CHAPTER XXIV.
A BLACK NIGHT.
At the time, so exciting and dangerous was the situation, I scarcelyrealized what had happened. The fight was still raging, and I was in thethick of it. Leaving others to render aid to the factor, I sprang withclubbed musket at the redskin who had shot him. I struck hard and true,and I yelled hoarsely as he dropped with a shattered skull. My comradesfinished several more, and now the survivors--four in number--turned andfled. One scrambled safely over the stockade; the other three were cutdown as they ran.
That ended the struggle. Again, and with terrible loss, our desperatefoes had been repulsed. The moaning of the wounded was drowned in heartycheers, and the musketry fire had dwindled to a few straggling shots.There was a sudden cry from the watch-tower that the enemy were in fullretreat, and I ran to a loophole to see if this good news could beverified. It was true enough! The Indians were fading away into thecurtain of snow, and in a manner that showed they had no intention ofstopping short cf the forest, since none took to shelter in theclearing.
I peered out for a few moments, until not a savage was in sight. Thenthe triumphant clamor within the fort seemed to change to an angry andmournful key, and I heard the factors name called from mouth to mouth.As I turned from the loophole, Captain Rudstone met me face to face.
"He wants you," he said. "Come at once."
"Who?" I asked mechanically.
"Griffith Hawke, of course. Surely you knew he had been shot. He isdying, I believe."
I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. The captain lookedat me keenly for an instant, and then strode off. I followed at hisheels, reeling like a drunken man, and with my thoughts in such a whirlas I cannot describe.
Griffith Hawke dying! It was difficult to grasp the meaning of thewords. At first I felt bitter grief and remorse for the untimely end ofthe man who had been my greatest benefactor; I remembered his manykindnesses, and how basely I had requited them.
Captain Rudstone led the way to the little room at the base of thewatch-tower. We pushed through the crowd outside and when I was over thethreshold I saw a pitiable sight by the glow of a lantern. GriffithHawke lay partly on a blanket, with Andrew Menzies supporting his headand shoulders. His face was ghastly pale, and there was blood on hislips and chest. The doctor, kneeling beside him, was preparing to givehim a dose of spirits. Half a dozen sorrowing men stood about.
"His minutes are numbered," Captain Rudstone whispered in my ear. "He isshot through the lungs. They brought him here because it was the nearestplace of shelter."
The factor looked up and saw me. He made a feeble gesture, and as Iknelt by him the tears came to my eyes and a lump rose in my throat. Iwould have given anything to save his life; my sorrow was true andsincere.
"They tell me the fort is safe--that the Indians have retreated to thewoods," he whispered faintly.
"Yes, they have been beaten off," I replied, "and with heavy loss."
"Thank God!" he murmured. "They will hardly make another attack. Allwill go well now. Menzies, have you sent for Miss Hatherton?" he added.
"Yes, she will soon be here."
The dying man lifted his head a little, looking at me with a smile. Thedoctor poured some strong liquor between his lips, and it instantlybrought a brightness to his eyes and a tinge of color to his cheeks.
"That will keep me up for a time," he whispered. "I have something tosay to Mr. Carew, and I wish it to be as private as possible. You andthe doctor must remain, Menzies, but the rest--"
A spasm of pain stopped him, and while he writhed with it all the menwho were in the room, save we three kneeling by him, stepped quietlyoutside. He grew more comfortable in a moment, glanced wistfully at thedoor, and put a cold hand in one of mine.
"Denzil, my boy, it is only a question of a few minutes," he said, in alow voice. "I am dying at my post, and without regret. It is better so.I nearly made a mistake, but I saw it in time. I know your secret--Isuspected it days ago. You love Miss Hatherton--"
"It is true," I interrupted hoarsely. "Forgive me, my old friend, andbelieve that I would not for the world have wronged you in thought ordeed. I would have left the fort long ago, had you given consent--"
"Hush! there is nothing to forgive," he murmured. "Mine was themistake--mine the blame. It is only natural that you should have lovedeach other. I was too old to mate with one so young and fair. I had madeup my mind to release her from her promise--to give her to you, Denzil."
He stopped again, and I saw a sudden change in his face. The doctoranswered my questioning look with a grave nod, and just then the doorwas thrown open and Flora entered. She gave me a glance of startledsurprise, and knelt on the opposite side. Shaking the snow from herfurred cloak, she bent over the dying man; her eyes filled with tears ofgrief and pity, and her lips trembled.
"Griffith, tell me it is not true!" she cried; "Live for my sake!"
He looked from the girl to me.
"God bless you both!" he said weakly. "Do not grieve for me, Flora. Iloved you, but it was more the love of a father for a daughter. Now Ileave you a legacy of happiness--a husband who will cherish and protectyou. Promise before I go that you will be Denzil's wife. I shall die thehappier if I know that my mistake--is--atoned--"
The effort was too much for him. He gasped for breath, and his faceturned the color of ashes, blood oozed to his lips. I was speechlesswith emotion, and Flora was weeping too bitterly for words; but I sawher lips move, and she suddenly stretched out her hand. I clasped it fora brief moment, and as I released it and looked at Griffith Hawke, heshuddered from head to foot and lay still, with closed eyes.
"He is dead," said Menzies.
"Yes, it is over," assented the doctor.
A silence fell on us all, broken only by Flora's sobbing. Overhead, thesentries spoke in low tones while they watched at their posts, andoutside the wind howled a mournful requiem.
* * * * *
Through the remaining hours of that night the storm raged, heaping thesnow in higher drifts, and keeping half a dozen men busily employed inclearing the entrances to the various outbuildings. That the Indians hadtaken shelter in the forest, and were not likely to attempt anotherassault, did little to lighten the general gloom and grief that pervadedthe fort, for there was not a man but felt he had lost a friend inGriffith Hawke. As for myself, I had a heavy weight of responsibilityupon me, and that prevented my mind from dwelling too much on otherthings. I gave a thought now and again to my new-born happiness, but thethrill of joy was as quickly stifled by bitter shame--by a vision of thedead man who had returned good for my meditated evil. Flora was in thecare of Mrs. Menzies. Captain Rudstone had taken her back to the house,and I had no intention of seeking an interview with her until she shouldhave partly recovered from the shock of the factor's death.
It was indeed a black and dreadful night--a night of horrors andanxiety, of gloom and mourning. For the outlook was by no means sobright as we had let Griffith Hawke believe. What the result would be ifthe savages rushed us a third time none of us dared contemplate. It wastoo much to expect that they would abandon the siege, with men of theNorthwest Company among them to egg them on; and if they knew ourweakness, as was likely, another desperate attack was certain to comesooner or later. Out of a total number of forty-six at the beginning ofthe trouble, no more than half were now fit for service, the rest weredead or disabled.
These were stern facts that weighed heavy on my mind and held mesleepless and occupied while the night wore on. I saw well to it thatthe sentries were alert and at their posts, that muskets and howitzerswere loaded and ammunition within easy reach, that the stockade wassecure at every point. I fought off drowsiness and fatigue with cups ofhot coffee, with pipes of strong tobacco.
Two hours before dawn the weather thawed a little and the snow turned toa drizzling rainfall. In the gray flush of early morning when I made mylast round, it was bitterly cold
again; a crust was on the snow, and theleaden skies promised an early resumption of the storm. To north andeast the drifts reached halfway to the top of the stockade.
Bluish curls of smoke, rising here and there out of the surroundingforest, told that the Indians were still in the vicinity. The frozencrust was an incentive to them to make a final attack, and I expected itduring the day. I ate a hasty breakfast, and then Menzies summoned me tothe factor's house, where he had called a meeting to consider thesituation.
The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada Page 24