Part 34 (1/2)
Beneath the general grief and dismay in the presence of this great catastrophe were the cruel gnawings of personal anguish.
”My son Robert lies out there, just beyond the tamarack,” said Colonel Samuel Campbell to me, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.
”My brother Stufel killed two Mohawks before he died; he is on the knoll there with most of his men,” said Captain Fox.
Major William Seeber, himself wounded beyond help, said gravely: ”G.o.d only knows whether my boy Jacob lives or not; but Audolph is gone, and my brother Saffreness and his son James.” The old merchant said this with dry eyes, but with the bitterness of a broken heart.
I told them of the shooting and capture of Paris and the death of Eisenlord. My news created no impression, apparently. Our minds were saturated with horror. Of the nine Snells who came with us, seven were said to be dead already.
The storm stopped as abruptly as it had come upon us. Of a sudden it grew lighter, and the rain dwindled to a fine mist. Great luminous ma.s.ses of white appeared in the sky, pus.h.i.+ng aside the leaden clouds. Then all at once the sun was s.h.i.+ning.
On that instant shots rang out here and there through the forest. The fight began again.
The two hours which followed seem to me now but the indistinct s.p.a.ce of a few minutes. Our men had seized upon the leisure of the lull to eat what food was at hand in their pockets, and felt now refreshed in strength.
They had had time, too, to learn something of the awful debt of vengeance they owed the enemy. A sombre rage possessed them, and gave to their hearts a giant's daring. Heroes before, they became t.i.tans now.
The vapors steaming up in the sunlight from the wet earth seemed to bear the scent of blood. The odor affected our senses. We ran forth in parties now, disdaining cover. Some fell; we leaped over their writhing forms, dashed our fierce way through the thicket to where the tell-tale smoke arose, and smote, stabbed, stamped out the life of, the ambushed foe.
Under the sway of this frenzy, timorous men swelled into veritable paladins. The least reckless of us rushed upon death with breast bared and with clinched fists.
A body of us were thus scouring the wood on the crest of the hill, pus.h.i.+ng through the tangle of dead brush and thick high brake, which soaked us afresh to the waist, resolute to overcome and kill whomsoever we could reach. Below us, in the direction of the river, though half a mile this side of it, we could hear a scattering fusillade maintained, which bespoke bush-fighting. Toward this we made our way, firing at momentary glimpses of figures in the thicket, and driving scattered groups of the foe before us as we ran.
Coming out upon the brow of the hill, and peering through the saplings and underbrush, we could see that big Captain Gardenier and his Caughnawaga men were gathered in three or four parties behind clumps of alders in the bottom, loading and firing upon an enemy invisible to us. While we were looking down and hesitating how best to go to his succor, one of old Sammons's sons came bounding down the side-hill, all excitement, crying:
”Help is here from the fort!”
Sure enough, close behind him were descending some fourscore men, whose musket-barrels and c.o.c.ked hats we could distinguish swaying above the bushes, as they advanced in regular order.
I think I see huge, burly Gardenier still, standing in his woollen s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, begrimed with powder and mud, one hand holding his spear, the other shading his eyes against the sinking sun as he scanned the new-comers.
”Who's there?” he roared at them.
”From the fort!” we could hear the answer.
Our hearts leaped with joy at this, and we began with one accord to get to the foot of the hill, to meet these preservers. Down the steep side we clambered, through the dense second-growth, in hot haste and all confidence. We had some friendly Oneidas with us, and I had to tell them to keep back, lest Gardenier, deeming them Mohawks, should fire upon them.
Coming to the edge of the swampy clearing we saw a strange sight.
Captain Gardenier was some yards in advance of his men, struggling like a mad Hercules with half a dozen of these new-comers, hurling them right and left, then falling to the ground, pinned through each thigh by a bayonet, and pulling down his nearest a.s.sailant upon his breast to serve as a s.h.i.+eld.
While we took in this astounding spectacle, young Sammons was dancing with excitement.
”In G.o.d's name, Captain,” he shrieked, ”you are killing our friends!”
”Friends be d.a.m.ned!” yelled back Gardenier, still struggling with all his vast might. ”These art Tories. _Fire_! you fools! _Fire_!”
It was the truth. They were indeed Tories--double traitors to their former friends. As Gardenier shouted out his command, these ruffians raised their guns, and there sprang up from the bushes on either side of them as many more savages, with weapons lifting for a volley.