CHAPTER X.
THE INDIAN ATTACK.
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“`Push off!' cried Colonel Storm; but
there were none to answer his call. The
deck was occupied by the dead and the dying
only; all who could move having leaped down
below, where they lay, some groaning and
bleeding to death, some uttering hurried prayers,
but all in a frenzy of terror, all trying to
shelter themselves amongst bales and boxes
from the shot, which the enemy, not yet content
with slaughter, continued to pour into
our wretched boat. Colonel Storm, himself
struck down by a bullet through the thigh,
lay amidst the rest; not, indeed, cowering or
lamenting, but calling upon us, with direful
oaths, now to `push off, and handle the oars,'
now to `get up, like men, and give the dogs
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one taste of our gunpowder;' commands,
which, however, no one regarded.
“We had struck the land at a projecting
point, and the strength of the current did for
us the service our commander called upon us
in vain to perform; it swept us free from the
bank, and we again floated down the tide—
but, alas, only for a moment. With men at
the oars to take advantage of the boat's liberation,
we might have easily profited by this
providential circumstance, and made our way
again into the middle of the river, and thus
to safety. But no one thought of daring the
peril of those fatal bullets, which swept the
deck and perforated our flimsy bulwarks of
plank. The broad-horn was left to herself—
to the current, which, having swept her from
the bank, in one moment more lodged her
among the branches of a fallen tree, a gigantic
sycamore, whose roots still embraced the
bank, while its branches, stretched out like the
arms of a huge polypus in the tide, arrested
her in her flight, and held her entangled at
the distance of twenty yards from the bank.
“`Is there a man in the boat?' yelled the
disabled commander, perceiving this new
misfortune, of which the Indians could be
seen taking advantage, by endeavouring to
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make their way along the vibrating trunk to
the boat; `Is there a man who would rather
take a wound, trying to save himself, by cutting
loose from that tree, than die cowering
like a butchered dog, here in the bottom of
the boat?'
“Nobody replied, save by looks, which
each directed upon the other, full at once of
solicitation and horror. The Colonel's appeal
was the signal for new yells and hotter volleys
from the shore, by the latter of which
the two horses, whose furious kicks and
struggles had added to the terror of the
scene, were soon killed, affording a shelter by
their bodies, behind which several of my comrades
immediately took refuge.
“`Cowards!' roared Colonel Storm, `will
none of you make an effort to save your
lives?'
“He turned his eyes upon Captain Sharpe,
who, one of the first to leap from the deck,
now lay among the boxes, as pale as death,
and glaring in what seemed to me a stupor of
fear. `Sharpe, by G—!' cried Colonel Storm,
in tones of fierce reproach and indignation,
`do you call that acting like a soldier? Up
like a man; take an axe and cut us loose—or
never more look on my daughter!'
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“Captain Sharpe made no other reply
than by opening his eyes still wider upon the
veteran, and looking even more ghastly than
before; upon which, Colonel Storm, bursting
into a terrible rage, reviled him in furious
language, as a `base dastard,' `a mean sneaking
villain'—in short, every thing that was
vile and contemptible; all which the dishonoured
soldier replied to only by the same unmeaning
and cadaverous stare.
“In the meanwhile, the bullets were still
showering among us like a driving rain, destroying
more lives, and wounding the wounded
over again; while the savages, whose terrific
yells were as incessant as the explosions
of their guns, were approaching on
the sycamore, to carry the devoted broad-horn
by boarding.
“`A hundred dollars—a thousand!' cried
Colonel Storm, looking around him with
eyes of mingled wrath and entreaty; `a thousand
dollars to any man who will cut loose
that cursed bough that holds us! Hark,
men! a thousand dollars! two thousand—ten
thousand—all I am worth in the world! do
you hear, dogs? all I am worth in the world.
Do you hear me, villains? If the savages
board us, they will murder my daughter.
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All I am worth in the world to him that saves
her; ay, and herself, too! He that saves her
shall have her to wife, with my whole fortune
for her portion!'
“I know not what effect these frenzied words,
wrung by paternal anguish from the old soldier,
had in stimulating the spirits of those
few in the boat who really possessed any
power of resistance; but, certain it is, several
of the men immediately betrayed a disposition
to obey the Colonel's call, and attempt
somewhat towards the salvation of their companions.
Wounded by a shot through my
left arm, which was, however, not a serious
hurt, and, as I confess, as much overcome
by fright as the others, I felt a sudden courage
start in my veins; though such was the
disorder of my whole mind, that I know not
in reality whether it was incited by the great
prize offered by my commander, or by a feeling
of desperation, which, for a moment, took
possession of me. I snatched up a rifle with
one hand, and an axe with the other, and
sprang to my feet, with the full intention of
cutting the boat loose from the tree, or of
perishing in the endeavour; in which resolution,
however, I was forestalled by a fellowboatman,
named Parker, who sprang up
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before me, exclaiming with a profane levity both
singular and shocking, considering his situation—
`A wife and a fortune, or death and
d—tion!' and leaped upon the forecastle,
from which he immediately fell backwards a
dead man, having received a rifle bullet
directly through the heart. His fall quenched
the fire of my own courage, filling me again
with dismay; and firing off my piece at a
yelling savage, whom I saw, at that very moment,
stepping from the sycamore into the
boat, I cowered away among the cargo, as
before, without even waiting to see the effect
of my shot.”
“`Villains and cravens!' cried Colonel
Storm, whom this mischance and failure
seemed to drive into greater frenzy than before—
“villains, who fear to face an Indian!
here's work that will suit your cowardly
spirits better: a thousand dollars to him that
will enter the cabin, and blow my daughter's
brains out! It is better she should die now
than by the scalping-knife of an Indian!'
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Bird, Robert Montgomery, 1806-1854 [1838], Peter Pilgrim, or, A rambler's recollections, volume 2 (Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf018v2].
