Part 6 (2/2)
They advanced, their hands, though they grasped rifles, held on high, but Robert, exalted and irrepressible, began to sing out anew:
”Hey, you, Colden! And you, too, Wilton and Carson! It's fine to see you again, alive and well.”
There was silence on the wall, and then a great shout of welcome.
”It's Lennox, Robert Lennox himself!” cried someone.
”And Willet, the big hunter!”
”And there's Black Rifle, too!”
”And Tayoga, the Onondaga!”
”Open the gate for 'em! Let 'em come in, in honor.”
The great gate was thrown wide, and the four entered quickly, to be surrounded at once by a mult.i.tude, eager for news of the outside world, from which they had been shut off so long. Torches, held aloft, cast a flickering light over young soldiers in faded uniforms, men in deerskin, and women in home-made linsey. Colden, and his two lieutenants, Wilton and Carson, stood together. They were thin, and their faces brown, but they looked wiry and rugged. Colden shook Robert's hand with great energy.
”I'm tremendously glad to see you,” he exclaimed, ”and I'm equally glad to see Mr. Willet, the great Onondaga, and Black Rifle. You're the first messengers from the outside world in more than a month. What news of victory do you bring? We heard that a great army of ours was marching against Duquesne.”
Robert did not answer. He could not, because the words choked in his throat, and a silence fell over the crowd gathered in the court, over soldiers and men and women and children alike. A sudden apprehension seized the young commander and his lips trembled.
”What is it, Lennox, man?” he exclaimed. ”Why don't you speak? What is it that your eyes are telling me?”
”They don't tell of any victory,” replied Robert slowly.
”Then what do they tell?”
”I'm sorry, Colden, that I have to be the bearer of such news. I would have told it to you privately, but all will have to know it anyhow, and know it soon. There has been a great battle, but we did not win it.”
”You mean we had to fall back, or that we failed to advance? But our army will fight again soon, and then it will crush the French and Indian bands!”
”General Braddock's army exists no longer.”
”What? It's some evil jest. Say it's not true, Lennox!”
”It's an evil jest, but it's not mine, Colden. It's the jest of fate.
General Braddock walked into a trap--it's twice I've told the terrible tale, once to Black Rifle and now to you--and he and his army were destroyed, all but a fragment of it that is now fleeing from the woods.”
The full horror of that dreadful scene in the forest returned to him for a moment, and, despite himself, he made tone and manner dramatic. A long, deep gasp, like a groan, came from the crowd, and then Robert heard the sound of a woman on the outskirts weeping.
”Our army destroyed!” repeated Colden mechanically.
”And the whole border is laid bare to the French and Indian hosts,” said Robert. ”Many bands are converging now upon Fort Refuge, and the place cannot be held against so many.”
”You mean abandon Fort Refuge?”
”Aye, Colden, it's what wiser men than I say, Dave here, and Tayoga, and Black Rifle.”
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