Wyandotte; or, the Hutted Knoll . . . Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  As soon as the little stir created in the Hut by the mustering of the men was over, a stillness as profound as that which had preceded the alarm reigned around the place. No noise came from the direction of the mill; no cry, or call, or signal of battle was heard; everything lay in the quiet of midnight. Half an hour thus passed, when the streak of light that appeared in the east announced the approach of day.

  The twenty minutes that succeeded were filled with intense anxiety. The slow approach of light gradually brought out object after object in the little panorama, awakening and removing alike, conjectures and apprehensions. At first the grey of the palisades became visible; then the chapel, in its sombre outlines; the skirts of the woods; the different cabins that lined them; the cattle in the fields, and the scattering trees. As for Joyce, he kept his gaze fastened on the object at the foot of the stockade, expecting every instnat there would be an attempt to carry it off.

  At length, the light became so strong as to allow the eye to take in the entire surface of the natural glacis without the defences, bringing the assurance that no enemy was near. As the ground was perfectly clear, a few fruit-trees and shrubs on the lawn excepted, and by changing positions on the stage, these last could now be examined on all sides, nothing was easier than to make certain of this fact. The fences, too, were light and open, rendering it impossible for any ambush or advancing party to shelter itself behind them. In a word, daylight brought the comfortable assurance to those within the palisades that another night was passed without bringing an assault.

  “We shall escape this morning, I do believe, Joyce,” said the captain, who had laid down his rifle, and no longer felt it necessary to keep the upper portions of his body concealed behind the roof--“Nothing can be seen that denotes an intention to attack, and not an enemy is near.”

  “I will take one more thorough look, your honour,” answered the serjeant, mounting to the ridge of the building, where he obtained the immaterial advantage of seeing more at the same time, at the risk of exposing his whole person, should any hostile rifle be in reach of a bullet--“then we may be certain.”

  Joyce was a man who stood just six feet in his stockings; and, losing no part of this stature by his setting up, a better object for a sharp-shooter could not have been presented than he now offered. The crack of a rifle soon saluted the ears of the garrison; then followed the whizzing of the bullet as it came humming through the air towards the Hut. But the report was so distant as at once to announce that the piece was discharged from the margin of the forest; a certain evidence of two important facts; one, that the enemy had fallen back to a cover; the other, that the house was narrowly watched.

  Nothing tries the nerves of a young soldier more than the whizzing of a distant fire. The slower a bullet or a shot approaches, the more noise it makes; and, the sound continuing longer than is generally imagined, the uninitiated are apt to imagine that the dangerous missile is travelling on an errand directly towards themselves. Space appears annihilated, and raw hands are often seen to duck at a round shot that is possibly flying a hundred yards from them.

  On the present occasion, the younger Pliny fairly squatted below the root Jamie thought it prudent to put some of his own masonry, which was favourably placed in an adjacent chimney for such a purpose, between him and the spot whence the report proceeded; while even Blodget looked up into the air, as if he expected to see where the bullet was going. Captain Willoughby had no thought of the missile; he was looking for the smoke in the skirts of the woods, to note the spot; while Joyce, with folded arms, stood at rest on the ridge, actually examining the valley in another direction, certain that a fire so distant could not be very dangerous.

  Jamie’s calculation proved a good one. The bullet struck against the chimney, indented a brick, and fell upon the shingles of the roof. Joyce descended at the next instant, and he coolly picked up, and kept tossing the flattened bit of lead in his hand, for the next minute or two, with the air of a man who seemed unconscious of having it at all.

  “The enemy is besieging us, your honour,” said Joyce, “but he will not attack at present. If I might presume to advise, we shall do well to leave a single sentinel on this stage, since no one can approach the palisades without being seen, if the man keeps in motion.”

  “I was thinking of this myself, serjeant; we will first post Blodget here. We can trust him; and, as the day advances, a less intelligent sentinel will answer. At the same time, he must be instructed to keep an eye in the rear of the Hut, danger often coming from the quarter least expected.”

  All this was done, and the remainder of the men descended to the court. Captain Willoughby ordered the gate unbarred, when he passed outside, taking the direction towards the lifeless body, which still lay where it had fallen, at the foot of the stockades. He was accompanied by Joyce and Jamie Allen, the latter carrying a spade, it being the intention to inter the savage as the shortest means of getting rid of a disagreeable object. Our two old soldiers had none of the sensitiveness on the subject of exposure that is so apt to disturb the tyro in the art of war. With sentinels properly posted, they had no apprehensions of dangers that did not exist, and they moved with confidence and steadily wherever duty called. Not only was the inner gate opened and passed, but the outer also, the simple precaution of stationing a man at the first being the only safeguard taken.

  When outside of the palisades, the captain and his companions proceeded at once towards the body. It was now sunrise, and a rich light was illuminating the hill-tops, though the direct rays of the luminary had not yet descended to the valley. There lay the Indian, precisely as he had fallen, no warrior having interposed to save him from the scalping-knife. His head had reached the earth first, and the legs and body were tumbled on it, in a manner to render the form a confused pile of legs and blanket, rather than a bold savage stretched in the repose of death.

  “Poor fellow!” exclaimed the captain, as the three approached the spot; “it is to be hoped Blodget’s bullet did its commission faithfully, else the fall must have hurt him sadly.”

  “By Jove, ’tis nothing but a stuffed soldier!” cried Joyce, rolling the ingeniously contrived bundle over with his foot; “and here, the lad’s ball has passed directly through its head! This is Injin deviltry, sir; it has been tried, in order to see whether our sentinels were or were not asleep.”

  “To me, Joyce, it seems more like a white man’s clumsiness. The fellow has been made to resemble an Indian, but people of our own colour have had a hand in the affair.”

  “Well, sir, let that be as it may, it is lucky our youngster had so quick an eye, and so nimble a finger. See, your honour; here is the pole by which the effigy was raised to the top of the palisades, and here is the trail on the grass yet, by which his supporter has crept off. The fellow seems to have scrambled along in a hurry; his trail is as plain as that of a whole company.”

  The captain examined the marks left on the grass, and was of opinion that more than one man had been employed to set up the decoy figure, a circumstance that seemed probable in itself, when the weight of the image and the danger of exposure were remembered. Let that be as it might, he was rejoiced on reflection that no one was hurt, and he still retained the hope of being able to come to such an understanding with his invaders as to supersede the necessity of actual violence.

  “At all events, your honour, I will carry the quaker in,” said Joyce, tossing the stuffed figure on a shoulder. “He will do to man the quaker gun at least, and may be of use in frightening some one of the other side, more than he has yet frightened us.”

  Captain Willoughby did not object, though he reminded Joyce that the desertions had probably put the enemy in possession of a minute statement of their defences and force, including the history of the wooden gun. If Joel and his fellow-delinquents had joined the party at the mill, the name, age, character and spirit of every man remaining in the garrison were probably known to its leaders; and neither quakers nor paddies would count for much in opposi
ng an assault.

  The captain came within the gate of the palisades last, closing, barring, and locking it with his own hands, when all immediate apprehensions from the enemy ceased. He knew, certainly, that it would probably exceed his present means of resistance, to withstand a vigorous assault; but, on the other hand, he felt assured that Indians would never approach a stockade in open day, and expose themselves to the hazards of losing some fifteen or twenty of their numbers, before they could carry the place. This was opposed to all their notions of war, neither honour nor advantage tempting them to adopt it. As for the first, agreeably to savage notions, glory was to be measured by the number of scalps taken and lost; and, counting all the women left in the Hut, there would not be heads enough to supply a sufficient number to prove an offset to those which would probably be lost in the assault.

  All this did the captain discuss in few words, with the serjeant, when he proceeded to join his anxious and expecting wife and daughters.

  “God has looked down upon us in mercy, and protected us this night,” said the grateful Mrs. Willoughby, with streaming eyes, as she received and returned her husband’s warm embrace. “We cannot be too thankful, when we look at these dear girls, and our precious little Evert. If Robert were only with us now, I should be entirely happy!”

  “Such is human nature, my little Maud”--answered the captain, drawing his darling towards himself and kissing her polished forehead. “The very thoughts of being in our actual strait would have made your mother as miserable as her worst enemy could wish -- if, indeed, there be such a monster on earth as her enemy -- and, now she protests she is delighted because our throats were not all cut last night. We are safe enough for the day I think, and not another night shall one of you pass in the Hut, if I can have my way. If there be such a thing as desertion, there is such a thing as evacuation also.”

  “Hugh!--What can you, do you mean! Remember, we are surrounded by a wilderness.”

  “I know our position reasonably well, wife of mine, and intend to turn that knowledge to some account, God willing, and aiding. I mean to place old Hugh Willoughby by the side of Xenophon and Washington, and let the world see what a man is capable of, on a retreat, when he has such a wife, two such daughters, and a grandson like that, on his hands. As for Bob, I would not have him here, on any account. The young dog would run away with half the glory.”

  The ladies were too delighted to find their father and husband in such spirits, to be critical, and all soon after sat down to an early breakfast, to eat with what appetite they could.

  CHAPTER VII.

  Yet I well remember The favours of these men: were they not mine?

  Did they not sometimes cry, all hail! to me?

  So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve

  Found truth in all but one; I in twelve thousand none.

  Richard II That which captain Willoughby had said in seeming pleasantry he seriously meditated. The idea of passing another night in the Hut, supported by only six men, with more than ten times that number besieging him, and with all the secrets of his defences known, through the disaffection of his retainers, was, to the last degree, painful to him. Had his own life, alone, been at risk, military pride might have tempted him to remain; but his charge was far too precious to be exposed on account of considerations so vain.

  No sooner, therefore, was the breakfast over, than the captain summoned Joyce to a consultation on the contemplated movement. The interview took place in the library, whither the serjeant repaired, on receiving his superior’s orders. As to the party without, no apprehension was felt, so long as the sentinels were even moderately vigilant, and the day lasted.

  “I suppose, serjeant,” commenced captain Willoughby, “a soldier of your experience is not to be taught what is the next resort of a commanding officer, when he finds himself unable to make good his ground against his enemy in front?”

  “It is to retreat, your honour. The road that cannot be passed, must be turned.”

  “You have judged rightly. It is now my intention to evacuate the Hut, and to try our luck on a march to the rear. A retreat, skilfully executed, is a creditable thing; and any step appears preferable to exposing the dear beings in the other room to the dangers of a night assault.”

  Joyce appeared struck with the suggestion; though, if one might have judged from the expression of his countenance, far from favourably. He reflected a moment ere he answered.

  “Did your honour send for me,” he then inquired, “to issue orders for this retreat, or was it your pleasure to hear anything I might have to say about it?”

  “The last -- I shall give no orders, until I know your opinion of the measure.”

  “It is as much the duty of an inferior to speak his mind freely, when he is called for an opinion, captain Willoughby, as it is to obey in silence, when he gets nothing but orders. According to my views of the matter, we shall do better to stand our ground, and try to make good the house against these vagabonds, than to trust to the woods.”

  “Of course you have your reasons for this opinion, Joyce?”

  “Certainly, your honour. In the first place, I suppose it to be against the rules of the art of war to evacuate a place that is well provisioned, without standing an assault. This we have not yet done. It is true, sir, that our ranks are thinned by desertions; but I never heard of a garrisoned town, or a garrisoned house, capitulating on account of a few deserters; and, I take it, evacuation is only the next step before capitulation.”

  “But our desertions, Joyce, have not been few, but many. Three times as many have left us, if we include our other losses, as remain. It matters not whence the loss proceeds, so long as it is a loss.”

  “A retreat, with women and baggage, is always a ticklish operation, your honour, especially if an enemy is pressing your rear! Then we have a wilderness before us, and the ladies could hardly hold out for so long a march as that from this place to the Mohawk; short of which river they will hardly be as safe as they are at present.”

  “I have had no such march in view, Joyce. You know there is a comfortable hut, only a mile from this very spot, on the mountain side, where we commenced a clearing for a sheep-pasture, only three summers since. The field is in rich grass; and, could we once reach the cabin, and manage to drive a cow or two up there, we might remain a month in security. As for provisions and clothes, we could carry enough on our backs to serve us all several weeks; especially if assisted by the cows.”

  “I ’m glad your honour has thought of this idea,” said the serjeant, his face brightening as he listened; “it will be a beautiful operation to fall back on that position, when we can hold out no longer in this. The want of some such arrangement has been my only objection to this post, captain Willoughby; for, we have always seemed to me, out here in the wilderness, like a regiment drawn up with a ravine or a swamp in its rear.”

  “I am glad to find you relishing the movement for any cause, serjeant. It is my intention at present to make the necessary arrangements to evacuate the Hut, while it is tight; and, as soon as it is dark, to retreat by the gates, the palisades, and the rivulet--How now, Jamie? You look as if there were news to communicate?”

  Jamie Allen, in truth, had entered at that instant in so much haste as to have overlooked the customary ceremony of sending in his name, or even of knocking.

  “News!” repeated the mason, with a sort of wondering smile; “and it ’s just that I ’ve come to bring. Wad ye think it, baith, gentlemen, that our people are in their ain cabins ag’in, boiling their pots, and frying their pork, a’ the same as if the valley was in a state of tranquillity, and we so many lairds waiting for them to come and do our pleasure!”

  “I do not understand you, Jamie -- whom do you mean by ‘our people?”’

  “Sure, just the desairters; Joel, and the miller, and Michael, and the rest.”

  “And the cabins -- and the pots -- and the pork -- it is gibberish to me.”

  “I hae what ye English ca’ an
aiccent, I know; but, in my judgment, captain Willoughby, the words may be comprehended without a dictionary. It ’s just that Joel Strides, and Daniel the miller, and the rest o’ them that fleed, the past night, have gane into their ain abodes, and have lighted their fires, and put over their pots and kettles, and set up their domestic habitudes, a’ the same as if this Beaver Dam was ain o’ the pairks o’ Lonnon!”

  “The devil they have! Should this be the case, serjeant, our sortie may be made at an earlier hour than that mentioned. I never will submit to such an insult.”

  Captain Willoughby was too much aroused to waste many words; and, seizing his hat, he proceeded forthwith to take a look for himself. The stage, or gallery on the roofs, offering the best view, in a minute he and his two companions were on it.

  “There; ye ’ll be seein’ a smoke in Joel’s habitation, with your own een; and, yon is anither, in the dwelling of his cousin Seth,” said Jamie, pointing in the direction he named.

  “Smoke there is, of a certainty; but the Indians may have lighted fires in the kitchen, to do their own cooking. This looks like investing us, serjeant, rather more closely than the fellows have done before.”

  “I rather think not, your honour--Jamie is right, or my eyes do not know a man from a woman. That is certainly a female in the garden of Joel, and I ’ll engage it ’s Phœbe, pulling onions for his craving stomach, the scoundrel!”

  Captain Willoughby never moved without his little glass, and it was soon levelled at the object mentioned.

  “By Jupiter, you are right, Joyce” -- he cried. “It is Phœbe, though the hussy is coolly weeding, not culling the onions! Ay -- and now I see Joel himself! The rascal is examining some hoes, with as much philosophy as if he were master of them, and all near them. This is a most singular situation to be in!”