HOT WORK.
I was standing so near that the three daring redskins all but fell upon me. As I dodged quickly back, one let fly a tomahawk. I felt it graze my head, and the next instant I had smashed the skull of the howling wretch with the butt end of my musket. Already three more were over the stockade, and the five fell upon our men with desperate fury. The yelling and whooping, the cries of the wounded, made an infernal din. A comrade on my left was shot in the mouth, and dropped writhing to the ground; a half-breed at my very side clapped a hand to his arm and spun round.
But by this time the scrimmage had been seen at a distance, and there was a rally to the spot. Two savages were clubbed to death, and a third fell by Captain Rudstone’s musket. I shot a fourth through the chest, but in spite of the wound, he made at me, and I had to settle him with a blow above the ear.
For one Indian that was slain, however, two fresh ones scrambled into the inclosure. There were as agile as cats, and as daring as panthers. With bullet and tomahawk they assailed us, and we were soon hard-pressed all along the line. There was fierce fighting on the north as well, and so no help could be spared from that quarter. Indeed, I began to fear that the fort would be taken by sheer numbers; and even while I was engaged hand to hand with the painted fiends, I was meditating what steps to take to save Flora.
But when the situation was most critical, several things befell to turn the tide. At great risk a couple of plucky fellows loaded the howitzer—it had been discharged once—and thrusting the muzzle out of one of the boles provided for that purpose, they fired it point-blank into the mass of savages who were coming on to the assault. At the same moment a swivel gun roared a few yards to the left, and the two tremendous reports were followed by shrill yells of agony and consternation.
This appeared to check the rush from without, and of a sudden the top of the stockade showed empty against the skyline. Seeing this, we took heart, and attacked the savages who were inside more furiously than ever. Just then we were joined by half a dozen men from the watch-tower and by four others led by Griffith Hawke. The redskins wavered, fell back, and bolted in panic for their lives. Ten of them we shot down or clubbed, and as many succeeded in scrambling over the stockade. It had been a close shave, but the fort was saved for the present.
“Blaze away, or they’ll be in again!” cried the factor. “Give them a steady volley!”
With ringing cheers we sprang to the loopholes, and fired as fast as we could load and empty. A vigorous fusillade was returned at first, but it soon slackened and straggled, and the whooping of the savages ceased entirely.
It was the same on the north side of the fort. The Indians had not retreated, but they were repulsed and disheartened, and were in no mood for further sacrifice. They lay hidden behind drifted snow and stumps, taking wary shots whenever they fancied they saw an opportunity.
Now we had time to breathe—time to take a welcome spell of rest after our hard struggle. We were all parched and powder grimed, and some of us were bandaging slight wounds. And the victory had cost us dear. Three sorely-hurt men had been carried off to the hospital, and among the dozen or more slain savages who lay in ghastly attitudes on the trampled, blood-soaked snow were four of our plucky defenders, who would never lift musket again. It was a hideous, revolting sight, and the raging storm, the murky gray of the night, lent an added horror to it.