The Plowshare and the Sword Part 39

La Salle's expression altered as he turned to his subordinates with the old fighting pa.s.sion in his eye and heart.

"My men," he said, "this woman is but an Indian, but she is trustworthy, I know. An English vessel has been cast ash.o.r.e, and the sailors seek to make shelter. What say you? Shall we warm our blood and relieve this tedious time of waiting by venturing out to exterminate the vermin?"

"Should we not first send out a spy?" suggested an old officer.

"It is well thought on. Choose you a man, and bid him take this woman for a guide. Let him stab her if she prove false. Do you gather together our fighters," went on the priest, turning to another, "and bid them make ready to sally out immediately."

"Shall you venture yourself, Excellency?"

"Shall I not!" cried La Salle, his hot blood afire for one more fight and one more triumph. "I fear we shall find but poor sport, but such as it is I shall take my share. Break up yonder circle of madmen, and order them to make ready. Hasten, so that we may have our hunt, and be ready to receive the ship when she sails out of the fog."

"I go not," cried Onawa, furiously resisting the soldiers who would have forced her away. She broke from them, ran to La Salle, and fell upon her knees, panting: "I go with you, that I may fight with you, and die for you."

"The woman has yet to learn a soldier's discipline," said La Salle coldly. "Secure a rope round her, and if she prove obstinate let her feel the end of it."

Onawa flung herself forward to grasp his feet, but two soldiers stepped out and dragged her away.

"Now, my brave comrades! To arms!" shouted the fighting priest.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

ARMS AND THE MAN.

Silas Upcliff groaned bitterly when he heard the Puritan's shout.

Being a brave man, his spirit inclined towards lending aid to his compatriots, but being honest also, his sense of duty impelled him to observe the oath which he had made to his n.i.g.g.ardly owner. While he was thus halting between two opinions, the three venturers left him upon the sh.o.r.e, the blood tingling in their veins at the prospect of a glorious death.

Penfold led the way and took command, carrying his burden of years as lightly as any man upon that coast. Striking upward from the bay, where the sailors were fighting the ice, he brought his companions to a height of three hundred feet above the sea, where the cliffs were divided by a narrow defile down which in summer coursed a stream.

"I have kept this place in mind," said the old man, when they halted at the extremity of the pa.s.s. "Here we shall make our stand."

So contracted was the way that the snow, ma.s.sed heavily upon the sides, in places nearly touched. Some pines clung to the rock, hanging over the defile, straining at their rope-like roots. At these the old yeoman pointed with the order:

"Fell me two trees so that they shall fall along the pa.s.s."

The others scrambled up the cliff and cut at the snaky roots, while Penfold occupied himself below in treading the snow into a firm bed.

Soon the tough pines began to crack and sway. First one crashed down, then another, and after that Upcliff came running, short of breath, into the defile, having at length made up his mind that Master Grignion must lose his ship.

"The enemy show black against the snow yonder, a hundred men if there be one," he shouted. "Tell me now, how shall I dispose my men?"

"Return to your ship, Master Skipper, and cut her free with what speed you may," replied Penfold gruffly. "We stand here to hold back the enemy so long as life remains."

"Mayhap they shall not come this way?" suggested Upcliff.

"If they do not, then are ye doubly safe. Before they can pa.s.s round you shall be away, for I know of no easy path up yonder wall, and on the south the sea guards us. See you not that they must here advance singly, and that one good fighter may hold them all at bay?"

"They have guns," said Upcliff, c.o.c.king his ear to listen to the axes ringing keenly in the bay.

"They shall not use them. The snow must drench their priming."

The skipper made a step back, but halted again.

"I cannot desert you, comrades," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "My owner is also an Englishman, an alderman of London town, and, close-minded though he be, I wot he would lose his venture and his ship rather than see England shamed. Bid me call my men to the far end of this pa.s.s, and there let us stand together until the end."

"See you not that this is our affair?" replied Penfold. "We are fighting for our own hands, having blood of comrades to avenge. Go, for you do but waste your time and ours."

"Away," added Hough, pushing the skipper gently back. "The Lord being on our side, how should we be afraid? They come about us like bees, and are extinct even as the fire among the thorns, for in the name of the Lord shall we destroy them. Go, good master, and while we smite these worshippers of idols do you release your ship."

Thus compelled to observe his oath, Upcliff gave way, though with great unwillingness, and ran to the end of the pa.s.s, where his eyes were gladdened by the sight of the _Dartmouth_ riding in the black channel, dressed out in all her canvas. His sailor's heart warmed at the spectacle, but sank again when he contemplated the wide white field which still spread between the deep sea and his ship. He staggered down, blowing like a whale, and s.n.a.t.c.hing an axe from the tired hands of one of his sailors wielded it furiously.

The men in the pa.s.s twisted the pine-boughs and snagged the trunks to form a rough chevaux-de-frise. Before an hour had pa.s.sed they heard footfalls crushing the snow, and then Penfold smiled and rose to his feet. The old man had been resting beneath a tree.

"Comrades," he said, "I lead by the privilege of age. Not more than one can make a stand in this narrow pa.s.s. Do you ascend the cliff, one on either side, and as the enemy attempt to climb the barrier cast snow into their faces. The rest you shall leave to me."

"Out on you, old Simon," said Hough strongly. "I am younger than you by many years, and thus shall last the longer."

"You may fill this place after me," said Penfold. "But while I live I rule."

Hough was not satisfied, and the argument was only brought to an end by the sight of a cap lifting above the ridge.

"To your places," whispered Penfold, stepping quickly to the barrier.

The knight was already upon the cliff, sheltering his spare body behind a pine. He awaited the one man who, he felt a.s.sured, would not lose the opportunity of a fight, and he did not desire to risk his life until he and that man could meet.

"Captain!" called a French voice startlingly, "a barrier is thrown across the way."

"Over it," ordered the officer.

The man jumped upon the fallen trunk and threw up his hands to grasp the higher branches; but his fingers merely clutched the air, he gave a groan, and fell back, pierced through the heart by Penfold's sword, which had darted from the interlacing branches. A shout went up from the pa.s.s, which was now a struggling ma.s.s of soldiers.

"Information ever costs a man," said the officer coolly. "Storm the barrier."

Two soldiers rushed out and flung themselves upon the locked trees, jostling each other in the constricted s.p.a.ce. A lump of snow hit the foremost between the eyes, he gasped, and would have turned, but a sword-thrust sent him to his doom, and his comrade, blinded in the self-same manner, shared his fate.

"There are men in hiding yonder," rang a voice. "The villains shelter behind the trees."

"Find me a way round," roared an angry voice, and La Salle pushed along the pa.s.s. "Are we to be held here by one man behind a fallen tree?"

"There is no way up, Excellency," said an officer, gazing up the face of the rock. "The heretics have well chosen their place."

"Send men round," shouted the priest.

A detachment was sent instantly to find a way over the cliff, while woodmen with axes went out and laid furiously upon the pines. Penfold disabled the first, but another advanced, and after him another, each unwilling to obey, but unable to hang back.

Three dead bodies were dragged out, and La Salle tried the expedient of sending his men in rapid succession against the barrier. The wet snow dashed upon their faces, one by one they dropped before that stinging sword, man after man fell back, but another always stood ready to rush into the gap, to make the attempt, and give way to someone more confident than he. Penfold's dogged old tongue counted off the strokes to the ringing of the ice-axes from the bay. The soldier-settlers came faster, each man more fierce than the last, because their blood was heated by the shame of this defeat. The old man's misty breath came streaming between the branches where his untiring sword flickered in and out.

Two at a time came the Frenchmen, until at length, profiting by a mis-stroke, a couple gained the summit of the barrier. The first to jump down fell a prey to the stout yeoman, but the second reached the ground unharmed. A shout of triumph went up, and the soldiers swarmed the obstacle.