As we have before remarked, the sun rose on their immediate preparation for departure with a seemingly mocking brilliancy. None had been in bed from early dawn; and as both officers and men glanced, for the last time, from the ramparts upon the common, they saw assembled around nearly the whole of the Indians, with arms in their hands, and though not absolutely dressed in war dress, without any of those indications of warriors prepared for a long march, such as that meditated by the troops, while their tents still remained standing.
“The prospect is gloomy enough,” remarked Captain Wells, gravely; “those follows have evidently been up all night and watching the fort from a distance, to see whether an attempt might not be made to 'steal a march' upon them in the dark—look yonder to the loft, do you see that band crouching as the light becomes stronger behind those sand hills? Mark me well if that is not the point from which they will make their attack, if attack us they do! For myself, I am prepared for the worst; and in order that they shall know how much I mistrust them—nay, how certain I am of what they intend, I shall head the advance with my brave warriors painted as black as the devil himself. And so to prepare ourselves.”
“Corporal Nixon, pull me down that flag,” ordered Ensign Ronayne, pointing to it, when the commanding officer had descended to give directions for the formation of the line of march—“that is my especial charge, and he who may take a fancy to it must win it with my life.”
The corporal replied not. He was not aware of the true position of his young officer's lady, and he was afraid to give him pain by making allusion to her. He, however, promptly obeyed, and when the flag was lowered, and the lines cut away, assisted him in enfolding it somewhat in the fashion of a Scotch tartan round his body.
At the moment when the flag came down, the Indians on the common set up a tremendous yell. It was evidently that of triumph at the unmistakable evidence of the immediate evacuation of the fort.
The hot blood of Ronayne could not suffer this with impunity. At the full extent of his lungs he pealed back a yell of defiance, which attracted the general notice towards himself, standing erect as he did with the bright and brilliant colors of the silken flag flashing in the sun. Among those who were nearest to him was Pee-to-tum, over whose wounded eye had been drawn a colored handkerchief as a bandage. The Chippewa shook his tomahawk menacingly at him, and motioned as though he would represent the act of tearing the flag from his body.
The shout and its cause were heard and known below. Captain Headley returned to the rampart, and with much excitement in his manner and tone, inquired of the young officer what he meant by such imprudence of conduct at such a moment—when they were about to place themselves, almost defenceless, at the mercy of those whom he so wantonly provoked.
“It ill becomes you, sir,” returned the Virginian, fiercely and sarcastically, “to talk to me of imprudence, who but follow your example of yesterday. Where was the prudence, I ask, which induced you to compromise not only your own life, but the lives of all, in spitting first, then dashing your glove, into the face of the Chippewa?”
“If you dare to question the propriety of my conduct, sir,” returned his commanding officer, “know that the act was provoked—unavoidable, if we would respect ourselves and command the respect of our enemies. Pee-to-tum had insulted the American people by contemptuously trampling under foot the medal that had been given to him by the President. Join your company, sir! What tomfoolery is that?” alluding to the manner in which the colors were disposed of. “Remove those colors!”
“That tomfoolery,” returned Ronayne, his cheek paling with passion as he descended to the parade, “means that I know what you do not, Captain Headley—how to defend the colors intrusted to my care. I will not remove them.”