“Small hope of that,” answered De Artigny, “or we would have met with them before this, or other signs of their passage. They are below, either at the fort, or planning attack on the Indian villages beyond. What think you, Barbeau?”
“I have never been here,” he said slowly, “so cannot tell what chance the red devils might have against the white men at St. Louis. But they are below us on the river, no doubt of that, and engaged in some hell act. I know the Iroquois, and how they conduct war. ’Twill be well for us to think it all out with care before we venture farther. Come, De Artigny, tell me what you know––is the fort one to be defended against Iroquois raiders?”
“’Tis strong; built on a high rock, and approachable only at the rear. Given time they might starve the garrison, or drive them mad with thirst, for I doubt if there be men enough there to make sortie against a large war party.”
“But the Indian allies––the Algonquins?”
“One war whoop of an Iroquois would scatter them 265 like sheep. They are no fighters, save under white leadership, and ’tis likely enough their villages are already like this one yonder, scenes of horror. I have seen all this before, Barbeau, and this is no mere raid of a few scattered warriors, seeking adventure and scalps; ’tis an organized war party. The Iroquois have learned of the trouble in New France, of La Salle’s absence from this valley; they know of the few fighting men at the Rock, and that De Tonty is no longer in command. They are here to sweep the French out of this Illinois country, and have given no warning. They surprised the Indian villages first, killed every Algonquin they could find, and are now besieging the Rock. And what have they to oppose them? More than they thought, no doubt, for Cassion and De la Durantaye must have reached there safely, yet at the best, the white defenders will scarcely number fifty men, and quarreling among themselves like mad dogs. There is but one thing for us to do, Barbeau––reach the fort.”
“Ay, but how? There will be death now, haunting us every foot of the way.”
De Artigny turned his head, and his eyes met mine questioningly.
“There is a passage I know,” he said gravely, “below the south banks yonder, but there will be peril in it––a peril to which I dread to expose the lady.”
I stood erect, no longer paralyzed by fear, realizing my duty.