Suddenly a flickering light arose ahead of us, and another, and we saw that they were candles beginning to twinkle through the palings of the fort.These were badly set, the width of a man's hand apart.Presently here comes a soldier with a torch, and as he walked we could see from crack to crack his bluff face all reddened by the light, and so near were we that we heard the words of his song:--``O, there came a lass to Sudbury Fair, With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!
And she had a rose in her raven hair, With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!''
``By the etarnal!'' said Tom, following the man along the palings with the muzzle of his Deckard, ``by the etarnal! 'tis like shootin' beef.''
A gust of laughter came from somewhere beyond.The burly soldier paused at the foot of the blockhouse.
``Hi, Jem, have ye seen the General's man? His Honor's in a 'igh temper, I warrant ye.''
It was fortunate for Jem that he put his foot inside the blockhouse door.
``Now, boys!''
It was Williams's voice, and fourteen rifles sputtered out a ragged volley.
There was an instant's silence, and then a score of voices raised in consternation,--shouting, cursing, commanding.Heavy feet pounded on the platform of the blockhouse.While Tom was savagely jamming in powder and ball, the wicket gate of the fort opened, a man came out and ran to a house a biscuit's throw away, and ran back again before he was shot at, slamming the gate after him.Tom swore.
``We've got but the ten rounds,'' he said, dropping his rifle to his knee.``I reckon 'tis no use to waste it.''
``The Willing may come to-night,'' I answered.
There was a bugle winding a strange call, and the roll of a drum, and the running continued.
``Don't fire till you're sure, boys,'' said Captain Williams.
Our eyes caught sight of a form in the blockhouse port, there was an instant when a candle flung its rays upon a cannon's flank, and Tom's rifle spat a rod of flame.A red blot hid the cannon's mouth, and behind it a man staggered and fell on the candle, while the shot crunched its way through the logs of the cottage in the yard where we stood.And now the battle was on in earnest, fire darting here and there from the black wall, bullets whistling and flying wide, and at intervals cannon belching, their shot grinding through trees and houses.But our men waited until the gunners lit their matches in the cannon-ports,--it was no trick for a backwoodsman.
At length there came a popping right and left, and we knew that Bowman and McCarty's men had swung into position there.
An hour passed, and a shadow came along our line, darting from cover to cover.It was Lieutenant Bayley, and he sent me back to find the Colonel and to tell him that the men had but a few rounds left.I sped through the streets on the errand, spied a Creole company waiting in reserve, and near them, behind a warehouse, a knot of backwoodsmen, French, and Indians, lighted up by a smoking torch.And here was Colonel Clark talking to a big, blanketed chief.I was hovering around the skirts of the crowd and seeking for an opening, when a hand pulled me off my feet.
``What'll ye be afther now?'' said a voice, which was Terence's.
``Let me go,'' I cried, ``I have a message from Lieutenant Bayley.''
``Sure,'' said Terence, ``a man'd think ye had the Hair Buyer's sculp in yere pocket.The Colonel is treaty-makin' with Tobacey's Son, the grreatest Injun in these parrts.''
``I don't care.''
``Hist!'' said Terence.
``Let me go,'' I yelled, so loudly that the Colonel turned, and Terence dropped me like a live coal.Iwormed my way to where Clark stood.Tobacco's Son was at that moment protesting that the Big Knives were his brothers, and declaring that before morning broke he would have one hundred warriors for the Great White Chief.Had he not made a treaty of peace with Captain Helm, who was even then a prisoner of the British general in the fort?
Colonel Clark replied that he knew well of the fidelity of Tobacco's Son to the Big Knives, that Tobacco's Son had remained stanch in the face of bribes and presents (this was true).Now all that Colonel Clark desired of Tobacco's Son besides his friendship was that he would keep his warriors from battle.The Big Knives would fight their own fight.To this sentiment Tobacco's Son grunted extreme approval.Colonel Clark turned to me.
``What is it, Davy?'' he asked.
I told him.
``Tobacco's Son has dug up for us King George's ammunition,'' he said.``Go tell Lieutenant Bayley that I will send him enough to last him a month.''
I sped away with the message.Presently I came back again, upon another message, and they were eating,--those reserves,--they were eating as I had never seen men eat but once, at Kaskaskia.The baker stood by with lifted palms, imploring the saints that he might have some compensation, until Clark sent him back to his shop to knead and bake again.The good Creoles approached the fires with the contents of their larders in their hands.
Terence tossed me a loaf the size of a cannon ball, and another.
``Fetch that wan to wan av the b'ys,'' said he.
I seized as much as my arms could hold and scurried away to the firing line once more, and, heedless of whistling bullets, darted from man to man until the bread was exhausted.Not a one but gave me a ``God bless you, Davy,''
ere he seized it with a great hand and began to eat in wolfish bites, his Deckard always on the watch the while.
There was no sleep in the village.All night long, while the rifles sputtered, the villagers in their capotes--men, women, and children--huddled around the fires.
