Chapter 19

SAVED FROM HIMSELF

The morning of August twelfth dawned with burning heat. The lake lay as smooth as a sea of glass and from the south-west came the dreaded wind of the prairies, hot as a blast from a furnace and laden with dust. The sun blazed pitilessly in a cloudless sky and countless Indians patrolled the Fort, the Agency House, and the trading station.

The newcomers were alive with curiosity. Many of them had never seen the Fort before, and they swarmed in and out unceasingly. Through the wicket gate and the main entrance, past the soldiers' barracks, guard-house, hospital, storehouse, magazine, and contractor's store, back and forth between the officers' barracks, the Indians continually passed. They lay down on their faces to smell of the drain, muttered unintelligibly when they came to the subterranean passage, and wondered at the flag, with its fifteen stripes and fifteen stars, that hung limply at the staff.

They openly defied the sentinels at the gate, climbed into the blockhouses, where they surreptitiously felt of the cannon and peered furtively into the muzzles, and even went into the officers' quarters. It was the kind of a visit that one makes to an occupied house, on the eve of taking possession.

"Wallace," said Mrs. Franklin, "isn't there any way to keep these people out of the Fort?"

"Why, I hadn't thought about it," returned the Captain, absently. "They're not doing any harm, are they?"

"They haven't as yet," retorted Mrs. Franklin, with spirit, "but they're likely to at any moment. I don't want them in my house, and I won't have them here!"

"Tell them so," laughed the Captain. "I have no doubt of the effectiveness of your request."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you, dear, but it is of the utmost importance that we do nothing to excite the Indians. If they think we are unfriendly, mischief may easily result. I suppose our houses and the Fort have the same interest for them that their wigwams and blankets had for us, when we first saw Indians. Personally, I have no objection whatever to their examining our weapons of offence and defence."

Mrs. Franklin sighed. "When do we go?" she asked.

"As soon as possible after the council, which will be held this afternoon. It takes time, however, to prepare sixty or seventy people for a long overland journey."

"I wish we had boats."

"So do I, but we haven't. Still, I don't know that we'd be any better off, at the mouth of the St. Joseph River, without guides, than we are here. There may be a trail from the river across to Detroit, but I don't know anything about it. Lieutenant Swearingen marched his company around by land, when the Fort was built. When we get to Fort Wayne, we'll either stay there, or go on to Detroit with a larger force. It depends upon the movements of the British."

"Some way, Wallace, I'm afraid of trouble—I don't know why."

"I don't think there'll be any trouble, dear, but the idea that it would be right and proper to disobey the order appears to be spreading. Mackenzie is at the bottom of it, of course, and I don't know that we should blame him, for it means heavy financial loss to him. Yet he never could have established himself here if it had not been for the Fort, and it is his place to uphold the military, rather than to work against it; but there's no accounting for the vagaries of the human mind. All of his work here has been contingent upon the protection of the Fort; when that is withdrawn, he has no right to complain. Civilians seem to think that an order doesn't mean anything in particular—it's to be obeyed or not, as suits their erratic fancy. A soldier is a man who obeys orders—when he is no longer willing to do that he should get a discharge."

"Do you think the Indians will destroy this house, after we leave?"

"Probably, and the Fort also. Quarrels are bound to occur among the different tribes before long, and while they are settling their disputes in their own way, we'll get well on to Fort Wayne."

"I've thought," said Mrs. Franklin, slowly, "that Lieutenant Howard was inclined to make trouble. I haven't had any reason to think so, but I can't get it out of my head."

"It's quite possible," returned the Captain, with a significant shrug of his shoulders, "for he is one of the men who are always against everything they do not originate. He's been chafing at his bit all along because he isn't in command. If he were Captain, he'd want to be a step higher—I suppose he thinks himself capable of handling the whole army. But don't bother yourself about it, dear—we'll get through some way. I must go, now—I've got things to see to."

In and out of the stockade, parties of Indians were still passing, braves and squaws, who took great interest in their new surroundings. Mrs. Franklin locked her door, but savage faces continually appeared at the windows and at last she determined to go out upon the parade-ground and find a soldier or two to protect her.

When she opened the door, she started violently, and put her hand upon her heart.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," said Katherine. "I'm frightened myself. I don't like to have those Indians running in and out. Four squaws just came into my house and began to look around, just as if I had something that belonged to them. I don't know what they're doing now—they're still there. Can't we get some of the boys to drive them out and shut the gates?"

Before there was time for an answer, three braves and two squaws entered the Captain's house and began to inspect the furnishings of the room. Katherine was stiff with terror, but Mrs. Franklin was angry. She held her peace, however, until one of the warriors took down a musket from the wall, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired.

In an instant the Captain's wife was on her feet. Her husband's rifle was on the table behind her, and quick as a flash, she levelled it at the intruders. "Out of my house, you dogs!" she cried, and the Indians retreated, pausing outside just long enough to make savage grimaces at the women.

The report of the musket brought Ronald and some soldiers to the rescue. "What's up?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

It was Katherine who explained, for Mrs. Franklin's courage had deserted her, and she was trembling so she could not speak. "Cheer up, Mamie," said the Ensign—"I'll see to it."

Upon his own responsibility, he cleared the Fort of the intruders, closed the south gate, and put a double line of armed sentinels at the north entrance.

No sooner was it accomplished than Captain Franklin came out of the offices. "May I ask," he sarcastically inquired of Ronald, "by whose authority you have done this?"

The Ensign saluted. "By the authority of a Second Lieutenant who sees the wife of his Captain in danger," he answered stiffly, then turned on his heel and walked away.

The two women were sitting on the piazza and the Captain did not share Ronald's fears for their safety. Mackenzie and Black Partridge passed through the line of sentinels and he went to meet them.

"He says," began the trader, indicating the chief, "that noon of the sun is too early for the council, but that at the second hour after noon, he and his people will be assembled upon the esplanade, to await the pleasure of the White Father."

"Very well," said the Captain, carelessly.

Black Partridge went out and the Indians at once began to rally around him. At least a thousand, including the squaws, came out of the woods and were assigned to different stations, according to their rank. The chiefs of the several branches of the Pottawattomies and the chiefs of allied tribes, had places of honour in the front ranks. The braves and young warriors came next, and the squaws were grouped a little way off, by themselves.

For fully an hour before the appointed time, the solid phalanx waited in the broiling sun. Some of the squaws sat upon the hot ground, but the braves stood, silent and statuesque, with grim fortitude. The Ensign went to the gate of the Fort and took a long look at the assembly, frankly admitting to himself that he did not like the appearance of it.

When he had turned back and had passed the sentinels, Doctor Norton stopped him. "Ronald," he said, in a low tone, "the boys are talking mutiny."

The Ensign considered a moment. "How do you know?"

"Well, I've overheard two or three significant remarks that seemed to point in the same direction."

"Who began it?"

"It seems to have started in about fifty places at once."

"Do you know the names of the men?"

"No, I do not." Ronald knew that the Doctor lied, and respected him for it.

"Do you think the boys thought of it by themselves?"

"I should judge so—I didn't hear any references to the officers."

Ronald looked at him quickly but he appeared unconscious. "I just thought I'd tell you," he continued. "Of course, it's none of my affair."

"All right—much obliged to you."

The Doctor went away and Ronald went immediately to his superior officer. "Lieutenant Howard," he demanded sternly, "have you been talking mutiny to the men?"

Howard's eyes met his squarely. "No," he said sharply, "have you?"

Ronald retreated, shamefaced and ill at ease. "I—I beg your pardon."

"The boys aren't fools," laughed the Lieutenant. "They can see farther than some. I've spoken to no one but you, but if mutiny arises, I'll let it take its rightful course."

"Well, I won't. Remember what I said."

"I can't remember all your valuable utterances. Don't cast your pearls before swine, but reserve them for—for a more appreciative audience."

Stung to the quick by the insult, Ronald instinctively put his hand on his sword. Then both saw the Captain coming swiftly toward them, and waited.

"It is time for the council," he said.

"Well?" queried the Lieutenant, after an awkward pause.

"Are you going with me?"

Silence.

"Lieutenant Howard and Ensign Ronald, it is time for the council I have appointed with the Indians. Are you going with me?"

"An order, Captain?" inquired Ronald.

"Neither an order nor a request—not even a suggestion. It is an opportunity, to be taken or not, as you choose."

"Speaking for myself," said Ronald, "I do not see what we could accomplish by going. You are the army and the officers of it."

"As you pay no attention to our suggestions," remarked the Lieutenant, "I prefer to remain here."

"Very well." The Captain and Mackenzie went out alone.

"Better go to the blockhouse, hadn't we?" asked Ronald. "There may be trouble."

"I hope there will be," answered Howard. "Let Franklin fight it out alone with his precious Indians. Providence may yet intervene and give me the command."

Ronald went to the blockhouse alone, trained the cannon at the port-holes, and watched the Indians. After the first formal greetings were exchanged, the business of the afternoon began. Franklin spoke to Mackenzie, who translated for the benefit of Black Partridge, and he, in turn, conveyed the message to the assembly.

"We come for the last time," said Captain Franklin, "to speak with our brothers, the red men. Your Great Chief has told you how our Great Chief has bidden us to assemble at another place and how, though our hearts are torn with sorrow, we must obey the command. We have sent swift messengers a day's journey and more on every side, that we might say farewell to those with whom we have so long dwelt in peace. The goods in yonder storehouse, by the mandate of the Great White Father, are to be given to our brothers as a parting gift, that they may long hold us in kindly remembrance, as we shall them.

"We ask, however, a favour in return. We ask that some of our noble brothers, such as it may please, shall escort us to Fort Wayne, the place of our first assembly, and long known to the red men, who have many friends there. We ask that our brothers shall aid us in protecting our women and children from the dangers of the trail. If any are graciously inclined to do this kindness for us, we shall press upon them still other gifts when we reach our destination."

Black Partridge, in a loud voice, repeated the speech in the Indian tongue. Each of the chiefs in the front rank then expressed an opinion upon the subject, as he was asked by the spokesman. Then Black Partridge spoke apart with Mackenzie.

"They say," said the interpreter, "that it is well. They will joyously receive the goods in the storehouse as a parting gift from their white brothers, beside whom they have so long dwelt in peace. The plains will be lonely and the river sad without the palefaces. The houses of the Great White Father will be desolate when the friends of the red men are gone, but as it is written, so must it be. The bravest of the warriors will attend on the trail to Fort Wayne and safely shield the friends of the red men from savages and wild beasts. From all that stalks abroad with intent to slay, the friends of the palefaces will guard them. Let the children of the Great White Father have no fear. All shall be well. Side by side shall they journey with their brothers, the Pottawattomies and the allied tribes. In three moons, or perhaps two, if the Great Spirit is kind, the palefaces will return to dwell with their brothers once more, when their assembly is over and the Great White Father has made known unto them his commands."

"Tell them," said Captain Franklin, "that at the same hour of to-morrow's sun, the presents shall be given them. They shall have blankets, prints, calicoes, broadcloths, and adornments for their women and their papooses. For the Great Chiefs there will be tobacco, war paints, cunning contrivances for the sharpening of weapons, and provisions against the long cold Winter when the hunting grounds are barren, which is but four moons away. Say that the Great White Father will be pleased when he learns how the Great Chiefs, with their fearless braves and warriors, have safely guided his children unto the place of assembly."

"They say it is well," said Mackenzie, after the speech and its answer had been duly made, "and that at the same hour of to-morrow's sun they will assemble here, to receive the parting tokens of the Great White Father."

With much ceremony, the council was concluded and the Indians dispersed. Black Partridge lingered to express his pleasure because all had gone well, then he, too, went along the river bank to the woods where the Indians were gathered.

"Captain," said Mackenzie, "I want to talk to you a bit."

"All right—let's go back to the Fort, where it's cooler."

Ronald came down from the blockhouse as they entered the stockade and went across the river, where Beatrice was visible at a shaded window.

"How about the ammunition and liquor?" asked the trader. "Are you going to include that in the distribution?"

"I hadn't thought about it—why?"

"It's risky," said Mackenzie. "We don't want to furnish them with weapons to use against us. Arm those seven hundred Indians with muskets, give them powder and shot, fill them up with liquor, and where would we be?"

"It might amuse them," replied the Captain, thoughtfully. "If there was whiskey enough in the storehouse to get every man of them dead drunk, except our guides, it might be the best thing to do."

"Unfortunately, we can't force the proper quantity down the throat of each one. Some are wiser than the rest and they wouldn't drink."

"Well, suppose they had the muskets—wouldn't they use them against each other?"

"No," said the trader, conclusively, "they wouldn't. They'd turn against us."

"I hardly think that any of them will go with us, except Black Partridge and a few of his friends. By to-morrow, numerous fights will have started, and they'll be too busy to notice our departure. Besides, they have promised."

"Captain Franklin, the promise of an Indian is absolutely worthless, as you must know by this time. Since the troubles on the Wabash, the general trend of feeling toward us has been hostile. Their tomahawks are bad enough—they don't need our own weapons. When I got as far as De Charme's, last Fall, on my way to Detroit, and heard of the battle of Tippecanoe, I turned back immediately to Fort Dearborn and sent messengers to the outer trading posts with positive orders to furnish neither ammunition nor liquor to the Indians. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember. Perhaps it would be as well to keep back the liquor and ammunition, but in that case, they must not know we have them. How can we manage?"

"Bring everything into the Fort secretly, by night, and destroy it."

"Very well," said the Captain, after a silence; "you have had better opportunities than I have had to gain an intimate knowledge of the Indians. To-night and to-morrow night, as secretly as may be, I will have the goods brought in and destroyed."

After Mackenzie went home, the Captain went out to walk back and forth on the prairie near the Fort. His head was bowed and his arms were folded. In spite of General Hull's order and the friendly professions of the Indians, he felt the situation keenly. His responsibility sat heavily upon him, for he knew his officers were opposed to him and had begun to suspect that the men were disaffected. He would not have been surprised at a mutiny, feeling, as he did, that it was a case of one man against the world.

From a window, Katherine saw him walking to and fro, and at first she thought it was her husband, but a second look convinced her of her mistake. She was about to turn away when something arrested her attention.

On the Captain's right, and at some little distance from him, an Indian was moving stealthily toward the Fort. On his left, and still farther away from him, another was doing the same thing.

The Captain turned to the right, and instantly the Indian on that side dropped full length on the grass, while the other moved more quickly toward the Fort. When the Captain turned to the left the manoeuvre was repeated, but it was some time before she grasped the horrid significance of their actions.

When she perceived that both Indians were endeavouring to get between the Captain and the Fort, the blood froze in her veins. The parade-ground was deserted, and the long, droning notes of the locusts were the only sound she heard. She screamed, but the Captain did not turn, and no one seemed to hear. At the gate the sentinel leaned on his musket, unconscious of danger. She screamed again, but could not hear her own voice.

Then the springs of action threw off their lethargy. She dashed out of the house and flew over the parade-ground, with the taste of hot blood in her mouth and a heavy weight upon her breast. Trembling in every nerve, she climbed the ladder that led to the blockhouse, and entered, flushed and gasping. She was dimly conscious that she was not alone, but there was no time to waste.

Praying that she might not be too late, she seized a loaded musket, aimed through the porthole, and fired. It seemed an age before she saw the Captain through the smoke, running back to the Fort, and the two Indians making for the woods.

"Thank God!" she breathed, "thank God!" Then she turned—and faced her husband, his face so ghastly that she scarcely knew him.

"Ralph!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Ralph!"

His eyes refused to meet hers, and a tumult surged in her brain. Detached pictures of her childhood, confused and unrelated memories, and a thousand trivial things passed swiftly before her mental vision. Then, as if by magic, there was a clearing—all things gave way to the horrible knowledge that he had seen—and had failed to warn.

"Ralph! Ralph! My husband!"

The blood beat hard in her pulses and her lips curled in scorn. Then her unspeakable contempt melted to pity, as she saw how the man was suffering. Like an avenging angel she stood before him, confronting him mutely with his sin.

Captain Franklin came into the Fort. As the Lieutenant saw him safe and sound, he groaned deeply, like one whose suspense is ended. Then he raised his eyes to the face of his wife.

"I thank you, Katherine," he said, gravely; "you have saved me from myself."