Chapter 9: The Masked Attack

Light clouds floated before the moon, and the surface of the lake was ruffled by a southern wind. As no attack was anticipated from the south, the guard in that quarter was comparatively small, but it was composed, nevertheless, of good men, the boat builders mostly, but all experienced with the rifle and under the direct command of Carson. But the main force was always kept facing the forest, and, there, behind the logs, Colden stood with the four--Black Rifle again being outside.

The hooting of the owls had not been repeated and the long wait had become hard upon the nerves of the young Philadelphia captain.

“Do you feel sure that they will attack to-night?” he asked Willet.

“Perhaps St. Luc, seeing the strength of our position, will draw off or send to Montcalm for cannon, which doubtless would take a week.”

The hunter shook his head.

“St. Luc will not go away,” he said, “nor will he send for cannon, which would take too long. He will not use his strength alone, he will depend also upon wile and stratagem, against which we must guard every minute. I think I’ll take my own men and go outside. We can be of more service there.”

“I suppose you’re right, but don’t walk into danger. I depend a lot on you.”

Willet climbed over the logs. Tayoga, Robert and Grosvenor followed.

“Red Coat buckled on a sword, and I did not think he would go on a trail again,” said Tayoga.

“One instance in which you didn’t read my mind right,” rejoined the Englishman. “I know that swords don’t belong on the trail, but this is only a little blade, and you fellows can’t leave me behind.”

“I did read your mind right,” said Tayoga, laughing softly. “I merely spoke of your sword to see what you would say. I knew all the time that you would come with us.”

The stumps, where the forest had been cut away, stretched for a distance of several hundred yards up the slope, and, a little distance from the breastwork, the dark shadow of Black Rifle came forward to meet them.

“Nothing yet?” asked the hunter.

“Nothing so far. Three or four good men are with me among the stumps, but not a warrior has yet appeared. I suppose they know we’ll be on watch here, and it’s not worth while taking so great a risk.”

They advanced to the far edge of the stump region and crouched there.

The night was now quite dark, the moon almost hidden, the stars but few, and the forest a solid black line before them.

“Why can’t Tayoga use his ears?” said Grosvenor. “He’ll hear them, though a mile away.”

“A little farther on and he will,” replied Willet, “but we, in our turn, don’t dare to go deep into the forest.”

A hundred yards more and the Onondaga put ear to earth, but it was a long time before he announced anything.

“I hear footsteps fairly near to us,” he said at last, “and I think they are those of warriors. They would be more cautious, but they do not believe we are outside the line of logs. Yes, they are warriors, all warriors, there is no jingle of metal such as the French have on their coats or belts, and they are going to take a look at our position. They are about to pass now to our right. I also hear steps, but farther away, on our left, and I think they are those of Frenchmen.”

“Likely De Courcelles and Jumonville wanting also to look us over,” said Willet.

“There is another and larger force coming directly toward us,” continued the Onondaga, “and I think it includes both French and warriors. This may be the attack and perhaps it would be better for us to fall back.”

They withdrew a little, but remained among the stumps, though hidden carefully. Robert himself could now hear the advance of the large force in front of them, and he wondered what could be St. Luc’s plan of battle. Surely he would not try to take the sawmill by storm in face of so many deadly rifles!

Black Rifle suddenly left the others and crept toward the right.

Robert’s eyes followed him, and his mind was held by a curious sort of fascination. He knew that the scout had heard something and he almost divined what was about to occur. Black Rifle stopped a moment or two at a stump, and then curved swiftly about it. A dusky figure sprang up, but the war cry was choked in the throat of the Huron, and then the knife, wielded by a powerful arm, flashed. Robert quickly turned his eyes away, because he did not wish to see the fall of the blade, and he knew that the end was certain. Black Rifle came back in a few moments. His dark eyes glittered, but he had wiped the knife, and it was in his belt again.

“His comrades will find him in a few minutes,” said Willet, “and we’d better not linger here.”

“They went back toward the sawmill and presently they heard a terrible cry of rage, a cry given for the fallen warrior.

“I don’t think I shall ever grow used to such yells,” said Grosvenor, shuddering.

“I’ve never grown used to ‘em yet,” said Robert.

The shout was followed by a half dozen shots, and a bullet or two whistled overhead, but it was clear that all of them had been fired at random. The warriors, aware that the chance of surprise had passed, were venting their wrath in noise. Willet suddenly raised his own rifle and pulled the trigger. Another dusky figure sprang up and then fell prone.

“They were coming too close,” he said. “That’ll be a warning. Now back, lads, to the breastwork!”

As they retreated the shots and yells increased, the forest ringing with the whoops, while bullets pattered on the stumps. Both Grosvenor and Robert were glad when they were inside the logs once more, and Colden was glad to see them.

“For all I knew you had fallen,” he said, “and I can’t spare you.”

“We left our mark on ‘em,” said the saturnine Black Rifle. “They know we’re waiting for ‘em.”

The demonstration increased in volume, the whole forest ringing with the fierce whoops. Stout nerves even had good excuse for being shaken, and Colden paled a little, but his soul was high.

“Sound and fury but no attack,” he said.

Willet looked at him approvingly.

“You’ve become a true forest leader, Captain Colden,” he said. “You’ve learned to tell the real rush from the pretended one. They won’t try anything yet a while, but they’re madder than hornets, and they’re sure to move on us later. You just watch.”

Yet Colden, Wilton and the others were compelled to argue with the men, especially with the boat builders and wood choppers. Stern military discipline was unknown then in the forest; the private often considered himself a better man than his officer, and frequently told him so. Troops from the towns or the older settled regions seemed never to grow used to Indian methods of warfare. They walked again and again into the same sort of ambush. Now, they felt sure, because the Indian fire had evaporated in scattered shots, that the French and the warriors had gone away, and that they might as well be asleep, save for the guards. But Colden repressed them with a stern hand.

“If it hadn’t been for our experience at Fort Refuge I might feel that way myself,” he said. “The silence is certainly consoling, and makes one feel that all danger has passed.”

“The silence is what I dread most,” said Robert. “Is anything stirring on the lake?”

“Not a thing,” replied Wilton, who had been watching in that quarter.

“I never saw George look more peaceful.”

Robert suggested that they go down to the shore again, and Wilton, Grosvenor and he walked through the camp, not stopping until they stood at the water’s edge.

“You surely don’t anticipate anything here,” said Wilton.

“I don’t know,” replied Robert, thoughtfully, “but our enemies, both French and Indians, are full of craft. We must guard against wile and stratagem.”

Wilton looked out over the lake, where the gentle wind still blew and the rippling waters made a slight sighing sound almost like a lullaby.

The opposite cliffs rose steep and lofty, showing dimly through the dusk, but there was no threat in their dark wall. To south and north the surface melted in the darkness, but it too seemed friendly and protecting. Wilton shook his head. No peril could come by that road, but he held his peace. He had his opinion, but he would not utter it aloud against those who had so much more experience than he.

The darkness made a further gain. The pallid moon went wholly out, and the last of the stars left. But they had ample wood inside the camp and they built the fires higher, the flames lighting up the tanned eager faces of the men and gleaming along the polished barrels of their long rifles. Willet had inspected the supply of ammunition and he considered it ample. That fear was removed from his mind.

Tayoga went to the edge of the forest again, and reported no apparent movement in the force of St. Luc. But they had built a great fire of their own, and did not mean to go away. The attack would come some time or other, but when or how no man could tell.

Robert, who could do as he pleased, concluded to stay with Wilton on the shore of the lake, where the darkness was continually creeping closer to the shore. The high cliffs on the far side were lost to sight and only a little of Andiatarocte’s surface could now be seen.

The wind began to moan. Wilton shivered.

“The lake don’t look as friendly as it did an hour ago,” he said.

A crash of shots from the slope followed his words. The war whoop rose and fell and rose again. Bullets rattled among the stumps and on the crude stockade.

“The real attack!” said Wilton.

“Perhaps,” said Robert.

He was about to turn away and join in the defense, but an impulse from some unknown source made him stay. Wilton’s duty kept him there, though he chafed to be on the active side of the camp. The sharp crack of rifles showed that the defenders were replying and they sent forth a defiant cheer.

“They may creep down to the edge of the stumps and try to pick off our men,” said Robert, “but they won’t make a rush. St. Luc would never allow it. I don’t understand this demonstration. It must be a cover for something else.”

He looked thoughtfully into the darkness, and listened to the moan of the lake. Had the foe a fleet he might have expected an attack that way, but he knew that for the present the British and Americans controlled Andiatarocte.

The darkness was still gathering on the water. He could not see twenty yards from the land, but behind him everything was brightness. The fires had been replenished, the men lined the stockade and were firing fast. Cheers replied to whoops. Smoke of battle overhung the camp, and drifted off into the forest. Robert looked toward the stockade. Again it was his impulse to go, and again he stayed. There was a slight gurgling in the water almost at his feet, and a dark figure rose from the waves, followed in an instant by another, and then by many more.

Robert, his imagination up and leaping, thrilled with horror. He understood at once. They were attacked by swimming savages. While the great shouting and turmoil in their front was going on a line of warriors had reached the lake somewhere in the darkness, and were now in the camp itself.

He was palsied only for a moment. Then his faculties were alive and he saw the imminent need. Leaping back, he uttered a piercing shout, and, drawing his pistol, he fired point blank at the first of the warriors.

Wilton, who had felt the same horror at sight of the dark faces, fired also, and there was a rush of feet as men came to their help.

The warriors were armed only with tomahawk and knife, and they had expected a surprise which they might have effected if it had not been for Robert’s keenness, but more of them came continually and they made a formidable attack. Sending forth yell after yell as a signal to their comrades in front that they had landed, they rushed forward.

Neither Robert nor Wilton ever had any clear idea of that fierce combat in the dark. The defenders fired their rifles and pistols, if they had time, and then closed in with cold steel. Meanwhile the attack on the front redoubled. But here at the water’s edge it was fiercest. Borderer met warrior, and now and then, locked in the arms of one another, they fell and rolled together into the lake. Grosvenor came too, and, after firing his pistols, he drew his small sword, plunging into the thick of the combat, thrusting with deadly effect.

The savages were hurled back, but more swimming warriors came to their aid. Dark heads were continually rising from the lake, and stalwart figures, almost naked, sprang to the shore. Tomahawks and knives gleamed, and the air echoed with fierce whoop of Indian and shout of borderer. And on the other side of the camp, too, the attack was now pressed with unrelenting vigor. The shrill call of a whistle showed that St. Luc himself was near, and Frenchmen, Canadians and Indians, at the edge of the cleared ground and in the first line of stumps, poured a storm of bullets against the breastwork and into the camp.

Many of the defenders were hit, some mortally. The gallant Colden had his fine three cornered hat, of which he was very proud, shot away, but, bare-headed, calm and resolute, he strode about among his men, handling his forces like the veteran that he had become, strengthening the weak points, applauding the daring and encouraging the faltering.

Willet, who was crouched behind the logs, firing his rifle with deadly effect, glanced at him more than once with approval.

“Do you think we can hold ‘em off, Tayoga?” the hunter said to the Onondaga, who was by his side.

“Aye, Great Bear, we can,” replied Tayoga. “They will not be able to enter our camp here, but this is not their spearhead. They expect to thrust through on the side of the water, where they have come swimming. Hark to the shouts behind us!”

“And the two lads, Robert and the young Englishman, have gone there.

I think you judge aright about that being their spearhead. We’ll go there too!”

Choosing a moment when they were not observed by the others, lest it might be construed as a withdrawal in the face of force, they slipped away from the logs. It was easy to find such an opportunity as the camp was now full of smoke from the firing, drifting over everything and often hiding the faces of the combatants from their comrades only a few yards away.

But the battle raged most fiercely along the water’s edge. There it was hand to hand, and for a while it looked as if the dusky warriors would make good their footing. To the defenders it seemed that the lake spewed them forth continually, and that they would overwhelm with weight of numbers. Yet the gallant borderers would not give back, and encouraging one another with resounding cheers they held the doubtful shore. Into this confused and terrible struggle Willet and Tayoga hurled themselves, and their arrival was most opportune.

“Push ‘em back, lads! Push ‘em back! Into the water with ‘em!” shouted the stalwart hunter, and emptying rifle and pistol he clubbed the former, striking terrific blows. Tayoga, tomahawk in hand, went up and down like a deadly flame. Soldiers and borderers came to the danger point, and the savages were borne back. Not one of them coming from the water was able to enter the camp. The terrible line of lead and steel that faced them was impassable, and all the time the tremendous shouts of Willet poured fresh courage and zeal into the young troops and the borderers.

“At ‘em, lads! At ‘em!” he cried. “Push ‘em back! Throw ‘em into the water! Show ‘em they can’t enter our camp, that the back door, like the front door, is closed! That’s the way! Good for you, Grosvenor!