Читать книгу A Pageant of Victory - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 22

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It was night of Autumn; and in a draughty, weather-beaten tent dim-lit by guttering candles, a man in general's uniform sat warming himself at an inadequate fire, for the night was chill. He was a very tall man extremely precise and neat as to person for though his coat of blue and buff was faded, its gold braid and epaulettes tarnished, his wig was trimly curled and the rich lace at throat and wrists showed spotless.

All about this little tent were many others, vague in the uncertain light of watchfires, with rough shelters and hutments row upon row, where a host lay sleeping and no sound to hear but the muffled tramp of sentries.

Thus then sat His Excellency General George Washington gazing thoughtfully upon the figure beyond the fire, a lean, haggard shape that, crouched upon a stool, stared into the flame with eyes of such stark, speechless suffering and face contorted by such mental agony that his own stern, somewhat grim features softened wonderfully, and rising, he stood to lay his hands on this mute sufferer's shoulders, large hands yet very gentle, hands that held and were to mould the fate of a nation; and presently when he spoke, his voice was gentle also:

"Now God comfort thee, Anthony, old comrade!"

The heavy head was lifted, the haggard eyes looked up, the quivering lips found speech at last:

"Seven months and never a word! Seven months, George, and now--this! The whole frontier in ashes! Blood and devastation and ... my wife, George, my wife and child somewhere amid it all!"

"I humbly pray you shall find matters better than report speaks them. Howbeit, God strengthen you, friend Anthony!"

"Then you'll grant me leave, George? You'll let me go ... give me men no matter how few ...? For go I must, to know the truth of it or I ... I shall run mad."

"Take your Rangers, Anthony. Things are at a deadlock here until the enemy moves as move he must and shall, soon or late. So take what power you will,--go through the Seneca country like a cleansing fire ... hang me these blue-eyed Indians, these mock savages, ay and these Colonial gentlemen, these fanatic loyalists that are become so lost to honour as to rouse the Five Nations and loose these once friendly tribes against us. Take such force as you will and God speed you, sir."

Then Anthony rose and was silent for a long moment staring blindly on the fire.

"George," said he at last, "I'm grateful! I'll take no more men than I must! This has been a bitter war, but I believe the tide has turned for us at last ... I believe that while George Washington lives, so will live our new America, certain of victory now, and to flourish mightily when this generation of ours has passed away. So may God long spare your Excellency! And now farewell, sir."

"Shall you march to-night?"

"This hour, sir."

They grasped each other's hands, they saluted each other; and so these two old brothers in arms who years ago had marched and fought side by side for England, now took leave of each other, the one to mount eager horse and ride away like a whirlwind, the other to seat himself at littered travelling desk to write out dispatches, pore over maps and sign orders while the great camp slumbered around him and no sound to break the pervading quiet except the busy squeak of his tireless quill and the sentries calling their posts.

But afar in the shadow of the forest where the Rangers had their bivouac, all was orderly stir and bustle; lantern light flickered and gleamed on fringed shirt and leggings, on rifle-barrel, powder-horn and belted knife and tomahawk, as the Ranger Corps stood mustered to hearken while their grim-faced Anthony spoke:

"... We must be a quenchless fire, comrades, to sweep the country clean 'twixt here and the Iroquois border. We go to hunt down and exterminate that bloody regiment called 'The Greens,' with MacDonald's sham Indians and renegades and their allies the Senecas and Mohawks. We are to make an end of these slayers of innocents, these murderers of women and little children. And we can only do this by sudden onfalls, surprise of attack, meeting their greater numbers by the unexpected and tactics of time and place. We must be stealthy as any Indian war party but quicker and more deadly. Comrades all, you are men well-tried and hardy, as I know, but this raid shall tax even your endurance, it will be a cruel march, we go forward, stopping for nothing, fighting all and any odds, with mercy on none and least of all, upon ourselves. If any man, by reason of wounds or weakness, cannot keep up, he must be left behind, and this will mean death at his own hands or torture by our foes. Well, men of the Rangers, my company shall be four hundred, who volunteers?"

Even as he spoke, and as one man, forward stepped the whole corps. Anthony's haggard features twitched, his sombre eyes brightened.

"Now God love you all!" cried he. "Proud am I to be a Ranger! Captain Clemmons and you, Sergeant Sep, choose me my company. We march in half an hour."

And so, towards dawn, four hundred men filed off silently into the misty forest, bound upon this forced march, this bold irruption into a hostile country swarming with ferocious savages and defended by regiments of white men yet more merciless, to smite them in their very stronghold; a feat that was to make history.

Day and night they marched, eating as they went, halting only to snatch a few brief hours of sleep; following Indian trails, fording rivers, scaling mountains, clambering steeps where only wild creatures and such men as these might go. Twice they surprised and smote powerful Indian war parties; once their deadly rifles cleared them a way through a prowling company of irregulars. But on they sped, seeking this hated regiment of the 'Greens' and renegade whites masked in paint and feathers, who had out-done the very Indians in their atrocities, tracking them by ruined farmsteads, devastated villages, black desolation and death in horrid shapes. As upon a certain morning when, hard upon the heels of their unsuspecting quarry, they came on the site of a camp so lately vacated that the ground felt still warm beneath the scattered ashes of the cooking fires ... and upon the pervading stillness, for the day was hot and windless, an awful whimpering voice cried on God. Now following this voice, they presently beheld something pinned to a tree, an eyeless, contorted, mutilated thing that had been human and that even now, despite long hours of torture and painful dying, yet had strength for speech:

"Oh if ... ye be ... Christian men ... shoot me ... for love of Christ!" Anthony looked and beckoned to the Sergeant.

"Steel!" said he. "A shot may betray us."

And, after a little while they went on again, silent as ever, but at even swifter gait.

So this devoted company fought its way, giving and expecting no quarter of savage foe or relentless wilderness; and some of these Four Hundred died in battle, others were lost fording rivers and some few weakening, fell behind and shot themselves to escape deaths more evil.

Three hundred and eighty-one they numbered when, in a certain dawn, Anthony halted suddenly to lean on his rifle like one smitten faint and sick, for in his nostrils once again was the acrid reek of smoke ... and this was country dearly familiar, the earth he now trod was his own ... beyond the wooded curve of the river yonder should be his new village, the little settlement called after his own name, and, beyond this again, throned above park-like meadow, his home, set in the wide gardens he had caused to be made and planted for Blodwen's pleasure, the garden she had afterwards tended with such loving care.

They went on, they climbed a tree-girt hill whence he might see.... The little settlement of Falconbridge was gone ... beyond rose a hideous blackened ruin that had been his house.

The rifle slipped from his nerveless grasp and, raising both arms, he strove to hide the horror with tremulous clutching hands; behind him fierce voices muttered and whispered, but no man spoke aloud until came young Captain Clemmons and ventured to touch him.

"Colonel ... oh sir," said he, recoiling before the face Anthony turned on him, "pray is ... is this--was that--"

"My home, sir!" answered Anthony, hoarsely. "There was my wife ... my child that I have never seen! And now ... what is there for me? Rangers, fall in! Let us go down and look on ... what we must. Forward!"

Silently they followed whither he led, down the hill, across the level and into the ravaged garden trampled and desecrated by many feet.... But here his courage failed and sinking down upon a rustic seat beneath a certain tree where Blodwen had often sat with him of an evening, he gestured wildly towards the blackened fire-swept ruin of his home, saying:

"Comrades, I ... dare not! Go for me and seek ... amid the ashes."

So, while he crouched there in shuddering horror of what they might find, his men turned over these dreadful ashes, peering beneath charred timbers and fallen beams. After some time becoming aware the sergeant stood beside him, he questioned with face bowed between his shaking hands.

"Anything ... Sep?"

"Only ... bones, Cunnle. And they ain't nothing to go by, so tek comfort, sir, p'raps your dear lady--" he paused suddenly and turned, rifle at hip, for softly, clearly, a bird seemed calling from the shady oak-grove hard by. Anthony lifted his head, he got to his feet and stood motionless, breath arrested, listening:

"Sep, did you ... did you hear it?" he gasped brokenly. "Did you hear it too?"

"Ay, sir, a whippoorwill called from the live oaks yonder and I--"

Snatching up his rifle, Anthony began to run, and the sergeant with him until Anthony's voice and gesture checked him:

"Back, Sergeant! See the men are alert ... watch the forest yonder." Then he sped on again, running with long strides; and suddenly from behind a great, gnarled tree stepped a tall, stately figure.

"Mahtocheega!" he gasped. "Oh, friend--?" The Sagamore smiled, pointed; and then he beheld Blodwen. She was pale, her garments stained and torn, but Anthony saw only her golden eyes, the quiver of her lips, her arms outstretched to him.

"Oh, my Anthony ... at last!"

Dumbly he gazed on her and, speechless still, leapt and clasped her to his heart in joy too deep for any words, or even kisses as yet. Now presently she drew him behind the tree and showed him, cradled between its thick, massive roots, a small, shapeless bundle.

"Our little son, Anthony."

Down they knelt together and though Anthony's lean cheeks were wet, his eyes were radiant as he stooped and, with shaking hand, very gently put back the Indian blanket ... a little, pink face topped by auburn curls.

And thus it was that he first looked upon his little son. Now presently with this slumbering precious atomy between them, Blodwen told how two days ago death and horror had leapt upon them from the forest, how the Tuscaroras, overwhelmed by numbers, had died or been scattered, and of how, but for the Sagamore's valiant devotion, his craft and cunning, she and the child must have perished.

Then up rose Anthony and strode where, remote and solitary, stood this Indian chief, this nobleman of the Wilderness, and cast his arms about his most desolate figure and clasped his hands, uttering such broken words of gratitude as he might, until speech quite failed him and they stood gazing into each other's eyes, like the good friends they were.

"Oh, Mahtocheega, my brother, you have given back to me more than life ... much more, and I have no words, I ... I cannot tell you--" But now the Sagamore, seeing Anthony thus moved indeed beyond words, smiled his slow, grave smile, saying:

"But, my An--to--nee, these were thy wife and child, and thou art my brother, therefore no need to tell thy gratitude, this is all known and understood betwixt such as we. And now would I find me comfort in thy happiness for my heart is woeful, An--to--nee! My people of the Lynx are no more ... dead, my brother, or scattered to the eight winds by these mock Indians that shame us, and dogs of Senecas that do shame themselves. So now, brother, if all is well with thee, I would begone into the Land of Shadows where-be others I have loved--" He checked suddenly, hissing softly between his teeth and quick to heed this danger-signal, Anthony looked whither he directed and saw an Indian peering at them from the forest verge. Then Anthony lifted his rifle aloft, at which well-known summons his watchful men came running in scattered groups until every tree, every gnarled root and tussock, screened a waiting marksman.

"Captain Clemmons, Sergeant Tutt, let no man fire till I command. Pass the order, then come you nearer," called Anthony softly, and turning for speech with Blodwen, saw only the Sagamore and starting to his knees stared wildly about until her voice spoke close beside him.

"We are here, my Anthony and oh my heart ... take care ...!"

"In the tree here, brother," quoth the Sagamore, stringing his powerful bow. "It was here she hid when death sought her before and found her not."

"Thank God!" sighed Anthony, his keen gaze watching the line of forest again; and thus presently he saw it alive with men, furtive shapes that crept amid the underbrush or crouched behind tree and thicket, a great company of men, red and white, feathered heads hideous with warpaint, green uniforms and glitter of bayonets, at sight of which last, a hoarse murmur went up from these hidden Rangers, a sound of bitter execration, lost in the sudden explosion of many rifles and muskets, and then these stealthy forms, the forest itself was blotted out in billowing clouds of smoke.

"May we loose a volley at the scum now, sir?" pleaded Captain Clemmons, eagerly.

"No no, not yet, man. Let them puzzle over us. I would have them think us fewer than we are, to draw their attack. I want them in the open. See, they are growing bolder!"

"Ay by heck!" growled the sergeant, "I can count over twenty o' the varments, Cunnle."

"You shall see them all presently, I hope. Now hearkee, Sergeant Sep, they are waiting our return volley to judge our numbers. Well, we'll give them no more than four shots in rapid succession as men few and desperate would fire, first yourself, next Petersen, Hans Kraus and last Sam Lloyd. Then reload and fire again in the same order. Repeat this three times. Is it understood?"

"Shore is, Cunnle."

"Then pass the word and fire when I lift my hand." Thrice in rapid succession, one after the other these four picked marksmen discharged their unerring pieces and with deadly effect, for, upon the ensuing quiet rose shrill voices growing louder, fiercer, where crouched their dim-seen foes.

"Jee-hoshaphat! You are right, Cunnle, they're a-comin'," whispered the sergeant, cuddling his rifle-stock closer.

The vengeful hubbub abated suddenly, steel glittered amid the green,--then forth of the sheltering forest leapt the attack, men in green uniform, men in garments of deer-skin, flanked by Indians, painted, stripped and oiled for close battle.

"Wait the word, Rangers!" cried Anthony.

On came the enemy, the Indians shrilling their terrible scalping cry, the 'Greens' cheering or grimly silent, nearer, nearer yet; then at Anthony's word three hundred and eighty odd rifles volleyed and crashed.

"Now!" cried he and, before the smoke could clear, he and his company were up and leaping to hurl themselves upon the shattered ranks of their dismayed assailants. Hand to hand they fought, stabbing, hurling back their stricken foes in such reeling confusion that they broke, scattered and fled, only to be smitten down the easier by men who, with every thrust and blow avenged some deed of outrage or torture.

Now, Blodwen, hearing the battle roar afar, crept from her refuge and clasping the child to her bosom, strained anxious eyes for some glimpse of her husband's beloved form in that wild confusion of pursuit, slaughter and panic where fleeing men were smitten down by their merciless conquerors while some few, wriggling aside, fled for their lives. Thus she was presently aware of two Indians speeding towards her though she scarcely heeded, all her thought being for Anthony; but these, being terrified and beaten men, were but the more savage therefore and so turned aside to wreak their hate and vengeance on her helplessness. And now she heard and, turning, saw them and screamed and sank face down to shield the babe with her defenceless body, for the scalplock of one of these seeming Indians was red, the fierce eyes of the other showed grey blue.

And thus crying on God's mercy Blodwen waited for death; she heard the twang of a bowstring and venturing to glance up, saw the red-haired Indian reel back, clutching at the arrow that was his death; she saw the blue-eyed Indian turn, cursing in English, to meet the leap of the Sagamore who, casting aside his bow had snatched his deadly tomahawk.... A flicker of thrown steel and she saw her deliverer sway, recover and strike. And the Tuscarora war hatchet smote true as ever, for the Sagamore stood alone. But slowly, as if unwilling, he sank to his knees, staring down at the haft of the knife that was buried so deeply in his side. Then up sprang Blodwen and ran to him and, heedless of her wailing babe, set herself to cherish this stricken man who smiled on her, pointed to the knife and shook his head, saying breathlessly:

"Touch it not ... little sister, for with it ... goeth my life and I would ... bid our An--to--nee farewell...."

And at last Anthony came hasting with divers of his Rangers and these jubilant with victory, but seeing this stricken man and kneeling woman they stood dumb, only the Sagamore spoke, faintly:

"An--to--nee, my brother now ... is farewell until ... a better meeting in the Land of Shadows.... Lift me now, my brother ... lift me...."

Strong arms raised and supported the dying chieftain on his feet and now, standing thus, he looked up at the serene heaven.

"Manitou," he gasped, "Master of Life. Great Spirit of my fathers ... I come!"

So died this Tuscarora Sagamore, Mahtocheega of the Lynx.

They dug his grave in the shady oak-grove and there, with his axe beside him and mighty warbow between his folded hands, they laid him to await the Great Awakening.

And towards evening, with his wife and little son thus miraculously alive, Anthony marched away to fulfil his destiny.