The messhall was a log cabin, long and low, that paralleled the southern wall of the fort. As the three approached it their ears were saluted with loud laughter and clinking of glasses. Clearly, it was the scene of high revelry.
Inside, at the head of the table, sat Lieutenant Hibbs, goblet in hand, flanked by Williams, murderer of Wilwiloway and half a dozen others, all traders or petty officers. Half a dozen smoky tallow dips threw a flaring light on the flushed faces of the revellers, but did not dispel the dim shadows that crept about the walls.
Hibbs glanced at Stickney with a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He made no attempt to rise, nor did he invite his visitors to sit down.
“What the devil’s the matter, Stickney?” he growled. “What do you want here at this time of the night. Can’t you let a man have a minute to himself?”
Stickney’s face was grim. “I have just received very serious news,” he said; “and I have brought it to you. It is very serious—more serious than I can say.”
Hibbs glared at Stickney; then he glanced at Alagwa and his eyes grew scornful. “News!” he growled. “I suppose you got it from that worthless scamp”—he gestured at Bondie—“and from that d—d Indian-bred cub. To h—l with such news. I wouldn’t believe such dogs on oath.”
“You’ve got to believe them this time. I doubted the news myself at first, but now I am convinced that it is true. Send away your boon companions and listen.”
Captain Hibbs threw himself back in his chair. In the flickering candle light his blotched features writhed and twisted. “I haven’t any secrets from my friends,” he growled. “Spit out your news, or get out of here yourself. Likely it’s some cock and bull story.”
Stickney shrugged his shoulders. After all, why should he care who heard what he had to say? The news could not be suppressed. On the morrow it would be known to all, and it might as well be told at once. With a tense energy, born perhaps of the ague that was racking his body and of the weakness that he realized was fast overcoming him, he spoke.
“Spit it out?” he echoed. “By God! I will spit it out! Do you know that while you are revelling here the Pottawatomies are dancing over the dead bodies of Captain Wells, Captain Heald, and all the men, women, and children who were at Fort Dearborn? Do you know that General Hull has surrendered Detroit and twenty-five hundred men to the British? Do you know that in two days this fort will be surrounded by redskins and all communication between it and the outside world will be cut off. Do you know that the British are preparing to bring cannon up the Maumee to batter down your walls? Do you know this, Lieutenant Hibbs, you to whose care this fort and the honor of the country have been committed?”