All at once I heard him uttering an exclamation of surprise followed by the words, “Gorramighty! Mass George—dat shot come from ahind!”
“From behind?” I shouted, echoing his words, and once more looking to the wound.
“Yes, mass, yes—sartin he come from ahind.”
Some suspicion of this had already been in my thoughts: I fancied that I had “felt” the shot from that quarter.
It had been no fancy. On a more minute examination of the wound, and the torn traces upon the breast of my coat, the direction of the bullet was plainly perceived. Undoubtedly it had struck me from behind.
“Good God, Jake!” I exclaimed, “it is so. The Indians have advanced to the other side of the glade—we are lost!”
Under this belief, we both faced towards the opening, when at that moment, as if to confirm us, another bullet whistled past our ears, and struck with a heavy “thud” into the tree by which we were kneeling. This one had certainly been fired from the other side of the glade—we saw the flash and heard the report of the gun that had sent it.
What had become of our comrades on that side? Had they abandoned their posts, and permitted the Indians to advance? Were they all by the pond, and thus neglecting their duty?
These were the first conjectures both of my companion and myself. It was too dark for us to see our men under the shadows of the pines, but neither did they appear in the open ground. We were puzzled, and shouted aloud for an explanation.
If there were replies, we heard them not—for at that moment a wild yell from our savage enemies drowned all other cries, and a sight burst upon our eyes that caused the blood to curdle within our veins.