The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE SECOND RUSH.

  I went first to the highest watch-tower, the occupants of which had beenbetter protected than those at the stockade, but for all that I foundone poor fellow dead and another badly wounded. Such a true and steadyfire had been poured at the loopholes, I was told, that it was as muchas the men's lives were worth to expose themselves sufficiently to takeaim. I looked out for a moment, but though I could see vaguely throughthe driving snow to the dark line of the forest, not an Indian was insight.

  "They have not retreated?" I asked.

  "Not them, sir," a grizzled voyageur remarked, with emphasis. "Everyclump of bushes, every stump and snow heap, has a lurking redskin behindit. And the woods yonder are full of 'em, too."

  He had hardly spoken when there was a flash and a report off to theleft, followed quickly by one from the right. Both shots were aimed atthe stockade loopholes, but they seemed to strike harmlessly, and drewno reply from our men.

  "Consarn the devils!" growled the voyageur as he peered into the night."They don't show as much as a feather tip."

  "They ain't lying so long in the snow for nothing," added another man."They'll be at us again with a rush presently."

  "I am afraid they will," I assented. "Keep a sharp lookout and give ustimely warning."

  With that I left the tower and walked along the north side of the fort.I was glad to observe that the men were in confident and even cheerfulspirits. Some were loading muskets, while others were bringing bulletsand canisters of powder, and, what was more urgently needed at present,pannikins of steaming hot coffee. The latter, I ascertained, came fromthe factor's house, and I had no doubt that it was due to the womanlyforethought of Flora and Mrs. Menzies.

  I could not find Father Cleary, and on making inquiries I learned thathe was with the wounded, who had all been taken to the hastilyimprovised hospital in the men's quarters. I was told that he had stuckto his post through the fighting, and had done as good and valorousservice as any man in the fort.

  Mr. Christopher Burley I came upon seated astride of an empty cask, withhis musket across his knees. His cap was gone, and his hair was awry; hewas scarcely recognizable for a mask of perspiration and powder grime.

  "I congratulate you," I said, "on keeping a sound skin."

  "The same to you," he replied. "It was indeed a severe and bloody fight.I bore your advice in mind Mr. Carew, and I have fired six shots withoutdiscomfort."

  "To what purpose?" I inquired.

  "I hope at least that I have hit none of our own men," he answered witha touch of humor. "I confess I am more handy with a quill than a musket.I have friends in London, sir, who will not believe me when I relate myadventures in this barbarous country. But, alas! I may not live to seeEngland again."

  I thought this more than likely, but did not tell him so.

  "Come, come, Mr. Burley!" I replied, "keep up your spirits; don't yieldto depression. You will be spared to stamp many a blue document--toentangle scores of luckless litigants in the meshes of the law."

  I clipped on without waiting to see how he took this sally, and went asfar as the northwest angle of the fort. Here I stopped to talk with somecomrades who were drinking hot coffee flavored with a dash of rum.

  Close by, other men were watching alertly at the loopholes. Occasionallythey would fire at some partly exposed Indians, and then dodge back as astraggling volley of bullets pelted the stockade. Over on the east sidemuskets were cracking in the same desultory fashion. The storm showed nosigns of abating. On the contrary, the snow was falling more thickly andin finer flakes, and a bitter wind was constantly heaping it in higherdrifts, and blowing it in blinding, eddying showers about the inclosure.

  I was about to return to my post, warmed and strengthened by a pannikinof coffee, when a couple of shots rang out. One of the very men to whomI had been talking--a young Scotchman named Blair--reeled and fellheavily, hit by a ball that had entered at a loophole. I bent over him,and saw at once that he was badly hurt. He was shot in the left breast,and blood was oozing from his lips.

  "It's all up with me, Carew," he moaned. "Let me lie here."

  "Not a bit of it," I replied. "You'll pull through, take my word for it.But you must be in the doctor's hands without delay."

  Three of us picked the wounded man up, and bore him across the yard tothe hospital. At the door I relinquished my share of the burden, for thefiring had suddenly recommenced so briskly that I feared the savageswere meditating a rush.

  But the fusillade dwindled to a few shots before I was halfway to theeast side, and the next instant, as I was pushing along leisurely, I sawa dark object looming out of the snow twenty feet to my right. It wasthe figure of a woman. Her back was toward me, and she seemed to havehalted in perplexity.

  Suddenly she moved forward a little, and with that I was in pursuit, myheart beating fast. As I overtook her she turned round with a start.

  "Denzil!" she gasped.

  As I had suspected, it was Flora Hatherton. She was muffled in a cloak,a fur cap crowned her pretty face, and in her gloved hands she held alight musket.

  "You here!" I exclaimed. "Are you mad, to expose yourself to suchdanger? Go back!"

  "I don't want to go back," she said. "Please don't make me, Denzil."

  "You must," I answered sharply. "Is it possible that Mrs. Menziesallowed you to do this rash thing?"

  "I came without her permission. She thinks I have retired," Florareplied in a spirited tone. "Let me help to defend the fort, Denzil. Ican fire a gun, and I am not a bit afraid, and it is my duty, I feellike a coward these brave men fighting and dying."

  What could I say? The girl's rashness angered me, but I admired herpluck and courage. I had never loved her so much as I loved her thatinstant--never so fully realized what the barrenness of my life would bewithout her. And she was Griffith Hawke's!

  "Flora--" I began.

  She seemed to divine my feelings, and of a sudden she shrank a littlefrom me.

  "Hush!" she said. "I have been foolish and impulsive, Denzil. I am goingback to Mrs. Menzies."

  The mad words were checked on my lips.

  "Yes, go!" I answered hoarsely. "Go at once--"

  There was the sound of a footfall to one side, and I glanced around tosee the factor. How much he had heard I could only surmise; but he stoodin silence for a moment, looking from one to the other of us.

  "Flora, why are you here?" he asked, and to me his voice seemed cold andharsh.

  "I wanted to help to defend the fort," she answered in faltering tones,"but Mr. Carew stopped me--"

  "I fortunately met Miss Hatherton," I broke in, "and urged her to goback."

  "Quite right," said the factor. "It is not a woman's part to fight. Yourplace is in the house, Flora."

  Without a word she turned and glided rapidly through the snow. GriffithHawke hesitated, and then started to follow her; but he had not made twosteps when a cry rang loudly from the northeast watch-tower:

  "The redskins are coming! The clearing is alive with them! Every man tohis post!"

  The alarm was not a false one, for immediately a fiendish clamor andwhooping broke out and scores of musket shots blended in a rattling din.The attack seemed to be directed entirely against the east side, and tothat quarter the two of us ran fleetly.

  "Spare guns this way!" the factor shouted at the top of his voice."Stand firm, men!"

  The scene that followed baffles description. There was no panic orfright, nor did the men entirely desert the other sides of the fort forthe threatened point; but all who could be spared rallied to the north.I felt sure that this second rush would be a more serious business thanthe first, and I was not mistaken.

  I quickly reached the stockade--I did not see what had become ofGriffith Hawke--and managed to squeeze my way through to one of theloopholes. At grave risk--for the fire was already heavy on bothsides--I peered briefly out. Through the smoke and snow I saw
the duskywarriors advancing in great numbers and at close quarters, filling theair with their infernal yells. Some carried felled saplings with thebranches lopped off short, the purpose of which was plain.

  One glimpse was enough. I began to fire with my comrades, reckless ofthe bullets that whizzed about me. From angle to angle of the northstockade, from the embrasures of the tower, poured a deadly sheet offlame. A howitzer crashed, and then a swivel gun. I fired threetimes--spare muskets were passed to me--and I drew back from theloophole to reload. By the ruddy flashes I recognized friends--Baptisteand Captain Rudstone, Griffith Hawke and Andrew Menzies, the excitedcountenance of Christopher Burley in the rear.

  "Rake them down," the factor cried shrilly. "Beat them off if you can.Don't let them get a footing inside!"

  The words were hardly uttered when the stockade groaned and rattled. Thesavages had reared their rude scaling ladders against it, and by thesemeans some gained the top, while others clambered up with the agility ofcats.

  It was a most desperate and daring assault, but we met it with thedogged pluck of men who fight for a last chance. We shot half a score ofthe devils as they clung to the top of the stockade, and speedilyfinished others who dropped down among us.

  They poured over thicker and faster, screeching like fiends, and now wewere driven back a little. We fired as long as we could load, and thenmade an onset with clubbed muskets. The advantage was on our side, theIndians being mostly armed with tomahawks, and though more than a scoreof them were inside at once, we soon sent them scrambling back, and sochecked the incoming tide.

  A little handful stuck out to the last, disdaining to flee. They came atus ferociously, and nearly broke through our line. I finished one, andCaptain Rudstone and Baptiste killed two more. A fourth Indian--astalwart, hideously painted savage--carried a musket. He suddenlyleveled it and fired, and I heard a sharp cry behind me. I looked roundin time to see Griffith Hawke stagger, clutch at the rail and fallheavily.