Chapter 6: The Return

It was near the close of a day that had been marked by little demonstration from the enemy, and the young officers, growing used to the siege, attained a philosophical state of mind. They felt sure they could hold the palisade against any number of enemies, and the foresight of Willet, Robert and Tayoga had been so great that by no possibility could they be starved out. They began now to have a certain exultation. They were inside comfortable walls, with plenty to eat and drink, while the enemy was outside and must forage for game.

“If it were not for Tayoga,” said Wilton to Robert, “I should feel more than satisfied with the situation. But the fate of your Onondaga friend sticks in my mind. Mr. Willet, who knows everything, says we’re surrounded completely, and I don’t wish him to lose his life in an attempt to get through at a certain time, merely on a point of honor.”

“It’s no point of honor, Will. It’s just the completion of a plan at the time and place chosen. Do you see anything in that tall tree to the east of the palisade?”

“Something appears to be moving up the trunk, but as it’s on the far side, I catch only a glimpse of it.”

“That’s an Indian warrior, seeking a place for a shot at us. He’ll reach the high fork, but he’ll always keep well behind the body of the tree. It’s really too far for a bullet, but I think it would be wise for us to slip back under cover.”

The sharpshooter reached his desired station and fired, but his bullet fell short. He tried three more, all without avail, and then Willet picked him off with his long and deadly rifle. Robert shut his eyes when he saw the body begin its fall, but his vivid imagination, so easily excited, made him hear its thump when it struck the earth.

“And so ends that attempt!” he said.

An hour later he saw a white flag among the trees, and when Willet mounted the palisade two French officers came forward. Robert saw at once that they were De Courcelles and Jumonville, and his heart beat hard. They linked him with Quebec, in which he had spent some momentous days, and despite their treachery to him he did not feel hatred of them at that moment.

“Will you stay with me, Mr. Willet, and you also, Mr. Lennox, while I talk to them?” asked Captain Colden. “You know these Frenchmen better than I do, and their experience is so much greater than mine that I need your help.”

Robert and the hunter assented gladly. Robert, in truth, was very curious to hear what these old friends and enemies of his had to say, and he felt a thrill when the two recognized and saluted him in the most friendly fashion, just as if they had never meant him any harm.

“Chance brings about strange meetings between us, Mr. Lennox,” said De Courcelles. “It gives me pleasure to note that you have not yet taken any personal harm from our siege.”

“Nor you nor Monsieur de Jumonville, from our successful defense,” replied Robert in the same spirit.

“You have us there. The points so far are in your favor, although only superficially so, as I shall make clear to you presently.”

Then De Courcelles turned his attention to Colden, who he saw was the nominal leader of the garrison.

“My name,” he said, “is Auguste de Courcelles, a colonel in the service of His Majesty, King Louis of France. My friend is Captain Francois de Jumonville, and we have the honor to lead the numerous and powerful force of French and Indians now besieging you.”

“And my name is Colden, Captain James Colden,” replied the young officer. “I’ve heard of you from my friends, Mr. Lennox and Mr. Willet, and I have the honor of asking you what I can do for you.”

“You cannot do for us more than you can do for yourself, Captain Colden. We ask the surrender of your little fort, and of your little garrison, which we freely admit has defended itself most gallantly. It’s not necessary for us to make an assault. You’re deep in the wilderness, we can hold you here all winter, and help cannot possibly come to you. We guarantee you good treatment in Canada, where you will be held until the war is over.”

Young Colden smiled. They were standing before the single gate in the palisade, and he looked back at the solid buildings, erected by the hands of his own men, with the comfortable smoke curling up against the cold sky. And he looked also at the wintry forest that curved in every direction.

“Colonel de Courcelles,” he said, “it seems to me that we are in and you are out. If it comes to holding us here all winter we who have good houses can stand it much better than you who merely have the forest as a home, where you will be rained upon, snowed upon, hailed upon, and maybe frozen. Why should we exchange our warm house for your cold forest?”

Colonel de Courcelles frowned. There was a humorous inflection in Colden’s tone that did not please him, and the young officer’s words also had a strong element of truth.

“It’s not a time to talk about houses and forests,” he said, somewhat haughtily. “We have here a formidable force capable of carrying your fort, and, for that reason, we demand your surrender. Indians are always inflamed by a long and desperate resistance and while Captain de Jumonville and I will do our best to restrain them, it’s possible that they may escape from our control in the hour of victory.”

Young Colden smiled again. With Willet at his right hand and Robert at his left, he acquired lightness of spirit.

“A demand and a threat together,” he replied. “For the threat we don’t care. We don’t believe you’ll ever see that hour of victory in which you can’t control your Indians, and there’ll be no need for you, Colonel de Courcelles, to apologize for a massacre committed by your allies, and which you couldn’t help. We’re also growing used to requests of surrender.

“There was your countryman, St. Luc, a very brave and skillful man, who asked it of us, but we declined, and in the end we defeated him. And if we beat St. Luc without the aid of a strong fort, why shouldn’t we beat you with it, Colonel de Courcelles?”

Colonel de Courcelles frowned once more, and Captain de Jumonville frowned with him.

“You don’t know the wilderness, Captain Colden,” he said, “and you don’t give our demand the serious consideration to which it is entitled. Later on, the truth of what I tell you may bear heavily upon you.”

“I may not know the forest as you do, Colonel de Courcelles, but I have with me masters of woodcraft, Mr. Lennox and Mr. Willet, with whom you’re already acquainted.”

“We’ve had passages of various kinds with Colonel de Courcelles, both in the forest and at Quebec,” said Robert, quietly.

Both De Courcelles and Jumonville flushed, and it became apparent that they were anxious to end the interview.

“This, I take it, is your final answer,” the French Colonel said to the young Philadelphia captain.

“It is, sir.”

“Then what may occur rests upon the knees of the gods.”

“It does, sir, and I’m as willing as you to abide by the result.”

“And I have the honor of bidding you good day.”

“An equally great honor is mine.”

The two French officers were ceremonious. They lifted their fine, three-cornered hats, and bowed politely, and Colden, Willet and Robert were not inferior in courtesy. Then the Frenchmen walked away into the forest, while the three Americans went inside the palisade, where the heavy gate was quickly shut behind them and fastened securely. But before he turned back Robert thought he saw the huge figure of Tandakora in the forest.

When the French officers disappeared several shots were fired and the savages uttered a long and menacing war whoop, but the young soldiers had grown used to such manifestations, and, instead of being frightened, they felt a certain defiant pleasure.

“Yells don’t hurt us,” said Wilton to Robert. “Instead I feel my Quaker blood rising in anger, and I’d rejoice if they were to attack now. A very heavy responsibility rests upon me, Robert, since I’ve to fight not only for myself but for my ancestors who wouldn’t fight at all. It rests upon me, one humble youth, to bring up the warlike average of the family.”

“You’re one, Will, but you’re not humble,” laughed Robert. “I believe that jest of yours about the still, blood of generations bursting forth in you at last is not a jest wholly. When it comes to a pitched battle I expect to see you perform prodigies of valor.”

“If I do it won’t be Will Wilton, myself, and I won’t be entitled to any credit. I’ll be merely an instrument in the hands of fate, working out the law of averages. But what do you think those French officers and their savage allies will do now, Robert, since Colden, so to speak, has thrown a very hard glove in their faces?”

“Draw the lines tighter about Fort Refuge. It’s cold in the forest, but they can live there for a while at least. They’ll build fires and throw up a few tepees, maybe for the French. But their anger and their desire to take us will make them watch all the more closely. They’ll draw tight lines around this snug little, strong little fort of ours.”

“Which removes all possibility that your friend Tayoga will come at the appointed time.”

Robert glared at him.

“Will,” he said, “I’ve discovered that you have a double nature, although the two are never struggling for you at the same time.”

“That is I march tandem with my two natures, so to speak?”

“They alternate. At times you’re a sensible boy.”

“Boy? I’m older than you are!”

“One wouldn’t think it. But a well bred Quaker never interrupts. As I said, you’re quite sensible at times and you ought to thank me for saying so. At other times your mind loves folly. It fairly swims and dives in the foolish pool, and it dives deepest when you’re talking about Tayoga. I trust, foolish young, sir, that I’ve heard the last word of folly from you about the arrival of Tayoga, or rather what you conceive will be his failure to arrive. Peace, not a word!”

“At least let me say this,” protested Wilton. “I wish that I could feel the absolute confidence in any human being that you so obviously have in the Onondaga.”

The night came, white and beautiful. It was white, because the Milky Way was at its brightest, which was uncommonly bright, and every star that ever showed itself in that latitude came out and danced. The heavens were full of them, disporting themselves in clusters on spangled seas, and the forest was all in light, paler than that of day, but almost as vivid.

The Indians lighted several fires, well beyond rifle shot, and the sentinels on the palisade distinctly saw their figures passing back and forth before the blaze Robert also noticed the uniforms of Frenchmen, and he thought it likely that De Courcelles and Jumonville had with them more soldiers than he had supposed at first. The fires burned at different points of the compass, and thus the fort was encircled completely by them. Both young Lennox and Willet knew they had been lighted that way purposely, that is in order to show to the defenders that a belt of fire and steel was drawn close about them.

To Wilton at least the Indian circle seemed impassable, and despite the enormous confidence of Robert he now had none at all himself. It was impossible for Tayoga, even if he had triumphed over sleet and snow and flood and storm, to pass so close a siege. He would not speak of it again, but Robert had allowed himself to be deluded by friendship. He felt sorry for his new friend, and he did not wish to see his disappointment on the morrow.

Wilton was in charge of the guard until midnight, and then he slept soundly until dawn, awakening to a brilliant day, the fit successor of such a brilliant night. The Indian fires were still burning and he could see the warriors beside them sleeping or eating at leisure. They still formed a complete circle about the fort, and while the young Quaker felt safe inside the palisade, he saw no chance for a friend outside. Robert joined him presently but, respecting his feelings, the Philadelphian said nothing about Tayoga.

The winter, it seemed, was exerting itself to show how fine a day it could produce. It was cold but dazzling. A gorgeous sun, all red and gold, was rising, and the light was so vivid and intense that they could see far in the forest, bare of leaf. Robert clearly discerned both De Courcelles and Jumonville about six hundred yards away, standing by one of the fires. Then he saw the gigantic figure of Tandakora, as the Ojibway joined them. Despite the cold, Tandakora wore little but the breechcloth, and his mighty chest and shoulders were painted with many hideous devices. In the distance and in the glow of the flames his size was exaggerated until he looked like one of the giants of ancient mythology.

Robert was quite sure the siege would never be raised if the voice of the Ojibway prevailed in the allied French and Indian councils. Tandakora had been wounded twice, once by the hunter and once by the Onondaga, and a mind already inflamed against the Americans and the Hodenosaunee cherished a bitter personal hate. Robert knew that Willet, Tayoga and he must be eternally on guard against his murderous attacks.

The savages built their fires higher, as if in defiance and triumph. They could defend themselves against cold, because the forest furnished unending fuel, but rain or hail, sleet or snow would bring severe hardship. The day, however, favored them to the utmost. It had seemed at dawn that it could not be more brilliant, but as the morning advanced the world fairly glowed with color. The sky was golden save in the east, where it burned in red, and the trunks and black boughs of the forest, to the last and least little twig, were touched with it until they too were clothed in a luminous glow.

The besiegers seemed lazy, but Robert knew that the watch upon the fort and its approaches was never neglected for an instant. A fox could not steal through their lines, unseen, and yet he never doubted. Tayoga would come, and moreover he would come at the time appointed. Toward the middle of the morning the Indians shot some arrows that fell inside the palisade, and uttered a shout or two of defiance, but nobody was hurt, and nobody was stirred to action. The demonstration passed unanswered, and, after a while, Wilton called Robert’s attention to the fact that it was only two hours until noon. Robert did not reply, but he knew that the conditions could not be more unfavorable. Rain or hail, sleet or snow might cover the passage of a warrior, but the dazzling sunlight that enlarged twigs two hundred yards away into boughs, seemed to make all such efforts vain. Yet he knew Tayoga, and he still believed.