Lords of the North Part 36

"The fool!" muttered Grant. "The fool! Let him answer for the consequences. Their blood be on their own heads."

Whether the _Bois-Brules_, who had lashed their horses into a lather of foam and were cursing out threats in the ominous undertone that precedes a storm-burst, now encroached upon the neutral ground in spite of Grant, or were led gradually forward by the warden as the Hudson's Bay governor's hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of the moment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between the Hudson's Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming more furious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like an irresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson's Bay faces, that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble of Nor'-Westers and _Bois-Brules_ disguised in hideous war-gear, I dare avow not twenty of us were recognizable.

"Miserable rogue!" Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself with rage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor's head, "Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?"

"Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it's all up!" I begged, seeing the parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the _Bois-Brules_ and did not hear.

"Wretch!" Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. "Dare you to speak so to me!" and he caught Boucher's bridle, throwing the horse back on its haunches.

Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground.

"Arrest him, men!" commanded the governor. "Arrest him at once!"

But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gun leveled across its back.

Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought him shot and broke from Grant's control to be avenged, or whether Lieutenant Holt of the Hudson's Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged his weapon by accident, will never be known.

Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from the ranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, fired volley after volley into the governor's party. The neighing and plunging of the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson's Bay men were shouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in the shrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought I recognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashed back memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at the buffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousness that our men's murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie with innocent blood.

Throwing himself between the _Bois-Brules_ and the retreating band, the warden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wild beasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leader argued with blows. The shooting had been of a blind sort, and few shots did more than wound; but the natives were venting the pent-up hate of three years and would give no quarter. From musketry volleys the fight had become hand-to-hand butchery.

I had dismounted and was beating the scoundrels back with the b.u.t.t end of my gun, begging, commanding, abjuring them to desist, when a Hudson's Bay youth swayed forward and fell wounded at my feet. There was the baffled, anguished scream of some poor wounded fellow driven to bay, and I saw Laplante across the field, covered with blood, reeling and staggering back from a dozen red-skin furies, who pressed upon their f.a.gged victim, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his throat like hounds at the neck of a beaten stag. With a bound across the prostrate form of the youth, I ran to the Frenchman's aid. Louis saw me coming and struck out so valiantly, the wretched cowards darted back just as I have seen a miserable pack of open-mouthed curs dodge the last desperate sweep of antlered head. That gave me my chance, and I fell on their rear with all the might I could put in my muscle, bringing the flat of my gun down with a crash on crested head-toggery, and striking right and left at Louis' a.s.sailants.

"Ah--_mon Dieu_--comrade," sobbed Louis, falling in my arms from sheer exhaustion, while the tears trickled down in a white furrow over his blood-splashed cheeks, "_mon Dieu_--comrade, but you pay me back generous!"

"Tutts, man, this is no time for settling old scores and playing the grand! Run for your life. Run to the woods and swim the river!" With that, I flung him from me; for I heard the main body of our force approaching. "Run," I urged, giving the Frenchman a push.

"The run--ha--ha--my old spark," laughed Louis with a tearful, lack-life sort of mirth, "the run--it has all run out," and with a pitiful reel down he fell in a heap.

I caught him under the armpits, hoisted him to my shoulders, and made with all speed for the wooded river bank. My pace was a tumble more than a run down the river cliff, but I left the man at the very water's edge, where he could presently strike out for the far side and regain Fort Douglas by swimming across again. Then I hurried to the battle-field in search of the wounded youth whom I had left. As I bent above him, the poor lad rolled over, gazing up piteously with the death-look on his face; and I recognized the young Nor'-Wester who had picked flowers with me for Frances Sutherland and afterwards deserted to the Hudson's Bay.

The boy moaned and moved his lips as if speaking, but I heard no sound.

Stooping on one knee, I took his head on the other and bent to listen; but he swooned away. Afraid to leave him--for the savages were wreaking indescribable barbarities on the fallen--I picked him up. His arms and head fell back limply as if he were dead, and holding him thus, I again dashed for the fringe of woods. Rogers of the Hudson's Bay staggered against me wounded, with both hands thrown up ready to surrender. He was pleading in broken French for mercy; but two half-breeds, one with c.o.c.ked pistol, the other with knife, rushed upon him. I turned away that I might not see; but the man's unavailing entreaties yet ring in my ears. Farther on, Governor Semple lay, with lacerated arm and broken thigh. He was calling to Grant, "I'm not mortally wounded! If you could get me conveyed to the fort I think I would live!"

Then I got away from the field and laid my charge in the woods. Poor lad! The pallor of death was on every feature. Tearing open his coat and taking letters from an inner pocket to send to relatives, I saw a knife-stab in his chest, which no mortal could survive. Battle is pitiless. I hurriedly left the dying boy and went back to the living, ordering a French half-breed to guard him.

"See that no one mutilates this body," said I, "and I'll reward you."

My shout seemed to recall the lad's consciousness. Whether he fully understood the terrible significance of my words, I could not tell; but he opened his eyes with a reproachful glazed stare; and that was the last I saw of him.

Knowing Grant would have difficulty in obtaining carriers for Governor Semple, and only too anxious to gain access to Fort Douglas, I ran with haste towards the rec.u.mbent form of the fallen leader. Grant was at some distance scouring the field for reliable men, and while I was yet twenty or thirty yards away an Indian glided up.

"Dog!" he hissed in the prostrate man's face. "You have caused all this!

You shall not live! Dog that you are!"

Then something caught my feet. I stumbled and fell. There was the flare of a pistol shot in Governor Semple's face and a slight cry. The next moment I was by his side. The shot had taken effect in the breast. The body was yet hot with life; but there was neither breath, nor heart beat.

A few of the Hudson's Bay band gained hiding in the shrubbery and escaped by swimming across to the east bank of the Red, but the remnant tried to reach the fort across the plain. Calling me, Grant, now utterly distracted, directed his efforts to this quarter. I with difficulty captured my horse and galloped off to join the warden. Our riders were circling round something not far from the fort walls and Grant was tearing over the prairie, commanding them to retire. It seems, when Governor Semple discovered the strength of our forces, he sent some of his men back to Fort Douglas for a field-piece. Poor Semple with his European ideas of Indian warfare! The _Bois-Brules_ did not wait for that field-piece. The messengers had trundled it out only a short distance from the gateway, when they met the fugitives flying back with news of the ma.s.sacre. Under protection of the cannon, the men made a plucky retreat to the fort, though the _Bois-Brules_ hara.s.sed them to the very walls. This disappearance--or rather extermination--of the enemy, as well as the presence of the field-gun, which was a new terror to the Indians, gave Grant his opportunity. He at once rounded the men up and led them off to Frog Plains, on the other side of the swamp. Here we encamped for the night, and were subsequently joined by the first division of _Bois-Brules_.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD

The _Bois-Brules_ and Indian marauders, who gathered to our camp, were drunk with the most intoxicating of all stimulants--human blood. This flush of victory excited the redskins' vanity to a boastful frenzy.

There was wild talk of wiping the pale-face out of existence; and if a weaker man than Grant had been at the head of the forces, not a white in the settlement would have escaped ma.s.sacre. In spite of the bitterness to which the slaughter at Seven Oaks gave rise, I think all fair-minded people have acknowledged that the settlers owed their lives to the warden's efforts.

That night pandemonium itself could not have presented a more hideous scene than our encampment. The l.u.s.t of blood is abhorrent enough in civilized races, but in Indian tribes, whose unrestrained, hard life abnormally develops the instincts of the tiger, it is a thing that may not be portrayed. Let us not, with the depreciatory hypocrisy, characteristic of our age, befool ourselves into any belief that barbaric practices were more humane than customs which are the flower of civilized centuries. Let us be truthful. Scientific cruelty may do its worst with intricate armaments; but the blood-thirst of the Indian a.s.sumed the ghastly earnest of victors drinking the warm life-blood of dying enemies and of torturers laving hands in a stream yet hot from pulsing hearts.

Decked out in red-stained trophies with scalps dangling from their waists, the natives darted about like blood-whetted beasts; and the half-breeds were little better, except that they thirsted more for booty than life. There was loud vaunting over the triumph, the ignorant rabble imagining their warriors heroes of a great battle, instead of the murderous plunderers they were. Pierre, the rhymester, according to his wont, broke out in jubilant celebration of the half-breeds' feat:[A]

Ho-ho! List you now to a tale of truth Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, proudly sing, Of the _Bois-Brules_, whose deeds dismay The hearts of the soldiers serving the king!

Swift o'er the plain rode our warriors brave To meet the gay voyageurs come from the sea.

Out came the bold band that had pillaged our land, And we taught them the plain is the home of the free.

We were pa.s.sing along to the landing-place, Three hostile whites we bound on the trail.

The enemy came with a shout of acclaim, We flung back their taunts with the shriek of a gale.

"They have come to attack us," our people cry.

Our cohorts spread out in a crescent horn, Their path we bar in a steel scimitar, And their empty threats we flout with scorn.

They halt in the face of a dauntless foe, They spit out their venom of baffled rage!

Honor, our breath to the very death!

So we proffer them peace, or a battle-gage.

The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!"

'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow!

Our men break from line, for the battle-wine Of a fighting race has a fiery glow.

The governor thought himself mighty in power.

The shock of his strength--Ha-ha!--should be known From the land of the sea to the prairie free And all free men should be overthrown![B]

But naked and dead on the plain lies he, Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote Greedily feast on the great and the least, Without respect for a lord of note.

The governor thought himself mighty in power.

He thought to enslave the _Bois-Brules_, "Ha-ha," laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock.

"Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay."

Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note?

Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees?

What spirits wail to the prairie gale?

Who tells his woes to the evening breeze?

Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not.

We fought with them till none remained.

The coyote knew, and his hungry crew Licked clean the gra.s.s where the turf was stained.