The Masters of the Peaks Part 36

St. Luc now pressed the attack from every side save the south. The French and Indians in the fleet redoubled their fire. The twelve-pounder was pushed forward, and, as fast as the expert French gunners could reload it, the terrible charges of grape-shot were sent among the rangers. More were slain or wounded. The little band of defenders on the high cliff overlooking the lake at last found their corner too hot for them and were compelled to join the main force. Then the French and Indians in the fleet landed with shouts of triumph and rushed upon the Americans.

Robert caught glimpses of other Frenchmen as he faced the forest. Once an epaulet showed behind a bush and then a breadth of tanned face which he was sure belonged to De Courcelles. And so this man who had sought to make him the victim of a deadly trick was here! And perhaps Jumonville also! A furious rage seized him and he sought eagerly for a shot at the epaulet, but it disappeared. He crept a little farther forward, hoping for another view, and Tayoga noticed his eager, questing gaze.

"What is it, Dagaeoga?" he asked. "Whom do you hate so much?"

"I saw the French Colonel, De Courcelles, and I was seeking to draw a bead on him, but he has gone."

"Perhaps he has, but another takes his place. Look at the clump of bushes directly in front of us and you will see a pale blue sleeve which beyond a doubt holds the arm of a French officer. The arm cannot be far away from the head and body, which I think we will see in time, if we keep on looking."

Both watched the bushes with a concentrated gaze and presently the head and shoulders, following the arm, disclosed themselves. Robert raised his rifle and took aim, but as he looked down the sights he saw the face among the leaves, and a shudder shook him. He lowered his rifle.

"What is it, Dagaeoga?" whispered the Onondaga.

"The man I chose for my target," replied Robert, "was not De Courcelles, nor yet Junonville, but that young De Galissonniere, who was so kind to us in Quebec, and whom we met later among the peaks. I was about to pull trigger, and, if I had done so, I should be sorry all my life."

"Is he still there?"

Robert looked again and De Galissonniere was gone. He felt immense relief.

He thought it was war's worst cruelty that it often brought friends face to face in battle.

The French and Indian horde from the lake landed and drove against the rangers on the eastern flank with great violence, firing their rifles and muskets, and then coming on with the tomahawk. The little force of Rogers was in danger of being enveloped on all sides, and would have been exterminated had it not been for his valor and presence of mind, seconded so ably by Willet, Black Rifle and their comrades.

They formed a barrier of living fire, facing in three directions and holding back the shouting horde until the main body of the surviving rangers could gather for retreat. Robert and Tayoga were near Willet, all the best sharpshooters were there, and never had they fought more valiantly than on that day.

Robert crouched among the bushes, peering for the faces of his foes, and firing whenever he could secure a good aim.

"Have you seen Tandakora?" he asked Tayoga.

"No," replied the Onondaga.

"He must be here. He would not miss such a chance."

"He is here."

"But you said you hadn't seen him."

"I have not seen him, but O, Dagaeoga, I have heard him. Did not we observe when we were in the forest that ear was often to be trusted more than eye? Listen to the greatest war shout of them all! You can hear it every minute or two, rising over all the others, superior in volume as it is in ferocity. The voice of the Ojibway is huge, like his figure."

Now, in very truth, Robert did notice the fierce triumphant shout of Tandakora, over and above the yelling of the horde, and it made him shudder again and again. It was the cry of the man-hunting wolf, enlarged many times, and instinct with exultation and ferocity. That terrible cry, rising at regular intervals, dominated the battle in Robert's mind, and he looked eagerly for the colossal form of the chief that he might send his bullet through it, but in vain; the voice was there though his eyes saw nothing at which to aim.

Farther and farther back went the rangers, and the youth's heart was filled with anger and grief. Had they endured so much, had they escaped so many dangers, merely to take part in such a disaster? Unconsciously he began to shout in an effort to encourage those with him, and although he did not know it, it was a reply to the war cries of Tandakora. The smoke and the odors of the burned gunpowder filled his nostrils and throat, and heated his brain. Now and then he would stop his own shouting and listen for the reply of Tandakora. Always it came, the ferocious note of the Ojibway swelling and rising above the warwhoop of the other Indians.

"Dagaeoga looks for Tandakora," said the Onondaga.

"Truly, yes," replied Robert. "Just now it's my greatest wish in life to find him with a bullet. I hear his voice almost continuously, but I can't see him! I think the smoke hides him."

"No, Dagaeoga, it is not the smoke, it is Areskoui. I know it, because the Sun G.o.d has whispered it in my ear. You will hear the voice of Tandakora all through the battle, but you will not see him once."

"Why should your Areskoui protect a man like Tandakora, who deserves death, if anyone ever did?"

"He protects him, today merely, not always. It is understood that I shall meet Tandakora in the final reckoning. I told him so, when I was his captive, and he struck me in the face. It was no will of mine that made me say the words, but it was Areskoui directing me to utter them. So, I know, O, my comrade, that Tandakora cannot fall to your rifle now. His time is not today, but it will come as surely as the sun sets behind the peaks."

Tayoga spoke with such intense earnestness that Robert looked at him, and his face, seen through the battle smoke, had all the rapt expression of a prophet's. The white youth felt, for the moment at least, with all the depth of conviction, the words of the red youth would come true. Then the tremendous voice of Tandakora boomed above the firing and yelling, but, as before, his body remained invisible. Tandakora's Indians, many of whom had come with him from the far sh.o.r.es of the Great Lakes, showed all the cunning and courage that made them so redoubtable in forest warfare. Armed with good French muskets and rifles they crept forward among the thickets, and poured in an unceasing fire. Encouraged by the success at Oswego, and by the knowledge that the great St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders, was commanding the whole force, their ferocity rose to the highest pitch and it was fed also by the hope that they would destroy all the hated and dreaded rangers whom they now held in a trap.

Robert had never before seen them attack with so much disregard of wounds, and death. Usually the Indian was a wary fighter, always preferring ambush, and securing every possible advantage for himself, but now they rushed boldly across open s.p.a.ces, seeking new and nearer coverts. Many fell before the bullets of the rangers but the swarms came on, with undiminished zeal, always pus.h.i.+ng the battle, and keeping up a fire so heavy that, despite the bullets that went wild, the rangers steadily diminished in numbers.

"It's a powerful attack," said Robert.

"It's because they feel so sure of victory," said Tayoga, "and it's because they know it's the Mountain Wolf and his men whom they have surrounded.

They would rather destroy a hundred rangers than three hundred troops."

"That's so," said Willet, who overheard them in all the crash of the battle. "They won't let the opportunity escape. Back a little, lads! This place is becoming too much exposed."

They withdrew into deeper shelter, but they still fired as fast, as they could reload and pull the trigger. Their bullets, although they rarely missed, seemed to make no impression on the red horde, which always pressed closer, and there was a deadly ring of fire around the rangers, made by hundreds of rifles and muskets.

Robert and Tayoga were still without wounds. Leaves and twigs rained around them, and they heard often the song of the bullets, they saw many of the rangers fall, but happy fortune kept their own bodies untouched. Robert knew that the battle was a losing one, but he was resolved to hold his place with his comrades. Rogers, who had been fighting with undaunted valor and desperation, marshaling his men in vain against numbers greatly superior, made his way once more to the side of Willet and crouched with him in the bushes.

"Dave, my friend," he said, "the battle goes against us."

"So it does," replied the hunter, "but it is no fault of yours or your men.

St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders, has forced us into a trap.

There is nothing left for us to do now but burst the trap."

"I hate to yield the field."

"But it must be done. It's better to lose a part of the rangers than to lose all. You've had many a narrow escape before. Men will come to your standard and you'll have a new band bigger than ever."

The dark face of the ranger captain brightened a little. But he looked sadly upon his fallen men. He was bleeding himself from two slight wounds, but he paid no attention to them. The need to flee pierced his soul, but he saw that it must be done, else all the rangers would be destroyed, and, while he still hesitated a moment or two, the silver whistle of St. Luc, urging on a fresh and greater attack, rose above all the sounds of combat.

Then he knew that he must wait no longer, and he gave the command for ordered flight.

Not more than half of the rangers escaped from that terrible converging attack. St. Luc's triumph was complete. He had won full revenge for his defeat by Andiatarocte, and he pushed the pursuit with so much energy and skill that Rogers bade the surviving rangers scatter in the wilderness to rea.s.semble again, after their fas.h.i.+on, far to the south.

Black Rifle remained with the leader, but Robert, Tayoga and Willet continued their flight together, not stopping until night, when they were safe from pursuit. As the three went southward through the deep forest, they saw many trails that they knew to be those of hostile Indians, and nowhere did they find a sign of a friend. All the wilderness seemed to have become the country of the enemy. When they looked once more from the lofty sh.o.r.es upon the vivid waters of George, they beheld canoes, but as they watched they discovered that they were those of the foe. A terrible fear clutched at their hearts, a fear that Montcalm, like St. Luc, had struck already.

"The tide of battle has flowed south of us," said Tayoga. "All that we find in the forest proclaims it."

"I would you were not right, Tayoga," said the hunter, "but I fear you are."

They came the next day to the trail of a great army, soldiers and cannon.

Night overtook them while they were still near the sh.o.r.es of Lake George, following the road, left by the French and Indian host as it had advanced south, and the three, wearied by their long flight, drew back into the dense thickets for rest. The darkness had come on thicker and heavier than usual, and they were glad of it, as they were well hidden in its dusky folds, and they wished to rest without apprehension.

They had food with them which they ate, and then they wrapped their blankets about their bodies, because a wind was coming from the lake, and its touch was damp. Clouds also covered all the skies, and, before long, a thin, drizzling rain fell. They would have been cold, and, in time, wet to the bone, but the blankets were sufficient to protect them.

"Areskoui, after smiling upon us for so long, has now turned his face from us," said Tayoga.

"What else can you expect?" said the valiant Willet. "It is always so in war. You're up and then you're down. We were masters of the peaks for a while, and by our capture of Garay's letter we kept St. Luc from attacking Albany, but the stars never fight for you all the time. We couldn't do anything that would save the rangers from defeat."

The Onondaga looked up. The others could not see his face, but it was reverential, and the cold rain that fell upon it had then no chill for him. Instead it was soothing.