Little need to precipitate an onslaught that could have but one ending—unless indeed assistance arrived from the fort.
The long, long hour of waiting came to an end at last, and the commander and myself left the frontier fort at the head of the men.
How terribly tedious the march back seemed! The officer would keep talking as cheerfully as if going to a concert or evening party. I hardly answered, I hardly heard him. I felt ashamed of my anxiety, but still I could not help it. I was but a young soldier.
At last we are within sight, ay, and hearing, of the camp, and the events of the next hour float before my memory now as I write, like the shadowy pantomime of some terrible dream.
First we see smoke and fire, but hear no sound. All must be over, I think—tragedy and massacre, all—and the camp is on fire.
Even the commander of our little force takes a serious view of the case now. He draws his sword, looks to his revolver, and speaks to his men in calm, determined tones. 133
For long minutes the silence round the camp is unbroken, but suddenly rifles ring out in the still air, and I breathe more freely once again. Then the firing ceases, and is succeeded by the wild war-cries of the attacking savages, and the hoarse, defiant slogan of the defending Scots.
'Hurrah!' I shout, 'we are yet in time. Oh, good sir, hurry on! Listen!'
Well might I say listen, for now high above the yell of savages and ring of revolvers rises the shriek of frightened women.