Part 18 (1/2)
The greasy old sinner looked as if he had not been washed since he was born. He glanced about with furtive, s.h.i.+fty eyes, grimaced and winked, after the manner of an animal just waking from a lazy nap.
”Where's the rest o' the fighters?” he demanded quizzically, lolling out his tongue and peeping past Helm so as to get a glimpse of the English line. ”Where's yer garrison? Have they all gone to breakfas'?”
The last question set Helm off again cursing and swearing in the most melodramatic rage.
Oncle Jazon turned to Beverley and said in rapid French: ”Surely the man's not going to fight those fellows yonder?”
Beverley nodded rather gloomily.
”Well,” added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and taking another glance through the gate, ”I can't shoot wo'th a cent, bein'
sort o' nervous like; but I'll stan' by ye awhile, jes' for luck. I might accidentally hit one of 'em.”
When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches him like an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in another. A rush of admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel like hugging him.
Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and, with a file of men, separated himself from the line, now stationary, and approached the stockade. At a hundred yards he halted the file and came on alone, waving the white clout. He boldly advanced to within easy speaking distance and shouted:
”I demand the surrender of this fort.”
”Well, you'll not get it, young man,” roared Helm, his profanity well mixed in with the words, ”not while there's a man of us left!”
”Ye'd better use sof' soap on 'im, Cap'n,” said Oncle Jazon in English, ”cussin' won't do no good.” While he spoke he rubbed the doughty Captain's arm and then patted it gently.
Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew that Oncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was not yet ready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper called ”soft soap.”
”Are you the British commander?” he demanded.
”No,” said the officer, ”but I speak for him.”
”Not to me by a d.a.m.ned sight, sir. Tell your commander that I will hear what he has to say from his own mouth. No understrapper will be recognized by me.”
That ended the conference. The young officer, evidently indignant, strode back to his line, and an hour later Hamilton himself demanded the unconditional surrender of the fort and garrison.
”Fight for it,” Helm stormed forth. ”We are soldiers.”
Hamilton held a confab with his officers, while his forces, under cover of the town's cabins, were deploying so as to form a half circle about the stockade. Some artillery appeared and was planted directly opposite the gate, not three hundred yards distant. One blast of that battery would, as Helm well knew, level a large part of the stockade.
”S'posin' I hev' a cannon, too, seein' it's the fas.h.i.+on,” said Oncle Jazon. ”I can't shoot much, but I might skeer 'em. This little one'll do me.”
He set his rifle against the wall and with Beverley's help rolled one of the swivels alongside the guns already in position.
In a few minutes Hamilton returned under the white flag and shouted:
”Upon what terms will you surrender?”
”All the honors of war,” Helm firmly replied. ”It's that or fight, and I don't care a d.a.m.n which!”
Hamilton half turned away, as if done with the parley, then facing the fort again, said:
”Very well, sir, haul down your flag.”
Helm was dumfounded at this prompt acceptance of his terms. Indeed the incident is unique in history.