CHAPTER XIX
THE ATTACK
The lights were extinguished; the inhabitants of the Marshes were apparently sunk in slumber. It was near upon midnight, but the moon was shining so brightly that it seemed almost as if it were daylight.
Loïs had risen, and, standing in the darkness at a window of an upper room at Omega Marsh, looking down into the valley, was almost tempted to think she must have been mistaken, that her interview with Nadjii was an evil dream, the scene was so peacefully lovely. The church spire rose in the midst of the surrounding houses. She knew every one of them; their inhabitants had been familiar to her since her childhood, from the old grandfather to the toddling child she had helped to carry on the road that morning. By the light of the moon and stars she saw the outline of the hills, and farther on the mountain ridges; whilst the river gleamed here and there as it wound through the meadows. But what riveted her gaze was that dark, impenetrable forest. What did it conceal? She knew full well that all around the garden men belonging to the village lay on the ground watching, even as she was watching. Would to God it might be in vain! but Nadjii had spoken, and Loïs had implicit confidence in the Indian woman.
Suddenly, without warning, a loud shout arose. Then Loïs knew the enemy was at hand, and in the space of a few seconds the settlement was surrounded. The Indians poured down into the valley like a flock of locusts. Nat had issued the order that no man was to stir until the savages should have passed the boundaries, and then to fire on them simultaneously. Up towards the Marshes they swarmed, never doubting that the inhabitants were sleeping; but they were soon undeceived—a murderous fire came pouring down upon them. Shrieks, howls of pain and anger, filled the air, and the dark figures, with their waving headgears, leapt the barriers, striking out to the right and left with their murderous hatchets.
To Loïs, as she shrank back, it was as if all the devils of hell had been suddenly let loose. Steadily the fire continued; but so numerous were the assailants, that even as they fell others poured in over them, filling up the gaps. The settlement was surrounded on all sides. The besieged were not long in perceiving this, for the triumphant yells of the red men were heard on every side.
“They are too many for us, Marcus,” said Father Nat; “they are murdering our people wholesale down yonder. Good Heavens! they are setting fire to the barns; they’ll burn the village down!”
“I’m afraid they will,” said Marcus. Even whilst speaking they had not ceased firing. With a score of other men they were crouching behind the trees in the garden, just in front of Omega Marsh. Other groups were scattered here and there, protecting the homestead. The dead and wounded lay around, but the assailants still came on, the circle narrowing as they pressed forward.
“Where is Loïs?” asked Father Nat.
“Here,” she answered; and raising her gun, she fired over his shoulder at an Indian, who had leapt to within a yard of them.
“We must back into the house and bar the doors,” she said; “it is our only chance.”
“I think she’s right,” said the minister, and slowly they began to move backwards. A yell of delight from the savages greeted this retrograde movement, and one leapt forward, and, raising his tomahawk, would have brought it down on Father Nat’s head, if a thrust from a knife had not made the uplifted arm drop helpless, and with a shriek of agony the man sprang back. At the same moment Loïs felt herself lifted from the ground and carried into the house. With a sudden rush the others followed her. To bolt and bar the doors and windows of the ground floor was the work of a few seconds. Some of the men had ascended to the first story, and were firing from the windows upon the savages.
“We can only hold out a certain time,” said John Cleveland; “and even that depends upon their being kind enough not to set fire to the place.”
It seemed very unlikely that the Indians would refrain from doing so. The village was burning; and by the light of the flames the terrible fight which was going on below and around was clearly visible.
It was evident they had some reason for not setting fire to the homestead, probably the desire of taking the inhabitants alive for the purpose of torturing them “Father Nat” more especially, their anger being directed against Roger. The house was strongly built, the doors and windows secured by heavy iron bars, and so far the savages had been kept at bay by the incessant firing of the beleaguered. Suddenly they appeared to retreat, making a rush round to the back of the house. At the same moment Nadjii stood by the side of Loïs.
“See!” she whispered. “Roger;” and even as she spoke, running swiftly up the hill with shouts of “Hurrah, hurrah!” they saw the well-known red shirts of the Rangers.
“Saved,” said Father Nat, turning round quickly. “My brave lad!” He had hardly uttered the words when he was felled to the earth, and the room was filled with savages, yelling, hewing to the right hand and to the left. The settlers were grouped together in a corner of the room, keeping the savages at bay with their guns and rifles.
The last thing Loïs saw was Nadjii, who, thrusting her behind her, with blood flowing down her own half-naked body, held aloft a glittering steel knife stained with gore.
The sun rose upon a scene of utter devastation. The village of Marshwood lay in ruins; upwards of one hundred men had been killed, or, worse still, were missing.
Almost the only house which stood uninjured was Alpha Marsh; evidently the Indians had their reasons for respecting it. Their own loss was immense. The sudden appearance of the Rangers had been totally unexpected. When the savages had forced an entrance at the back and had swarmed into the house, Roger and his men took them in the rear and cut them to pieces, at the same time as they were being fired on by the besieged; retreat was therefore impossible, and they perished to a man. A few threw themselves out of the windows in the hope of escaping, but were either killed in the fall or bayoneted by their opponents stationed below; the same thing went on throughout the village. In less than an hour after the Rangers appeared, the Indians were swept away, leaving their dead and wounded to the mercy of the conquerors.
Of the group of men who had defended Omega Marsh only a few escaped unwounded. When the fight was at an end, and Roger forced his way over the dead into the room where the besieged had taken refuge, an awful sight met his eyes. Father Nat lay apparently killed, Loïs was close beside him senseless, and almost covering them with her naked body, gashed with wounds, lay Nadjii.
The scene was one of indescribable horror. For a second Roger’s spirit failed him. The survivors, faint and exhausted, hardly believing they were saved, still stood with their weapons in their hands. Marcus, badly wounded himself, was striving to get at Loïs, but the Indian woman’s body had to be moved first, and he had no strength left. Stern and agonised was Roger’s face, as John Cleveland, clasping his hand, said, with a sob in his voice,—
“He knew you had come to the rescue. A minute sooner and you would have saved him.”
“Are you sure he is dead?” said Roger, in a hoarse voice, as he helped Marcus to move Nadjii and Loïs; and then he raised his father in his arms. Apparently dead he certainly was; but the face was so swollen and disfigured by a ghastly wound on the forehead that it was impossible to say positively.
“He and the women had better be carried over to Alpha Marsh,” he said; “the flames are spreading below. I must go and help my men.”
At that moment Loïs opened her eyes, and consciousness came back to her immediately. She sat up and looked around.
“Oh, Roger!” she exclaimed; and for the first time for years he did not turn away from her, but asked,—
“Are you hurt, Loïs?”
She tried to rise. John Cleveland gave her his hand.
“No,” she answered, “I think not; it is their blood,” and she shivered, pointing to her blood-stained garments.
“Alpha Marsh is uninjured; we are going to carry Father Nat there.”
“And she?” said Loïs, looking down at Nadjii.
“If you wish it,” answered Roger, turning away.
And so Nathaniel was laid in the best chamber of Alpha Marsh, and Nadjii in Loïs’ own bedroom.
Nokomis, the Huron woman who had served Nathaniel ever since he rescued her from another tribe of Indians, who had slain her son and her husband, came out of hiding, and with a few other women, some old, some sick, who had refused to leave the settlement, set to work to tend the wounded.
“He no dead, she no dead,” said Nokomis, after washing the blood from Father Nat’s head and body, and, with Loïs’ help, performing the same office for Nadjii. “But,” she added, shaking her head, “they both die; no meda[5] save her.”
[Footnote 5: Medicine-man.]
“But you are as good as a meda,” said Lois. “You know of herbs and salves, Nokomis; you must try what you can do.”
“For my Nosa[6] perhaps,” she said, as she bound up the ghastly wound which had lain Father Nat’s head open; “but for the Nadjii, she dead;” and yet as Loïs bent over the dark face, and held a feather to her lips, she knew that Nadjii still lived.
[Footnote 6: Master.]
“Oh, Nokomis,” she said, tears running down her face, “she tried to save us all; if I am living it is because she stood between me and death. She has a brave heart.”
“She is a chief’s daughter,” answered Nokomis, with certain dignity; “but she must die; her hour is come.”
Suddenly a thought struck Loïs; her pale face flushed.
The child—where had Nadjii left the child?