Fort Amity
Page 25
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FORT SURRENDERS.
The red-coats, who had forced their way up the tower by weight ofnumbers and at the point of the bayonet, were now ordered to faceabout and clear the stairway; which they did, driving the mixedrabble of Canadians and Indians down before them, and collecting thedead and wounded as they went. Five of the Oneidas had beenbayoneted or trampled to death in the struggle; two of the garrisonwould never fight again, and scarcely a man had escaped cuts orbruises.
But Diane, as she followed her father's body down the stairs, knewnothing of this. The dead and wounded had been removed. The narrowlancet windows let in a faint light, enough to reveal some uglystains and splashes on the walls; but she walked with fixed unseeingeyes. Once only on the way down her foot slid on the edge of aslippery step, and she shivered.
In the sunlight outside the doorway a group of men, mauled andsullen, some wearing bandages, others with blood yet trickling downtheir faces, stood listening to an altercation between M. Etienne anda couple of spick-and-span British officers. As their Commandant'sbody came through the doorway they drew together with a growl.Love was in that sound, and sorrow, and helpless rage. One or twobroke into sobs.
The British officers--one of them was the General himself, the otherhis messenger, Captain Muspratt--bared their heads. M. Etienne,checked in the midst of an harangue, stepped to Diane and took herhand tenderly.
She gazed slowly around on the group of battered men. There was noreproach in her look--Had she not failed as miserably as they?--andyet it held a word of injustice. She could not know that for hersake they carried these wounds. And Dominique Guyon, the one man whocould have answered her thoughts, stared savagely at the ground,offering no defence.
"Dominique Guyon," commanded M. Etienne, "four of you will relievethese _messieurs_ of their burden. Carry your master to the chapel,where you will find Father Launoy and Father Joly."
"But pardon me, monsieur," interposed Amherst politely, "my soldierswill be proud to bear so gallant a foe."
"I thank you "--M. Etienne's bow was stiff and obstinate--"but Iassert again that I still command this fortress, and the bearersshall be of my choosing."
Diane laid a hand on her uncle's arm. "He is dead," said she."What matters it?" She did not understand this dispute. "Perhaps ifI promise M. le General that these men shall return to him when theyhave laid my father in the chapel--"
The General--a tall, lean, horse-faced man with a shrewd and notunkindly eye--yielded the point at once. "Willingly, mademoiselle,and with all the respect an enemy may pay to your sorrow."
He ordered the men to give place to the new bearers.
In the chapel Diane sank on her knees, but not to pray--rather toescape the consolations of the two priests and be alone with herthoughts. And her thoughts were not of her father. The stroke hadfallen; but not yet could she feel the pain. He was happy; he aloneof them all had kept his quiet vow, and died disdaining defeat;whereas she--ah, there lay the terrible thought!--she had not merelyfailed, had not been overpowered. In the crisis, beside her father'scorpse, she had played the traitress to her resolve.
The two priests moved about the body, arranging it, fetchingtrestles, draperies, and candles for the _lit de parade_, always withstealthy glances at the bowed figure in the shadow just within thedoor. But she knelt on, nor lifted her face.
In the sunlit courtyard without the two commanders were stilldisputing. M. Etienne flatly refused to yield up his sword,maintaining that he had never surrendered, had agreed to no terms ofcapitulation; that the redcoats had swarmed over his walls in thetemporary absence of their defenders, gathered at the gateway toparley under a flag of truce, and should be drawn off at once.
The mischief was, he could not be gainsaid. Major Etheringtonexplained--at first in English, to his General, and again, at hisGeneral's request, in the best French he could command, for thebenefit of all, that he had indeed heard the recall blown, and hadwith difficulty drawn off his men from the scaling-ladders,persuading them (as he himself was persuaded) that the fort hadsurrendered. He knew nothing of the white flag at the gateway, buthad formed his conclusions from the bugle-calls and the bareflagstaff above the tower.
"Nevertheless, we had not capitulated," persisted M. Etienne.
The Major continued that, albeit he had tried his best, the Indianswere not to be restrained. They had poured into the fort, and,although he had obeyed the bugles and kept his men back, it had costhim grave misgivings. But when the Ojibway called down so urgentlyfrom the summit of the tower, he had risked disobedience, hoping toprevent the massacre which he knew to be afoot. He appealed to hisGeneral to approve, or at least condone, this breach of orders.For undoubtedly massacre had been prevented. Witness the crowd hehad found jammed in the stairway, and fighting ferociously.Witness the scene that had met him at the head of the stairs.Here he swung round upon John and beckoned him to stand out from thelistening group of red-coats.
"It can be proved, sir," he went on, addressing M. Etienne, "that thelady--your niece, is she not?--owes her life, and more than her lifeperhaps, to this savage. I claim only that, answering his call, Iled my men with all possible speed to the rescue. Up there on theleads I found your brother lying dead, with a sergeant dead besidehim; and their wounds again will prove to you that they had perishedby the bursting of a shell. But this man alone stood on the hatchwayand held it against a dozen Iroquois, as your niece will testify.What you suppose yourself to owe him, I won't pretend to say; but Itell you--and I tell you, General--that cleaner pluck I never saw inmy life."
John, the soldiers pushing him forward, stood out with bent head.He prayed that there might be no Ojibway interpreter at hand; he knewof none in the fort but Father Launoy, now busy in the chapel layingout the Commandant's body. Of all the spectators there was but one--the General himself--who had not known him either as Ensign John aCleeve or as the wounded sergeant from Ticonderoga. He had metCaptain Muspratt at Albany, and remembered him well on the march upthe Hudson to Lake George. With Major Etherington he had marched,messed, played at cards, and lived in close comradeship for monthstogether--only two years ago! It was not before their eyes that hehung his head, but before the thought of two eyes that in the chapelyonder were covered by the hands of a kneeling girl.
M. Etienne stepped forward and took his hand.
"I thank you, my friend--if you can understand my thanks."
Dominique Guyon, returning from the chapel, saw only an Indianstepping back upon the ranks of the red-coats, who clapped him on theshoulder for a good fellow; and Dominique paid him no more attention,being occupied with M. Etienne's next words.
"Nevertheless," said M. Etienne, turning upon Amherst, "my duty tohis Majesty obliges me to insist that I have not capitulated; andyour troops, sir, though they have done me this service, must be atonce withdrawn."
And clearly, by all the rules of war, M. Etienne had the right on hisside. Amherst shrugged his shoulders, frowning and yet forced tosmile--the fix was so entirely absurd. As discipline went in theseNorth American campaigns, he commanded a well-disciplined army; butnumbers of provincials and bateau-men had filtered in through thebreaches almost unobserved during the parley, and were now strollingabout the fortifications like a crowd of inquisitive tourists.He ordered Major Etherington to clear them out, and essayed once moreto reason with the enemy.
"You do not seriously urge me, monsieur, to withdraw my men and renewthe bombardment?"
"That is precisely what I require of you."
"But--good heavens, my dear sir!--look at the state of your walls!"He waved a hand towards the defences.
"I see them; but _you_, sir, as a gentleman, should have no eyes fortheir condition--on this side."
The General arched his eyebrows and glanced from M. Etienne to theCanadians; he did not for a moment mean to appeal to them, but hisglance said involuntarily, "A pretty madman you have for commander!"
And in fact they were al
ready murmuring. What nonsense was this ofM. Etienne's? The fort had fallen, as any man with eyes could see.Their Commandant was dead. They had fought to gain time? Well, theyhad succeeded, and won compliments even from their enemy.
Corporal Sans Quartier spoke up. "With all respect, M. le Capitaine,if we fight again some of us would like to know what we are fightingfor."
M. Etienne swung round upon him.
"Tais-toi, poltron!"
A murmur answered him; and looking along the line of faces he readsympathy, respect, even a little shame, but nowhere the response hesought.
Nor did he reproach them. Bitter reproaches indeed shook his lips,but trembled there and died unuttered. For five--maybe ten--longseconds he gazed, and so turned towards the General.
"Achevez, monsieur! . . . Je vous demande pardon si vous me trouvezun peu pointilleux." His voice shook; he unbuckled his sword, heldit for a moment between his hands as if hesitating, then offered itto Amherst with the ghost of a bitter smile. "Cela ne vaut pas--saufa moi--la peine de le casser . . ."
He bowed, and would have passed on towards the chapel. Amherstgently detained him.
"I spare you my compliments, sir, and my condolence; they would beidly offered to a brave man at such a moment. Forgive me, though,that I cannot spare to consult you on my own affairs. Time presseswith us. You have, as I am told, good pilots here who know therapids between this and Montreal, and I must beg to have them pointedout to me."
M. Etienne paused. "The best pilots, sir, are Dominique Guyon there,and his brother Bateese. But you will find that most of these menknow the river tolerably well."
"And the rest of your garrison? Your pardon, again, but I must holdyou responsible, to deliver up _all_ your men within the Fort."
"I do not understand . . . This, sir, is all the garrison of FortAmitie."
Amherst stared at the nineteen or twenty hurt and dishevelled menranged against the tower wall, then back into a face impossible toassociate with untruth.
"M. le Capitaine," said he very slowly, "if with these men you havemade a laughing-stock of me for two days and a half, why then I oweyou a grudge. But something else I owe, and must repay at once.Be so good as to receive back a sword, sir, of which I am allunworthy to deprive you."
But as he proffered it, M. Etienne put up both hands to thrust thegift away, then covered his face with them.
"Not now, monsieur--not now! To-morrow perhaps . . . but not now, orI may break it indeed!"
Still with his face covered, he tottered off towards the chapel.