The Mississippi Bubble Part 24

CHAPTER XI

THE IROQUOIS

Even as Sir Arthur and John Law clasped hands, there came a sudden interruption. A half-score yards deeper in the wood there arose a sudden, half-choked cry, followed by a shrill whoop. There was a crashing as of one running, and immediately there pressed into the open s.p.a.ce the figure of an Indian, an old man from the village of the Illini. Even as his staggering footsteps brought him within gaze, the two startled observers saw the shaft which had sunk deep within his breast. He had been shot through by an Indian arrow, and upon the instant it was all too plain whose hand had sped the shaft. Following close upon his heels there came a stalwart savage, whose face, hideously painted, appeared fairly demoniacal as he came bounding on with uplifted hatchet, seeking to strike down the victim already impaled by the silent arrow.

"Quick!" cried Law, in a flash catching the meaning of this sudden spectacle. "Into the fort, Sir Arthur, and call the men together!"

Not stopping to relieve the struggles of the victim, who had now fallen forward gasping, Law sprang on with drawn blade to meet the advancing savage. The latter paused for an uncertain moment, and then with a shrill yell of defiance, hurled the keen steel hatchet full at Law's head. It sh.o.r.e away a piece of his hat brim, and sank with edge deep buried in the trunk of a tree beyond. The savage turned, but turned too late. The blade of the swordsman pa.s.sed through from rib to rib under his arm, and he fell choking, even as he sought again to give vent to his war-cry.

And now there arose in the woods beyond, and in the fields below the hill, and from the villages of the neighboring Indians, a series of sharp, ululating yells. Shots came from within the fortress, where the loop-holes were already manned. There were borne from the nearest wigwams of the Illini the screams of wounded men, the shrieks of terrified women. In an instant the peaceful spot had become the scene of a horrible confusion. Once more the wolves of the woods, the Iroquois, had fallen on their prey!

Swift as had been Law's movements, Pembroke was but a pace behind him as he wrenched free his blade. The two turned back together and started at speed for the palisade. At the gate they met others hurrying in, Pembroke's men joining in the rush of the frightened villagers. Among these the Iroquois pressed with shrill yells, plying knife and bow and hatchet as they ran, and the horrified eyes of those within the palisade saw many a tragedy enacted.

"Watch the gate!" cried Pierre Noir, from his station in the corner tower. As he spoke there came a rush of screaming Iroquois, who sought to gain the entrance.

"Now!" cried Pierre Noir, discharging his piece into the crowded ranks below him; and shot after shot followed his own. The packed brown ma.s.s gave back and resolved itself into scattered units, who broke and ran for the nearest cover.

"They will not come on again until dark," said Pierre Noir, calmly leaning his piece against the wall. "Therefore I may attend to certain little matters."

He pa.s.sed out into the entry-way, where lay the bodies of three Iroquois, abandoned, under the close and deadly fire, by their companions where they had fallen. When Pierre Noir returned and calmly propped up again the door of slabs which he had removed, he carried in his hand three tufts of long black hair, from which dripped heavy gouts of blood.

"Good G.o.d, man!" said Pembroke. "You must not be savage as these Indians!"

"Speak for yourself, Monsieur Anglais," replied Pierre, stoutly. "You need not save these head pieces if you do not care for them. For myself, 'tis part of the trade."

"a.s.suredly," broke in Jean Breboeuf. "We keep these trinkets, we _voyageurs_ of the French. Make no doubt that Jean Breboeuf will take back with him full tale of the Indians he has killed. Presently I go out. Zip! goes my knife, and off comes the topknot of Monsieur Indian, him I killed but now as he ran. Then I shall dry the scalp here by the fire, and mount it on a bit of willow, and take it back for a present to my sweetheart, Susanne d.u.c.h.ene, on the seignieury at home."

"Bravo, Jean!" cried out the old Indian fighter, Pierre Noir, the old baresark rage of the fighting man now rising hot in his blood. "And look! Here come more chances for our little ornaments."

Pierre Noir for once had been mistaken and underestimated the courage of the warriors of the Onondagos. Lashing themselves to fury at the thought of their losses, they came on again, now banding and charging in the open close up to the walls of the palisade. Again the little party of whites maintained a steady fire, and again the Iroquois, baffled and enraged, fell back into the wood, whence they poured volley after volley rattling against the walls of the st.u.r.dy fortress.

"I am sorry, sir," said Sergeant Gray to Pembroke, "but 'tis all up with me." The poor fellow staggered against the wall, and in a few moments all was indeed over with him. A chance shot had pierced his chest.

"_Peste_! If this keeps up," said Pierre Noir, "there will not be many of us left by morning. I never saw them fight so well. 'Tis a good watch we'll need this night."

In fact, all through the night the Iroquois tried every stratagem of their savage warfare. With ear-splitting yells they came close up to the stockade, and in one such charge two or three of their young men even managed to climb to the tops of the pointed stakes, though but to meet their death at the muzzles of the muskets within. Then there arose curving lines of fire from without the walls, half circles which terminated at last in little jarring thuds, where blazing arrows fell and stood in log, or earth, or unprotected roof. These projectiles, wrapped with lighted birch bark, served as fire brands, and danger enough they carried. Yet, after some fashion, the little garrison kept down these incipient blazes, held together the terrified Illini, repulsed each repeated charge of the Iroquois, and so at last wore through the long and fearful night.

The sun was just rising across the tops of the distant groves when the Iroquois made their next advance. It came not in the form of a concerted attack, but of an appeal for peace. A party of the savages left their cover and approached the fortress, waving their hands above their heads.

One of them presently advanced alone.

"What is it, Pierre?" asked Law. "What does the fellow want?"

"I care not what he wants," said Pierre Noir, carefully adjusting the lock of his piece and steadily regarding the savage as he approached; "but I'll wager you a year's pay he never gets alive past yonder stump."

"Stay!" cried Pembroke, catching at the barrel of the leveled gun. "I believe he would talk with us."

"What does he say, Pierre?" asked Law. "Speak to him, if you can."

"He wants to know," said Pierre, as the messenger at length stopped and began a harangue, "whether we are English or French. He says something about there being a big peace between Corlaer and Onontio; by which he means, gentlemen, the governor at New York and the governor at Quebec."

"Tell him," cried Pembroke, with a sudden thought, "that I am an officer of Corlaer, and that Corlaer bids the Iroquois to bring in all the prisoners they have taken. Tell him that the French are going to give up all their prisoners to us, and that the Iroquois must leave the war path, or my Lord Bellomont will take the war trail and wipe their villages off the earth."

Something in this speech as conveyed to the savage seemed to give him a certain concern. He retired, and presently his place was taken by a tall and stately figure, dressed in the full habiliments of an Iroquois chieftain. He came on calmly and proudly, his head erect, and in his extended hand the long-stemmed pipe of peace. Pierre Noir heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Unless my eyes deceive me," said he, "'tis old Teganisoris himself, one of the head men of the Onondagos. If so, there is some hope, for Teganisoris is wise enough to know when peace is best."

It was, indeed, that noted chieftain of the Iroquois who now advanced close up to the wall. Law and Pembroke stepped out to meet him beyond the palisade, the old _voyageur_ still serving as interpreter from the platform at their back.

"He says--listen, Messieurs!--he says he knows there is going to be a big peace; that the Iroquois are tired of fighting and that their hearts are sore. He says--a most manifest lie, I beg you to observe, Messieurs--that he loves the English, and that, although he ought to kill the Frenchmen of our garrison, he will, since some of us are English, and hence his friends, spare us all if we will cease to fight."

Pembroke turned to Law with question in his eye.

"There must be something done," said the latter in a low tone. "We were short enough of ammunition here even before Du Mesne left for the settlements, and your own men have none too much left."

"'Reflect! Bethink yourselves, Englishmen!' he says to us," continued Pierre Noir. "'We came to make war upon the Illini. Our work here is done. 'Tis time now that we went back to our villages. If there is to be a big peace, the Iroquois must be there; for unless the Iroquois demand it, there can be no peace at all.' And, gentlemen, I beg you to remember it is an Iroquois who is talking, and that the truth is not in the tongue of an Iroquois."

"'Tis a desperate chance, Mr. Law," said Pembroke. "Yet if we keep up the fight here, there can be but one end."

"'Tis true," said Law; "and there are others to be considered."

It was hurriedly thus concluded. Law finally advanced toward the tall figure of the Iroquois headman, and looked him straight in the face.

"Tell him," said he to Pierre Noir, "that we are all English, and that we are not afraid; and that if we are harmed, the armies of Corlaer will destroy the Iroquois, even as the Iroquois have the Illini. Tell him that we will go back with him to the settlements because we are willing to go that way upon a journey which we had already planned. We could fight forever if we chose, and he can see for himself by the bodies of his young men how well we are able to make war."

"It is well," replied Teganisoris. "You have the word of an Iroquois that this shall be done, as I have said."

"The word of an Iroquois!" cried Pierre Noir, slamming down the b.u.t.t of his musket. "The word of a snake, say rather! Jean Breboeuf, harken you to what our leaders have agreed! We are to go as prisoners of the Iroquois! Mary, Mother of G.o.d, what folly! And there is madame, and _la pauvre pet.i.te_, that infant so young. By G.o.d! Were it left to me, Pierre Berthier would stand here, and fight to the end. I know these Iroquois!"

CHAPTER XII

PRISONERS OF THE IROQUOIS

The faith of the Iroquois was worse than Punic, nor was there lacking swift proof of its real nature. Law and Pembroke, the moment they had led their little garrison beyond the gate, found themselves surrounded by a ring of tomahawks and drawn bows. Their weapons were s.n.a.t.c.hed away from them, and on the instant they found themselves beyond all possibility of that resistance whose giving over they now bitterly repented. Teganisoris regarded them with a sardonic smile.

"I see you are all English," said he, "though some of you wear blue coats. These we may perhaps adopt into our tribe, for our boys grow up but slowly, and some of the blue coats are good fighters. These dogs of Illini we shall of course burn. As for your war house, you will no longer need it, since you are now friends of the Iroquois, and are going to their villages. You may say to Corlaer that you well know the Iroquois have no prisoners."

The horrid significance of this threat was all too soon made plain. In an hour the little stockade was but a ma.s.s of embers and ashes. In another hour the little valley had become a Gehenna of anguish and lamentations, with whose riot of grief and woe there mingled the savage exultations of a foe whose treachery was but surpa.s.sed by his cruelty.

Again the planting-ground of the Illini was utterly laid waste, to mark it naught remaining but trampled grain, and heaps of ashes, and remnants of blackened and incinerated bones. By nightfall the party of prisoners had begun a wild journey through the wilderness, whose horrors surpa.s.sed any they had supposed to be humanly endurable.

Day after day, week after week, for more than a month, and much of the time in winter weather, they toiled on, part of the way by boat, the remainder of the journey on foot, crossing snow-clogged forest, and tangled thicket and frozen mora.s.s, yet daring not to drop out for rest, since to lag might mean to die. It was as though after some frightful nightmare of suffering and despair that at length they reached the villages of the Five Nations, located far to the east, at the foot of the great waterway which Law and his family had ascended more than a year before.

Yet if that which had gone before seemed like some bitter dream, surely the day of awakening promised but little better hope. From village to village, footsore and ill, they were hurried without rest, at each new stopping place the central figures of a barbarous triumph; and nowhere did they meet the representatives of either the French or the English government, whose expected presence had const.i.tuted their one ground of hope.