Chapter 14: St. Luc’s Revenge

When Robert awoke from a long and deep sleep he became aware, at once, that the anxious feeling in the camp still prevailed. Rogers was in close conference with Willet, Black Rifle and several of his own leaders beside a small fire, and, at times, they looked apprehensively toward the north or west, a fact indicating to the lad very clearly whence the danger was expected. Most of the scouts had come in, and, although Robert did not know it, they had reported that the force of St. Luc, advancing in a wide curve, and now including the western band, was very near. It was the burden of their testimony, too, that he now had at least a thousand men, of whom one-third were French or Canadians.

Tayoga was sitting on a high point of the cliff, watching the lake, and Robert joined him. The face of the young Onondaga was very grave.

“You look for an early battle, I suppose,” said Robert.

“Yes, Dagaeoga,” replied his comrade, “and it will be fought with the odds heavily against us. I think the Mountain Wolf should not have awaited Sharp Sword here, but who am I to give advice to a leader, so able and with so much experience?”

“But we beat St. Luc once in a battle by a lake!”

“Then we had a fleet, and, for the time, at least, we won command of the lake. Now the enemy is supreme on Oneadatote. If we have any canoes on its hundred and twenty-five miles of length they are lone and scattered, and they stay in hiding near its shores.”

“Why are you watching its waters now so intently, Tayoga?”

“To see the sentinels of the foe, when they come down from the north. Sharp Sword is too great a general not to use all of his advantages in battle. He will advance by water as well as by land, but, first he will use his eyes, before he permits his hand to strike. Do you see anything far up the lake, Dagaeoga?”

“Only the sunlight on the waters.”

“Yes, that is all. I believed, for a moment or two, that I saw a black dot there, but it was only my fancy creating what I expected my sight to behold. Let us look again all around the horizon, where it touches the water, following it as we would a line. Ah, I think I see a dark speck, just a black mote at this distance, and I am still unable to separate fancy from fact, but it may be fact. What do you think, Dagaeoga?”

“My thought has not taken shape yet, Tayoga, but if ‘tis fancy then ‘tis singularly persistent. I see the black mote too, to the left, toward the western shore of the lake, is it not?”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, that is where it is. If we are both the victims of fancy then our illusions are wonderfully alike. Think you that we would imagine exactly the same thing at exactly the same place?”

“No, I don’t! And as I live, Tayoga, the mote is growing larger! It takes on the semblance of reality, and, although very far from us, it’s my belief that it’s moving this way!”

“Again my fancy is the same as yours and it is not possible that they should continue exactly alike through all changes. That which may have been fancy in the beginning has most certainly turned into fact, and the black mote that we see upon the waters is in all probability a hostile canoe coming to spy upon us.”

They watched the dark dot detach itself from the horizon and grow continuously until their eyes told them, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it was a canoe containing two warriors. It was moving swiftly and presently Rogers and Willet came to look at it. The two warriors brought their light craft on steadily, but stopped well out of rifle shot, where they let their paddles rest and gazed long at the shore.

“It is like being without a right arm to have no force upon the lake,” said Rogers.

“It cripples us sorely,” said Willet. “Perhaps we’d better swallow our pride, bitter though the medicine may be, and retreat at speed.”

“I can’t do it,” said Rogers. “I’m here to hold back St. Luc, if I can, and moreover, ‘tis too late. We’d be surrounded in the forest and probably annihilated.”

“I suppose you’re right. We’ll meet him where we stand, and when the battle is over, whatever may be its fortunes, he’ll know that he had a real fight.”

They walked away from the lake, and began to arrange their forces to the most advantage, but Robert and Tayoga remained on the cliff. They saw the canoe go back toward the north, melt into the horizon line, and then reappear, but with a whole brood of canoes. All of them advanced rapidly, and they stretched into a line half way across the lake. Many were great war canoes, containing eight or ten men apiece.

“Now the attack by land is at hand,” said Tayoga. “Sharp Sword is sure to see that his two forces move forward at the same time. Hark!”

They heard the report of a rifle shot in the forest, then another and another. Willet joined them and said it was the wish of Rogers that they remain where they were, as a small force was needed at that point to prevent a landing by the Indians. A fire from the lake would undoubtedly be opened upon their flank, but if the warriors could be kept in their canoes it could not become very deadly. Black Rifle came also, and he, Willet, Robert, Tayoga and ten of the rangers lying down behind some trees at the edge of the cliff, watched the water.

The Indian fleet hovered a little while out of rifle shot. Meanwhile the firing in the forest grew. Bullets from both sides pattered on leaves and bark, and the shouts of besieged and besiegers mingled, but the members of the force on the cliff kept their eyes resolutely on the water.

“The canoes are moving again,” said Tayoga. “They are coming a little nearer. I see Frenchmen in some of them and presently they will try to sweep the bank with their rifles.”

“Our bullets will carry as far as theirs,” said the hunter.

“True, O, Great Bear, and perhaps with surer aim.”

In another moment puffs of white smoke appeared in the fleet, which was swinging forward in a crescent shape, and Robert heard the whine of lead over his head. Then Willet pulled the trigger and a warrior fell from his canoe. Black Rifle’s bullet sped as true, and several of the rangers also found their targets. Yet the fleet pressed the attack. Despite their losses, the Indians did not give back, the canoes came closer and closer, many of the warriors dropped into the water behind their vessels and fired from hiding, bullets rained around the little band on the cliff, and presently struck among them. Two of the rangers were slain and two more were wounded. Robert saw the Frenchmen in the fleet encouraging the Indians, and he knew that their enemies were firing at the smoke made by the rifles of the defenders. Although he and his comrades were invisible to the French and Indians in the fleet, the bullets sought them out nevertheless. Wounds were increasing and another of the rangers was killed. Theirs was quickly becoming an extremely hot corner.

But Willet, who commanded at that point, gave no order to retreat. He and all of his men continued to fire as fast as they could reload and take aim. Yet to choose a target became more difficult, as the firing from the fleet made a great cloud of smoke about it, in which the French and Indians were hidden, or, at best, were but wavering phantoms. Robert’s excited imagination magnified them fivefold, but he had no thought of shirking the battle, and he crept to the very brink, seeking something at which to fire in the clouds of smoke that were steadily growing larger and blacker.

The foes upon the lake fought mostly in silence, save for the crackle of their rifles, but Robert became conscious presently of a great shouting behind him. In his concentration upon their own combat he had forgotten the main battle; but now he realized that it was being pressed with great fury and upon a half circle from the north and west. He looked back and saw that the forest was filled with smoke pierced by innumerable red flashes; the rattle of the rifles there made a continuous crash, and then he heard a tremendous report, followed by a shout of dismay from the rangers.

“What is it?” he cried. “What is it?”

Willet, who was crouched near him, turned pale, but he replied in a steady voice.

“St. Luc has brought a field piece, a twelve-pounder, I think, and they’ve opened fire with grape-shot. They’ll sweep the whole forest. Who’d have thought it?”

The battle sank for a moment, and then a tremendous yell of triumph came from the Indians. Presently, the cannon crashed again, and its deadly charge of grape took heavy toll of the rangers. Then the lake and the mountains gave back the heavy boom of the gun in many echoes, and it was like the toll of doom. The Indians on both water and shore began to shout in the utmost fury, and Robert detected the note of triumph in the tremendous volume of sound. His heart went down like lead. Rogers crept back to Willet and the two talked together earnestly.

“The cannon changes everything,” said the leader of the rangers. “More than twenty of my men are dead, and nearly twice as many are wounded. ‘Tis apparent they have plenty of grape, and they are sending it like hail through the forest. The bushes are no shelter, as it cuts through ‘em. Dave, old comrade, what do you think?”

“That St. Luc is about to have his revenge for the defeat we gave him at Andiatarocte. The cannon with its grape turns the scale. They come on with uncommon fury! It seems to me I hear a thousand rifles all together.”

St. Luc now pressed the attack from every side save the south. The French and Indians in the fleet redoubled their fire. The twelve-pounder was pushed forward, and, as fast as the expert French gunners could reload it, the terrible charges of grape-shot were sent among the rangers. More were slain or wounded. The little band of defenders on the high cliff overlooking the lake at last found their corner too hot for them and were compelled to join the main force. Then the French and Indians in the fleet landed with shouts of triumph and rushed upon the Americans.

Robert caught glimpses of other Frenchmen as he faced the forest. Once an epaulet showed behind a bush and then a breadth of tanned face which he was sure belonged to De Courcelles. And so this man who had sought to make him the victim of a deadly trick was here! And perhaps Jumonville also! A furious rage seized him and he sought eagerly for a shot at the epaulet, but it disappeared. He crept a little farther forward, hoping for another view, and Tayoga noticed his eager, questing gaze.

“What is it, Dagaeoga?” he asked. “Whom do you hate so much?”

“I saw the French Colonel, De Courcelles, and I was seeking to draw a bead on him, but he has gone.”

“Perhaps he has, but another takes his place. Look at the clump of bushes directly in front of us and you will see a pale blue sleeve which beyond a doubt holds the arm of a French officer. The arm cannot be far away from the head and body, which I think we will see in time, if we keep on looking.”

Both watched the bushes with a concentrated gaze and presently the head and shoulders, following the arm, disclosed themselves. Robert raised his rifle and took aim, but as he looked down the sights he saw the face among the leaves, and a shudder shook him. He lowered his rifle.

“What is it, Dagaeoga?” whispered the Onondaga.

“The man I chose for my target,” replied Robert, “was not De Courcelles, nor yet Junonville, but that young De Galissonnière, who was so kind to us in Quebec, and whom we met later among the peaks. I was about to pull trigger, and, if I had done so, I should be sorry all my life.”

“Is he still there?”

Robert looked again and De Galissonnière was gone. He felt immense relief. He thought it was war’s worst cruelty that it often brought friends face to face in battle.

The French and Indian horde from the lake landed and drove against the rangers on the eastern flank with great violence, firing their rifles and muskets, and then coming on with the tomahawk. The little force of Rogers was in danger of being enveloped on all sides, and would have been exterminated had it not been for his valor and presence of mind, seconded so ably by Willet, Black Rifle and their comrades.

They formed a barrier of living fire, facing in three directions and holding back the shouting horde until the main body of the surviving rangers could gather for retreat. Robert and Tayoga were near Willet, all the best sharpshooters were there, and never had they fought more valiantly than on that day.

Robert crouched among the bushes, peering for the faces of his foes, and firing whenever he could secure a good aim.

“Have you seen Tandakora?” he asked Tayoga.

“No,” replied the Onondaga.

“He must be here. He would not miss such a chance.”

“He is here.”

“But you said you hadn’t seen him.”

“I have not seen him, but O, Dagaeoga, I have heard him. Did not we observe when we were in the forest that ear was often to be trusted more than eye? Listen to the greatest war shout of them all! You can hear it every minute or two, rising over all the others, superior in volume as it is in ferocity. The voice of the Ojibway is huge, like his figure.”

Now, in very truth, Robert did notice the fierce triumphant shout of Tandakora, over and above the yelling of the horde, and it made him shudder again and again. It was the cry of the man-hunting wolf, enlarged many times, and instinct with exultation and ferocity. That terrible cry, rising at regular intervals, dominated the battle in Robert’s mind, and he looked eagerly for the colossal form of the chief that he might send his bullet through it, but in vain; the voice was there though his eyes saw nothing at which to aim.

Farther and farther back went the rangers, and the youth’s heart was filled with anger and grief. Had they endured so much, had they escaped so many dangers, merely to take part in such a disaster? Unconsciously he began to shout in an effort to encourage those with him, and although he did not know it, it was a reply to the war cries of Tandakora. The smoke and the odors of the burned gunpowder filled his nostrils and throat, and heated his brain. Now and then he would stop his own shouting and listen for the reply of Tandakora. Always it came, the ferocious note of the Ojibway swelling and rising above the warwhoop of the other Indians.

“Dagaeoga looks for Tandakora,” said the Onondaga.

“Truly, yes,” replied Robert. “Just now it’s my greatest wish in life to find him with a bullet. I hear his voice almost continuously, but I can’t see him! I think the smoke hides him.”

“No, Dagaeoga, it is not the smoke, it is Areskoui. I know it, because the Sun God has whispered it in my ear. You will hear the voice of Tandakora all through the battle, but you will not see him once.”

“Why should your Areskoui protect a man like Tandakora, who deserves death, if anyone ever did?”

“He protects him, today merely, not always. It is understood that I shall meet Tandakora in the final reckoning. I told him so, when I was his captive, and he struck me in the face. It was no will of mine that made me say the words, but it was Areskoui directing me to utter them. So, I know, O, my comrade, that Tandakora cannot fall to your rifle now. His time is not today, but it will come as surely as the sun sets behind the peaks.”

Tayoga spoke with such intense earnestness that Robert looked at him, and his face, seen through the battle smoke, had all the rapt expression of a prophet’s. The white youth felt, for the moment at least, with all the depth of conviction, the words of the red youth would come true. Then the tremendous voice of Tandakora boomed above the firing and yelling, but, as before, his body remained invisible. Tandakora’s Indians, many of whom had come with him from the far shores of the Great Lakes, showed all the cunning and courage that made them so redoubtable in forest warfare. Armed with good French muskets and rifles they crept forward among the thickets, and poured in an unceasing fire. Encouraged by the success at Oswego, and by the knowledge that the great St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders, was commanding the whole force, their ferocity rose to the highest pitch and it was fed also by the hope that they would destroy all the hated and dreaded rangers whom they now held in a trap.

Robert had never before seen them attack with so much disregard of wounds, and death. Usually the Indian was a wary fighter, always preferring ambush, and securing every possible advantage for himself, but now they rushed boldly across open spaces, seeking new and nearer coverts. Many fell before the bullets of the rangers but the swarms came on, with undiminished zeal, always pushing the battle, and keeping up a fire so heavy that, despite the bullets that went wild, the rangers steadily diminished in numbers.

“It’s a powerful attack,” said Robert.

“It’s because they feel so sure of victory,” said Tayoga, “and it’s because they know it’s the Mountain Wolf and his men whom they have surrounded. They would rather destroy a hundred rangers than three hundred troops.”

“That’s so,” said Willet, who overheard them in all the crash of the battle. “They won’t let the opportunity escape. Back a little, lads! This place is becoming too much exposed.”

They withdrew into deeper shelter, but they still fired as fast, as they could reload and pull the trigger. Their bullets, although they rarely missed, seemed to make no impression on the red horde, which always pressed closer, and there was a deadly ring of fire around the rangers, made by hundreds of rifles and muskets.

Robert and Tayoga were still without wounds. Leaves and twigs rained around them, and they heard often the song of the bullets, they saw many of the rangers fall, but happy fortune kept their own bodies untouched. Robert knew that the battle was a losing one, but he was resolved to hold his place with his comrades. Rogers, who had been fighting with undaunted valor and desperation, marshaling his men in vain against numbers greatly superior, made his way once more to the side of Willet and crouched with him in the bushes.

“Dave, my friend,” he said, “the battle goes against us.”