. Let each may take a supply of powder and ball, and put on snowshoes. Helen, do you and Miss Hatherton prepare for a long and tiresome march.”
There was, indeed, no time to be wasted. The entire side of the house was a mass of flames, and the hall was so scorching hot, so filled with smoke, as to be almost unendurable. The Indians were in a cordon around us, whooping at the top of their voices, firing occasional shots, and evidently expecting that the flames would drive us to meet death in the open.
Leaving the rest to execute Menzie’s orders—Carteret volunteered to fetch the women their outdoor wraps from upstairs—the three of us procured a lantern and gained access to the cellar from the room at the end of the hall. Assisted by the plan, we quickly found on the east wall, a big square slab of stone marked by a faint cross.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Menzies. “Try to pry it out with axes.”
Two minutes of work sufficed. The stone fell inward, and we shouted with delight when we saw a yawning black hole before us, large enough for two stooping men to walk abreast. Captain Rudstone hurried upstairs with the glad news, and meanwhile Menzies and I ventured some distance into the passage, finding the air sweet and pure.
When we returned to the mouth all of our little party were assembled in the cellar, each man—and the women as well—carrying a pair of snowshoes. Flora and Mrs. Menzies were protected against the bitter weather by furred cloaks. Of the five wounded men one had died within the hour; the other four were able to hobble along temporarily with some assistance. For transporting these when we were safely away from the fort we had two sledges, not counting the one laden with food supplies.
As yet the redskins did not suspect that they were in danger of being cheated of their triumph; we could hear their frenzied cries faintly. Overhead the flames were roaring and hissing, and the cellar itself was hazy with pungent smoke.