The battle had now become a mélée. The savages went leaping and whooping forward in the darkness, and heavy blows were given and taken. Guert's clear, manly voice was heard, rising above the clamour, encouraging his companions to press through the throng of their assailants, in tones full of confidence. Both the Trackless and myself discharged our rifles at the foremost of the Hurons, and each certainly brought down his man; but it was not easy to see what we could do next. To stand aloof and see my friends borne down by numbers was impossible, however, and Susquesus and myself fell upon the enemy's rear. This charge of ours had the appearance of a sortie, and it produced a decided effect on the result, opening a passage by which Dirck and the two settlers issued from the throng, and joined us. This was no sooner done, than we all had to stand at bay, retreating little by little, as we could. The result would still have been doubtful, even after we had succeeded in reaching the south-western angle of the building, had it not been for a forward movement on the part of Herman Mordaunt, at the head of half-a-dozen of his settlers. This reinforcement came into the affair with loaded rifles, and a single discharge, given as soon as we were in a line with our friends, caused our assailants to vanish, as suddenly as they had appeared. On reflecting on the circumstances of that awful night, in after-life, I have thought that the force in the rear of the Hurons began to melt away, even before Herman Mordaunts support was received, leaving their front weak and unsustained. At any rate, the enemy fled to their covers, as has just been related, and we entered the gate in a body, closing and barring it, as soon as possible.
I can scarcely describe the change that had come over the appearance of things in that eventful night. The fire was extinguished, even to the embers, and deep darkness had succeeded to the glimmering, waving red light of the flames. The yells, and whoops, and screams, and shouts, for our men had frequently thrown back the defiance of their foes in cheers, were done; a stillness as profound as that of the grave reigning over the whole place. The wounded seemed ashamed even to groan; but our hurt, of whom there were four, went into the house to be cared for, stern and silent. No enemy was any longer to be apprehended beneath the pickets, for the streak of morning was just appearing above the forest, in the east, and Indians rarely attack under the light of day. In a word, that night, at least, was passed, and we were yet protected by Providence.
Herman Mordaunt now bethought him of ascertaining his precise situation, the extent of his own loss, and, as far as possible, of that which we had inflicted on the enemy. Guert was called for, to aid in this inquiry, but no Guert was to be found! Jaap, too, was absent. A muster was had, and then it was found that Guert Ten Eyck, Jaap Satanstoe, Gilbert Davis, and Moses Mudge were all wanting. The Jumper, too, did not appear; but I accounted for him, and for the two settlers named, having actually seen them fall. Day returned to us slowly, while agitated by the effect of these discoveries; but it brought no relief. We soon ventured to re-open the gates, knowing no Indian would remain very near the building, while it was light; and, having examined all the dangerous covers, we passed outside the court with confidence, in quest of the bodies of our friends. Not an Indian was seen, Jumper excepted. The Oneida lay at the foot of the rocks, dead, and scalped; as did Davis and Mudge on the summit. Everything else human had disappeared. Dirck was confident that six or seven of the Hurons fell by the volley from the cliff, but the bodies had been carried off. As to Guert and Jaap, no traces of them remained, dead or alive.
CHAPTER XXIX.
“She looked on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts: dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.”
BYRON.
It was a most painful moment to me, when Herman Mordaunt, an hour after all these facts were established, came to summon me to the presence of Anneke and Mary Wallace. One gleam of joy, one ray of the sunshine of the heart, shone on Anneke's sweet countenance as she saw me unharmed enter the room, but it quickly disappeared in the strong sympathy she felt for the sufferings of her friend. As for Mary Wallace, death itself could hardly have left her more colourless, or with features more firmly impressed with the expression of mental suffering. Anneke was the first to speak.
“God be praised that this dreadful night is passed, and you and my dearest father are spared!” the precious girl said, with fervour, pressing the hand that had taken one of hers, in both her own. “For this much, at least, we can be grateful; would I could add for the safety of us all!”
“Tell me the worst at once, Mr. Littlepage,” added Mary Wallace; “I can bear anything better than uncertainty. Mr. Mordaunt says that you know the facts better than any one else, and that you must relate them. Speak, then, though it break my heart to hear it!—is he killed?”