The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost Campaign, Altsheler [reading eggs books txt] 📗

help cannot possibly come to you. We guarantee you good treatment in Canada, where you will be held until the war is over."

Young Colden smiled. They were standing before the single gate in the palisade, and he looked back at the solid buildings, erected by the hands of his own men, with the comfortable smoke curling up against the cold sky. And he looked also at the wintry forest that curved in every direction.

"Colonel de Courcelles," he said, "it seems to me that we are in and you are out. If it comes to holding us here all winter we who have good houses can stand it much better than you who merely have the forest as a home, where you will be rained upon, snowed upon, hailed upon, and maybe frozen. Why should we exchange our warm house for your cold forest?"

Colonel de Courcelles frowned. There was a humorous inflection in Colden's tone that did not please him, and the young officer's words also had a strong element of truth.

"It's not a time to talk about houses and forests," he said, somewhat haughtily. "We have here a formidable force capable of carrying your fort, and, for that reason, we demand your surrender. Indians are always inflamed by a long and desperate resistance and while Captain de Jumonville and I will do our best to restrain them, it's possible that they may escape from our control in the hour of victory."

Young Colden smiled again. With Willet at his right hand and Robert at his left, he acquired lightness of spirit.

"A demand and a threat together," he replied. "For the threat we don't care. We don't believe you'll ever see that hour of victory in which you can't control your Indians, and there'll be no need for you, Colonel de Courcelles, to apologize for a massacre committed by your allies, and which you couldn't help. We're also growing used to requests of surrender.

"There was your countryman, St. Luc, a very brave and skillful man, who asked it of us, but we declined, and in the end we defeated him. And if we beat St. Luc without the aid of a strong fort, why shouldn't we beat you with it, Colonel de Courcelles?"

Colonel de Courcelles frowned once more, and Captain de Jumonville frowned with him.

"You don't know the wilderness, Captain Colden," he said, "and you don't give our demand the serious consideration to which it is entitled. Later on, the truth of what I tell you may bear heavily upon you."

"I may not know the forest as you do, Colonel de Courcelles, but I have with me masters of woodcraft, Mr. Lennox and Mr. Willet, with whom you're already acquainted."

"We've had passages of various kinds with Colonel de Courcelles, both in the forest and at Quebec," said Robert, quietly.

Both De Courcelles and Jumonville flushed, and it became apparent that they were anxious to end the interview.

"This, I take it, is your final answer," the French Colonel said to the young Philadelphia captain.

"It is, sir."

"Then what may occur rests upon the knees of the gods."

"It does, sir, and I'm as willing as you to abide by the result."

"And I have the honor of bidding you good day."

"An equally great honor is mine."

The two French officers were ceremonious. They lifted their fine, three-cornered hats, and bowed politely, and Colden, Willet and Robert were not inferior in courtesy. Then the Frenchmen walked away into the forest, while the three Americans went inside the palisade, where the heavy gate was quickly shut behind them and fastened securely. But before he turned back Robert thought he saw the huge figure of Tandakora in the forest.

When the French officers disappeared several shots were fired and the savages uttered a long and menacing war whoop, but the young soldiers had grown used to such manifestations, and, instead of being frightened, they felt a certain defiant pleasure.

"Yells don't hurt us," said Wilton to Robert. "Instead I feel my Quaker blood rising in anger, and I'd rejoice if they were to attack now. A very heavy responsibility rests upon me, Robert, since I've to fight not only for myself but for my ancestors who wouldn't fight at all. It rests upon me, one humble youth, to bring up the warlike average of the family."

"You're one, Will, but you're not humble," laughed Robert. "I believe that jest of yours about the still, blood of generations bursting forth in you at last is not a jest wholly. When it comes to a pitched battle I expect to see you perform prodigies of valor."

"If I do it won't be Will Wilton, myself, and I won't be entitled to any credit. I'll be merely an instrument in the hands of fate, working out the law of averages. But what do you think those French officers and their savage allies will do now, Robert, since Colden, so to speak, has thrown a very hard glove in their faces?"

"Draw the lines tighter about Fort Refuge. It's cold in the forest, but they can live there for a while at least. They'll build fires and throw up a few tepees, maybe for the French. But their anger and their desire to take us will make them watch all the more closely. They'll draw tight lines around this snug little, strong little fort of ours."

"Which removes all possibility that your friend Tayoga will come at the appointed time."

Robert glared at him.

"Will," he said, "I've discovered that you have a double nature, although the two are never struggling for you at the same time."

"That is I march tandem with my two natures, so to speak?"

"They alternate. At times you're a sensible boy."

"Boy? I'm older than you are!"

"One wouldn't think it. But a well bred Quaker never interrupts. As I said, you're quite sensible at times and you ought to thank me for saying so. At other times your mind loves folly. It fairly swims and dives in the foolish pool, and it dives deepest when you're talking about Tayoga. I trust, foolish young, sir, that I've heard the last word of folly from you about the arrival of Tayoga, or rather what you conceive will be his failure to arrive. Peace, not a word!"

"At least let me say this," protested Wilton. "I wish that I could feel the absolute confidence in any human being that you so obviously have in the Onondaga."

The night came, white and beautiful. It was white, because the Milky Way was at its brightest, which was uncommonly bright, and every star that ever showed itself in that latitude came out and danced. The heavens were full of them, disporting themselves in clusters on spangled seas, and the forest was all in light, paler than that of day, but almost as vivid.

The Indians lighted several fires, well beyond rifle shot, and the sentinels on the palisade distinctly saw their figures passing back and forth before the blaze Robert also noticed the uniforms of Frenchmen, and he thought it likely that De Courcelles and Jumonville had with them more soldiers than he had supposed at first. The fires burned at different points of the compass, and thus the fort was encircled completely by them. Both young Lennox and Willet knew they had been lighted that way purposely, that is in order to show to the defenders that a belt of fire and steel was drawn close about them.

To Wilton at least the Indian circle seemed impassable, and despite the enormous confidence of Robert he now had none at all himself. It was impossible for Tayoga, even if he had triumphed over sleet and snow and flood and storm, to pass so close a siege. He would not speak of it again, but Robert had allowed himself to be deluded by friendship. He felt sorry for his new friend, and he did not wish to see his disappointment on the morrow.

Wilton was in charge of the guard until midnight, and then he slept soundly until dawn, awakening to a brilliant day, the fit successor of such a brilliant night. The Indian fires were still burning and he could see the warriors beside them sleeping or eating at leisure. They still formed a complete circle about the fort, and while the young Quaker felt safe inside the palisade, he saw no chance for a friend outside. Robert joined him presently but, respecting his feelings, the Philadelphian said nothing about Tayoga.

The winter, it seemed, was exerting itself to show how fine a day it could produce. It was cold but dazzling. A gorgeous sun, all red and gold, was rising, and the light was so vivid and intense that they could see far in the forest, bare of leaf. Robert clearly discerned both De Courcelles and Jumonville about six hundred yards away, standing by one of the fires. Then he saw the gigantic figure of Tandakora, as the Ojibway joined them. Despite the cold, Tandakora wore little but the breechcloth, and his mighty chest and shoulders were painted with many hideous devices. In the distance and in the glow of the flames his size was exaggerated until he looked like one of the giants of ancient mythology.

Robert was quite sure the siege would never be raised if the voice of the Ojibway prevailed in the allied French and Indian councils. Tandakora had been wounded twice, once by the hunter and once by the Onondaga, and a mind already inflamed against the Americans and the Hodenosaunee cherished a bitter personal hate. Robert knew that Willet, Tayoga and he must be eternally on guard against his murderous attacks.

The savages built their fires higher, as if in defiance and triumph. They could defend themselves against cold, because the forest furnished unending fuel, but rain or hail, sleet or snow would bring severe hardship. The day, however, favored them to the utmost. It had seemed at dawn that it could not be more brilliant, but as the morning advanced the world fairly glowed with color. The sky was golden save in the east, where it burned in red, and the trunks and black boughs of the forest, to the last and least little twig, were touched with it until they too were clothed in a luminous glow.

The besiegers seemed lazy, but Robert knew that the watch upon the fort and its approaches was never neglected for an instant. A fox could not steal through their lines, unseen, and yet he never doubted. Tayoga would come, and moreover he would come at the time appointed. Toward the middle of the morning the Indians shot some arrows that fell inside the palisade, and uttered a shout or two of defiance, but nobody was hurt, and nobody was stirred to action. The demonstration passed unanswered, and, after a while, Wilton called Robert's attention to the fact that it was only two hours until noon. Robert did not reply, but he knew that the conditions could not be more unfavorable. Rain or hail, sleet or snow might cover the passage of a warrior, but the dazzling sunlight that enlarged twigs two hundred yards away into boughs, seemed to make all such efforts vain. Yet he knew Tayoga, and he still believed.

Soon a stir came in the forest, and they heard a long, droning chant. A dozen warriors appeared coming out of the north, and they were welcomed with shouts by the others.

"Hurons, I think," said Willet. "Yes, I'm sure of it. They've undoubtedly sent away for help, and it's probable that other bands will come about this time." He reckoned right, as in half an hour a detachment of Abenakis came, and they too were received with approving shouts, after which food was given to them and they sat luxuriously before the fires. Then three runners arrived, one from the north, one from the west, and one from the east, and a great shout of welcome was uttered for each.

"What does it mean?" Wilton asked Robert.

"The runners were sent out by De Courcelles and Tandakora to rally more strength for our siege. They've returned with the news that fresh forces are coming, as the exultant shout from the warriors proves."

The young Philadelphian's heart sank. He knew that it was only a half hour until noon, and noon was the appointed time. Nor did the heavens give any favoring sign. The whole mighty vault was a blaze of gold and blue. Nothing could stir in such a light and remain hidden from the warriors. Wilton looked at his comrade and he caught a sudden glitter in his eyes. It was not the look of one who despaired. Instead it was a flash of triumph, and the