The Frontier Angel Part 13

The hours between midnight and morning are the invariable ones selected by the North American Indian for making his attack upon his enemy. This strange being, so similar to the wild animal in more than one respect, seems to have learned many a lesson from him. Darkness, the stealthy approach and blow; the inevitable yell and leap in death; the howl of rage and disappointment; the chilling war-whoop; the persisting trailing of an enemy; the patient, silent watch; the black pa.s.sions of revenge; the reveling in blood; all these are pa.s.sions common to and a part of both.

It was at that hour, just beyond midnight, the most weird and gloomy of all, when a sort of stupor or indifference had fallen upon all except the most experienced, that Dingle gave the intelligence of the Indians having been seen upon the clearing, in the rear of the block-house.

Almost at the same instant, Peterson added that they were also upon the front. Their course of action was now suspected at once; it was to attack the rear until the attention was concentrated in this direction, when a rush would be made upon the front, and an attempt to scale the palisades.

Every man was now upon the alert. The lightning, as if ordered of Providence, inflamed more incessantly, and nearly every step of the approaching savages could be seen. Some twenty were halting just beneath the edge of the wood, and evidently waiting for a moment of darkness in which to make a rush.

"H'yer they come!" said Peterson.

The same instant all saw them half way across the clearing, and almost immediately a dozen spouts of flame flashed from as many port-holes, and nearly half the Indians leaped wildly in the air and rolled quivering to the ground. The others wavered for a moment, and then scattered and took to the wood again.

"H'yer they am now, sartain!" called out Dingle.

The real attack was now attempted. Nearly the whole pack, yelling like so many tigers, rushed forward, and came up against the palisades like a hurricane. Here, as their heads appeared, by the aid of the friendly lightning, they were shot down by the cool and deliberate fire of the whites. The firing was as incessant as the lightning, and told with frightful effect upon the a.s.sailants. But the Shawnees are brave, when excited, and they maintained the a.s.sault most determinedly. McGable was soon seen several times, and three of the soldiers, as they afterward said, aimed nearly all of their shots at him. But fate seemed to protect him.

As the darkness blazed forth with the living fire, the block-house loomed forth, clear and defined, standing as it did, like a large, dark, motionless animal brought at bay by his dogged pursuers, and from whose hundred eyes the red bolts of destruction were hurled incessantly and wrathfully.

The Shawnees continued their desperate attempts to scale the palisades, growing more furious and revengeful at their repeated failures. But the steady, continual fire of the whites made dreadful slaughter, and they finally broke and fled in the wildest confusion to the wood. The shots from the block-house continued as long as a single Indian was visible.

"What do they now propose to do?" asked Mansfield.

"To git home 'bout as quick as their legs will let them."

"Good! Our success has been better than we could have hoped."

"Don't git excited now, 'cause it ain't noways sartin they've left yet."

"It makes no difference whether they have or not; it is all the same to us. We haven't lost a single man, while they have had twenty killed.

They can't make a more vigorous attack than this last one, and they cannot possibly meet with a more complete repulse."

"I tell _you_ that ef it hadn't been for the rain and the lightning, we'd have found things considerably summat different. In the first place, we wouldn't had the light to shoot by, and in the next they would've had some chance to give us a taste of what they had larned to do with fire."

"They've gone for home," said Dingle, decisively; "they won't bother us again very soon."

So it proved. An hour or two later, it began to become gray and misty in the east, the rain ceased falling, and gradually the light of morning stole over the wood and settlement. As the day broke, the scene was dismal and cheerless. The appearance of the forest, after a cold storm of rain has pa.s.sed over it, always seems to wear its most disagreeable look. The dripping twigs, the branches loaded overhead with water, every rustle of which brings it down in torrents. The cold, sticky leaves, the wet, shining bark of the trees, and the chilling wind that soughs through the wood, all induce a feeling of desolation and dislike.

Such appeared the forest the morning after the attack. In the clearing, the bare, charred stumps seemed blacker than usual, and the beautiful river was now turbulent and muddy. Not a sign of the savages was seen.

They had disappeared, carrying with them their dead and wounded; and the only vestiges of the conflict were numerous red spots in the clayey earth which the storm had not completely washed away.

Before it was light, Dingle and Peterson entered the wood to ascertain whether the Shawnees had really fled or not. They now made their appearance with the intelligence that they were not in the neighborhood, and there was no further cause for fear. The settlers, thankful and joyous, poured out of the block-house, carrying back their furniture and valuables, and by noon the settlement wore its usual appearance again.

One of the sentinels reported to the commander about this time, that there was still an Indian in the wood, apparently bent upon mischief.

"Draw bead and shoot him the first chance you get," was the reply.

With this determination, the sentinel betook himself to watching again.

He was the only person acting in that capacity at this time, the commander deeming the a.s.surance of Dingle and Peterson of enough weight to allow his men a good half day's rest.

Occasional glimpses of the supposed savage could be obtained; but it was a long time before the sentinel could bring his rifle to bear upon him.

He dodged and flitted so rapidly that it seemed impossible; but becoming impatient and provoked, the sentinel at last raised his gun, took a quick aim at what he supposed to be his head, and blazed away.

"Consarn your old picter, who you shooting at?" called out the indignant Jenkins, as he stepped into the clearing.

The sentinel dropped his gun in amazement, and stared all agape at the speaker as he recognized him. Jenkins supposing his silence the result of fear, suddenly became valiant and again demanded,

"Say, who you shooting at? S'pose you'd have hit me. Smart, ain't you.

You needn't look so innocent and drop that gun, and pretend you didn't do it. I seen you take aim and shoot, and I'll pay you for it, danged if I don't!"

By this time Peterson and several others appeared on the platform, and understanding how matters stood, their laughter was loud and continued.

Jenkins indeed presented a comical and curious appearance. Naturally thin and bony, he now seemed doubly elongated, from the fact that his clothes were completely saturated, and clung tightly to his limbs. As he straddled indignantly forward, they flapped together, and it would have been no great stretch of imagination to suppose him a post gliding over the ground.

"Can't you answer? WHO YOU SHOOTING AT?"

"Why at you, of course," replied the commander, striving vainly to restrain his gravity. Jenkins was heard to give a loud "umph!" and seen to shake his hand in a warning manner, when he was admitted into the gate and strode hurriedly toward the fort. The sentinel, who had gained his senses by this time, enjoyed the fun as much as the others, and determined to carry the joke through. He made no reply for the very purpose of giving Jenkins the idea he was sorely frightened at his mistake.

The indignant Jenkins soon made his appearance upon the platform, and observing the cowering sentinel shrinking behind the others, called out,

"You're the man, yes, sir! Come out here, and get half killed!"

"That's right, Jenkins, give it to him. He'll larn better than to fire at you agin," said Dingle, with an appearance of just indignation.

"Go in, long-legs, and hammer him," repeated the others.

"Yes! come out here and take it, you old coward, you!" shouted Jenkins, stepping around and rubbing his fore-arms as though he were rolling up his sleeves. "Come out here, I tell you!"

The men now pushed the trembling man from behind them, and retreated so as to leave the two in an open s.p.a.ce and facing each other. The sentinel now put off all semblance of fear, and demanded in a gruff tone,

"What do you want?"

"Why, I want you to stand still while I hammer you half to death!"

"Hammer away, but if your head isn't cracked before five minutes, I'll stand treat, boys."

The astonishment shown by Jenkins at this unexpected change was ludicrous in the extreme. His hands suddenly unclinched, and he stammered out,

"What--what did you say?"

"Why, come on and fight," replied the sentinel, bl.u.s.tering as vigorously as did Jenkins at first.

"You shot at me, didn't you?"

"Yes; and will do it again, too."

"I don't think it was the right thing. I wouldn't do it to you."

"Because you are _afraid_."

"No,--I don't think I would."