“Would that it could be so,” returned Captain Headley, with a solemnity rendered more profound from the very smallness of the contingency on which the safety of so much depended, “but there is no hope. Anticipating that the Indians would attempt the very course you now suggest—that of saving what powder might be uninjured by the slimy bed into which it was thrown, all has been so mixed up with rum and other liquids as to be rendered utterly useless. Everything seems to be against us.”
“Then, since all hope is over,” returned the stranger with marked disappointment, “we will not indulge in vain regrets for the past, but make the best preparation for to-morrow. It is only to die in harness after all. But, alas! I pity the poor women. How is my dear Ellen—how does she support this severe affliction?”
“Bravely—nobly, like herself,” returned the commanding officer with emotion. “She will be delighted, yet grieved to behold you—delighted at the generous devotion that has brought you so far, and at the head of so small a force to our assistance; grieved because she will know that you have only come in time to share our fate. But dispose of your party and come in. Serjeant Nixon,” he called to that official, whom he saw passing from the rampart to the guard-house.
The non-commissioned officer was soon at his side, and the captain having given him directions to quarter the Indians for the night in the officers' mess-room, liberally supplying them and their horses with whatever they might require, and the stranger having himself addressed some remarks to his people in the Miami tongue, they both repaired with heavy hearts to the quarters of the former.
The meeting between Captain Wells and Mrs. Headley—the uncle and niece, both of whom entertained a strong natural affection, founded as much on similarity of character as on mere blood connexion—was a very affecting one. They had long been separated, and year after year a visit of a few weeks had been promised by the former to Chicago; but the multiplicity of his public duties, for he was an active agent in the Indian Department, had always prevented him from carrying his intention into execution. But now when he heard of the danger to which the garrison was exposed, and his beloved niece in particular, he lost not a moment in appointing a deputy to perform his duties during his absence, and collecting five-and-twenty warriors whom he knew to be not only devoted to him but the most resolute of the Miami race, he hurried off with the object of forming a sort of body-guard to the ladies of the detachment which he had been informed had received the instructions of General Hull to proceed forthwith to Fort Wayne. Had he had reason to doubt the faith of the Pottowatomies intended to form the escort of the detachment generally, he might and would have brought with him a much larger force; but it was not until after he had traversed almost the whole of the one hundred and eighty miles which he and his party had ridden without rest, that he obtained information of the Indian disaffection. Alarmed lest he should be too late, he and his party urged their harassed steeds to greater speed, and having made a signal to the garrison, which was seen by Ronayne through the telescope he kept constantly to his eye, the gun was fired, the flag waved, and the shouts pealed forth that, in all probability, in drowning his words of command saved the life of his friend and relative.
“Well, Ellen, my love,” proposed Capt. Headley, after a good deal of conversation on the subject of their position had taken place, “as this is to be the last of the many days which, until within a week, we have passed so happily in Chicago, what say you to our all dining here together? With many of us it will, doubtless, be for the last time. We have still a few bottles of claret left in which to drink your uncle's health, mixed up only with a regret that his visit to us had not occurred at a happier period.”
“Most willingly, Headley, I approve your suggestion, and shall cause the dinner to be prepared. All I ask is the assistance of Mrs. Elmsley and Ronayne's servants. With their aid my own servants can even contrive to manage something for a dinner.”
“Dum vivimus, vivamus!” exclaimed the herculean and resolute captain. “I can see no reason why, because we are to be shot down and perhaps eaten to-morrow, we should not enjoy the pleasure of a little social eating and drinking ourselves to-day! I am not one to lament fruitlessly over that which cannot be avoided. Sufficient for the day, as scripture has it, is the evil thereof. I certainly go in for the dinner and a glass of claret. It will help to wash down half the dust I have swallowed within the last forty-eight hours.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Headley, with a playfulness extraordinary for the occasion, but which was induced solely by a design to set the minds of her friends at ease, by impressing them with a belief that her unconcern was greater, than it really was, “while I prepare the feast, go you out into what highways and byways are left to us and invite our friends. Uncle, you have not seen Mrs. Elmsley since she was a young, clashing, and unmarried belle. She will be delighted to meet with you. Tell her I will take no denial—both herself and husband must attend. We shall dine at five, becoming fashionable as we stand on the brink of the grave; and by the way, Headley, all these troubles have made me quite forget it, but this is the anniversary not only of my birth but wedding day.”
“God bless you!” said her husband, tenderly embracing her, “and grant of his great mercy that you may see many returns of the day under far brighter and more auspicious circumstances!”