 | CHAPTER XXXV. The King of the Hurons |  |
35. CHAPTER XXXV.
And fire the culverin,—
Bid each retainer arm with speed,—
Call every vassal in.”
Albert G. Greene.
It was a little before midnight that the exhausted count arrived
at the castle gate, and ere he had succeeded in obtaining admittance
the intelligence of his return had been diffused in every direction
through the court, along the walls, and in every apartment of the
building; so that by the time he had gained the principal hall, he
was surrounded by an eager throng of soldiers, Indians, and domestics,
who pressed unreproved around him, to hear the story of his
wonderful abduction and escape. Into the midst of this excited
crowd rushed the delighted baron, just as with faint and panting
voice Carlton was inquiring for him, while beckoning with one hand
to keep his motley retinue back.
“Joy! joy! sir count, for your escape,” exclaimed Montaigne;
“though from what danger we do not yet know; we have had
great alarm —”
“My lord! my lord!” gasped the pallid count, “there is an
English army, six hundred strong, almost at your gates; I have been
their prisoner and am but just escaped; they advance by the river,
and may be under your walls in half an hour!”
“Let the drum beat to arms!” shouted Montaigne, with
sudden animation and alarm, “yet, no! Lieutenant Leighton, muster
place fifty musketeers on the western walls; quick, ho! extinguish
these lights, and let every man to his post in silence. You, Francis
and Mallory, fly to the Lynx and warn him of the danger; let
another of your men, lieutenant, mount my best horse and speed to
Anak with the news; Windfoot, you also may go—away! away!
by St. Francis, but we will give them a reception they little dream
of—but, hark! what noises are these?”
“My lord,” said a soldier, rushing breathlessly in, “the castle is
attacked! an enemy is scaling the walls, and forming in the court,
and three of the guns are already in their possession; Sergeant Grill
is rallying the men and making a stand in front of the south wing,
but he has only thirty men —”
“Tell him to charge if he has but six!” shouted the baron;
“quick, form your men, and follow, Leighton; I will stay them till
you come!” and, springing through the doorway, in a moment he
stood beside Grill, in front of the little band who had dauntlessly
opposed themselves to tenfold their number. The darkness, however,
had favored the minority, whose weakness was concealed, while
the loud prompt accents in which the sergeant's orders were issued,
conveyed the idea that they were directed to a company of considerable
strength, and induced the English commander to forbear an
attack, until more of his own men were assembled.
“What say you?” cried the major, repeating a summons which
had already been made upon the sergeant; “will you surrender, and
save bloodshed? You are quite in my power; I have five hundred
men, and I cannot answer for my Indian allies, if resistance is
made.”
“On what terms?” asked Montaigne, anxious to gain time, yet
speaking in tones of defiance which belied his professed willingness
to negotiate,—“On what terms do you ask me to give up this castle
of my sovereign, and who is it that makes the demand?”
“My lord baron,” replied the Englishman, “for such, if I mistake
of Her Majesty, the Queen, and their Excellencies the governors of
New York and New England; I have travelled fast and far to pay
you a visit, and I now demand an instant surrendry of your post,
without other terms and conditions than those which necessarily
pertain to civilized warfare; all who are taken will be regarded as
prisoners of war, with the exception of a person styling-himself Count
Carlton, who to-day forfeited his parole of honor in my camp, and who,
if taken, will be hung: I give you two minutes to answer!”
“Now by all the saints, but this is too insolent!” replied Montaigne,
as his lieutenant silently ranged about eighty armed men beside his
little corps, yet scarcely swelling his force to a hundred; “know
then, Major Bain, if such you be, that you are caught in a trap; we
have had ample notice of your coming, and have intentionally permitted
you, unopposed, to scale our walls; four hundred of his
majesty's troops stand this moment at my side—six hundred of our
Indian allies await my call without the gates. Fool! did you think
to surprise as old a warrior as I, or to take Castle Montaigne with
less than a regiment? I now summon you to surrender, and give
you but one minute to decide! Present arms!”
This ingenious falsehood, and the bold manner in which it was
asserted, struck alarm into the heart of Major Bain, for he did not
know how long Carlton's return had preceded his own arrival, and
feared that he had really become the victim of that individual's
treachery. There was danger also that a panic might be created
among his men, which would prove highly disastrous, and a moment
of most painful incertitude and indecision passed, during which he
hesitated whether to await an attack or to commence one.
But the voice of the undisciplined Harry was at this moment heard,
as he approached skulkingly from the direction of the French force,
where he had been on a sort of private exploring expedition, being
shielded from observation by the night-like hue with which Nature
had invested him.
“Oh dat's a whopper, massa major!” he said, “I jis been right
ober dare 'mong 'em, looking for de count; dare aint more'n fifty
on 'em, 'pon honor!”
“We have certain intelligence of your strength, my lord,” now
retorted the Englishman promptly—“you cannot deceive us! once
more I demand, will you spare the lives of your followers, and avert
the scenes of horror which must ensue, when once the Indians are
engaged? My men are impatient for the attack, nor shall I restrain
them another minute.”
“Let the signal be given for our allies to advance through the
north gate! Fire!” shouted Montaigne, and almost in the same
breath, a volley was given and returned, and the coincident order to
charge, range from the lips of the opposing commanders. For a few
minutes a dreadful encounter ensued in which the clashing of bayonets,
the shrieks of the wounded, the yells of the Indians, and the
stentorian voices of the officers, outsounding the combined clamor,
rang with varied and terrific tones through the air. Montaigne
raged like a Lybian lion in the front of his little band, dealing death
on every side with his single arm, and driving back the invaders at
a dozen points, who, wherever his towering form was seen, and his
hoarse shouts were heard, quailed and wavered as if before the onset
of some supernatural foe. The darkness favored his attacks, and
added to the mystic dread with which he was regarded by men, to
whom his exploits, exaggerated by fame, had long been the themes
of familiar story; while the Indians scarcely ventured near enough to
his person, to hurl the charmed hatchets which had been prepared
by incantation to penetrate his supposed enchanted armor. His
followers, inspirited by his presence and example, performed prodigies
of valor, and were emulous to gain his cheers and approval, which
were repeatedly bestowed even in the heat of the conflict. Many of
the Iroquois warriors retreated, and stood clustered behind the main
body of the combatants awaiting the issue, and the moment when, if
successful, their own bloody work of extermination might begin;
compensated for the defection of their allies. If they faltered, they
rallied; if they wavered, it was but to renew their attacks more
vigorously than before, under the calm encouraging orders of their
leader, who like his competitor shrank from no danger, and although
severely wounded, remained in the midst of the mêlée.
But the contest was too unequal to be of long duration; the
French party, despite their valor, was rapidly thinned, and was in
momentary danger of being hemmed in on every side, when the
baron issued orders to fall back, and a rapid retreat was effected into
the main hall of the castle, while the shouts of the enemy rang long
and loud through the air, waking the distant echoes in reply. They
promptly pursued, but the massive door which closed behind the
flying garrison withstood for a moment their attacks, and in another
minute a dozen windows were bristling with the protruded guns of the
soldiery from within, and a destructive fire was opened on the invaders,
which caused them in turn to retreat, and seek some safer mode
of attack. This, unfortunately for the besieged party, was of easy
procurement; the guns upon the walls were in the undisputed possession
of the invaders, and it only remained to turn them upon the
castle with a certainty of its speedy demolition, unless by a sortie, or
by aid from without, the weaker party might yet obtain relief.
Incited to wrath by the desperate resistance which he had met
from so small a force, Major Bain was not tardy in availing himself
of the advantages which he now possessed; the cannon were brought
to bear on the doors and windows of the main hall and the south
wing of the building, in which the soldiery were concentrated, and,
before firing, the castle was once more summoned to a surrender.
A voice, which was recognised as the baron's, demanded from an
open casement, on what terms a capitulation was asked, or would be
received, and although the proposition betrayed a sense of his desperate
condition, his words and accents were still more defiant than
conciliatory.
“On no terms,” replied Bain, wrathfully, “other than those which
have been already named; the captured to be treated as prisoners
of war, but death to Count Carlton!”
“Death to Count Carlton!—death to Count Carlton!” was repeated
by a hundred hoarse throats, in a sullen shout, which told
how deeply incensed were the enemy towards him, and how much
of their loss they imputed to his baseness.
“I will consult with my officers,” replied Montaigne, dissembling
his rage, and hoping momentarily for a diversion from without by an
Indian force under command of the Lynx, who could not have failed,
he thought, to hear the tumult of the battle; “I will consult with
my officers, and give you my answer speedily; if you are really
desirous of saving life—”
“Our matches are lighted, and by all the saints in your Popish
calendar, I swear I will not wait one minute for an answer,” replied
Bain.
“Then fire!” shouted the baron, to his men, a part of whom had
been stationed, during the colloquy, at upper windows, which admitted
of their again, to some extent, commanding the enemy's
position; “Fire, and let the dogs feel your strength—in three
minutes we shall have relief.”
The scene which ensued was terrific beyond description. The
feeble volley of the garrison, which served but to reveal, by its flashing
light, the location of the doors and windows, and enabled the
gunners to aim their pieces aright, was followed by the roar of
artillery, by the crashing of pannels and casements, the jingling of
glass, the groans of the dying, and the screams of the affrighted inmates
of every part of the building, which rang in prolonged and
wailing accents, awaking pity even in the stern hearts which caused
their misery.
“There is no harm done, my boys!” exclaimed Montaigne, springing
back to the window from which he had momentarily retreated;
“that noise will wake up the Hurons, and in a few minutes we shall
be sure to aim towards the guns.”
His orders were obeyed, and the firing was again returned by a
discharge of cannon more destructive than the former, accompanied
by a volley of small arms, from some protected position on the walls;
but scarcely had the roar of the guns died away when a messenger
entered from a lower room to say that a dozen men had been killed
by the shot, including Sergeant Grill, and that Lieutenant Leighton
was dangerously wounded.
“I am sorry for it!” replied the baron, “but those who remain
must fight the harder; now, my boys!” but as he spoke, he staggered
backwards and dropped into the arms of his men, while
another peal of musketry rang from without.
“Lieutenant Leighton says he has not twenty men alive below,
my lord!” said another messenger, entering hastily. “He is himself
dying, and he, therefore, takes the liberty of begging that you will
spare the men and surrender.”
“Never!” gasped the baron; “never—will I—surrender! There
will soon—be help—”
He was borne to a couch which stood in the apartment and
deposited upon it; a surgeon in attendance bent for a few moments
above him, feeling meanwhile of his pulse; then turning sadly to the
messenger, he said, “Tell Lieutenant Leighton that he commands
this fortress!” and a groan of anguish burst from the stout hearts,
who, suspending their labors, had gathered around their fallen lord.
The wounded lieutenant received the intelligence with great emotion,
and hastened to follow his own convictions of duty by instantly
surrendering the castle into the hands of his victorious enemy, who
proceeded to take possession and receive the submission of the surviving
soldiery. The destruction of life on both sides had been
great, but the loss of the besieged party had been far larger in
proportion to their number than that of the English. The Indians,
as had been anticipated, were with some difficulty restrained from
desire than those who had done the least towards achieving the
victory.
Major Bain gave orders for the interment of the dead, and the
care of the wounded, and placing a strong guard on the walls and
at the gates, directed his men to hold themselves in readiness for a
march at dawn against the neighboring Huron settlement. Count
Carlton not appearing among the prisoners, he ordered a diligent
search to be made for him among the fallen, and in every part of
the castle. He paid a visit to the remains of the baron, in which
solemn presence he encountered the half-distracted Blanche, and
Myrtle, with Emily and the baroness, and several of the priests and
domestics, to all of whom he gave assurances of protection, until
the morrow, and permission then to depart to Montreal, or to such
other French post as they might choose, and to take with them the
body of the baron, or to bestow upon it, before leaving, such fitting
burial as the time and place would permit.
“It will be my duty,” he said, amidst the interrupting sobs and
groans of his auditors, “to destroy the castle before leaving, and I
shall be therefore under the necessity of hastening your departure.”
“But the severely wounded and dying?” interposed a venerable
priest: “they who can neither accompany you as prisoners, nor go
with us? Surely you will make some provision for men who require
both medical aid, and the consolations of religion.”
“I have not overlooked their necessities,” replied the major
humanely; “a portion of the barracks will be left standing for their
accommodation, and such of your order who desire, can remain with
them; doubtless, also, some of your Indian allies will come to their
assistance, after we have departed.”
“The chapel, if your honor pleases, will better accommodate
them,” replied another, anxious to preserve a building hallowed by
many sacred associations.
“The chapel will be destroyed,” replied Bain, in tones that
itself be turned into a fort.”
Blanche was with difficulty induced to withdraw from the side of
her deceased parent, and to seek that quietude and restoration which
her shocked and agitated heart required. Her grief for her father
was most intense, despite all his harshness and severity towards her,
and was aggravated by the thought that her own conduct, although
dictated by the strictest sense of duty, had contributed to his fate by
engrossing his attention, and thus causing a remissness and relaxation
of his ordinary vigilance in defence of his post.
Scarcely had she reached her own room, when the astonishing
intelligence was brought to her that Mr. Huntington was among the
conquering army, and desired to be permitted to speak to her; but
the consolation which the knowledge of his presence would otherwise
have imparted, was now lost in the dreadful thought that he
had been an actor in the scenes which had resulted so tragically to
her nearest relative; nay, that perhaps his agency had chiefly caused
the success of the attack. Was it possible, she asked herself, that
he had been capable of using the knowledge which he had gained,
during his stay at the castle, to aid in its overthrow, and in the
destruction and subjugation of her friends and countrymen? True
he had been greatly wronged and oppressed by that haughty and
powerful man, who was now turned to clay, harmless as its kindred
clods, but there was no justification for revenge, and above all for a
revenge which included the innocent with the guilty. The thought
that Henrich had been thus culpable was agonizing beyond endurance,
and a confirmation of her suspicions must not only place a
barrier between them which no time could remove, but would crumble,
at a blow, her bright ideal of human excellence and worth.
But Henrich came, and all these apprehensions were dispelled;
he hastened, indeed, unaccused, to disclaim the very acts of which
she had so much reason to suspect him, and to place his conduct in
the irreproachable light, which truth admitted and required. He
to the surprise or capture of the castle; he had entered within the
walls with that portion of the enemy to whom the gates had been
opened by the scaling party, and had remained a passive spectator
of the scenes which ensued. Unspeakable was Miss Montaigne's
relief to learn these gratifying facts—to learn that it was in reality
as a prisoner of the invading army, and not as an enemy, or as a
retributor of private wrongs, that Henrich had returned; and she
rejoiced that now, in the midst of the horrors which surrounded her,
she might still look for advice, consolation, and support, to one who
had so often before shown his willingness and ability to aid her.
Yet she did not forget amidst this returning calm, that her plighted
promise to wed the count was still binding upon her, if he yet lived,
and should claim its fulfilment. The decease of her father, so far
from releasing her from the obligation, had given to it additional
force. It was a promise to the dead, who could not claim its performance,
who could not reproach her for dereliction, and thus it
became doubly imperative. She shuddered as this dreadful
remembrance crossed her mind, but banished it for a time, with some
indefinite hope of relief.
The fate of Carlton, meanwhile, remained undiscovered. He had
taken but little part in the engagement, and it was supposed that,
impelled by the consciousness of his peculiar danger, he had fled to
the forest before the gates were fully in the possession of the foe.
Major Bain was greatly disappointed at not finding him; he did not
believe, however, that he had escaped, and ordered the strictest
vigilance to prevent his passing out, either in disguise or otherwise, if
he was yet within the fort.
In the morning he carried out the plan of action on which he had
resolved; he attacked the Huron village (from which the warriors
and other inhabitants, warned of his approach, and conscious of their
inability to withstand him, had fled with their effects), and burned
it to the ground, destroying at the same time, with the cruel policy
having first permitted the weeping priests to remove what they
chose of its sacred contents, and while its lurid flames were gilding
the heavens, the torches were preparing for the nobler pile, which
had so long been the ornament and pride of the now rapidly
desolated district.
Prompt and speedy movements were still essential to his complete
success: he had struck a flying blow, and it was necessary to retire
before the more inland regions could be aroused to unite with the
forces of the Lynx and Anak, and dispute his egress from the country.
The wounded prisoners were removed to that portion of the barracks
which it had been determined to spare for their benefit, and the
ladies and priests having been allowed to remove their effects, such
of the residue of the property as was portable, was speedily taken
possession of by the soldiery, and then the devouring flame was
communicated at once by a score of willing hands to as many different
parts of the edifice.
From a little distance, the now re-forming army of invaders
watched the progress of the fire, while preparing to withdraw from
the scene of their devastations—and in another part of the trampled
and blood-stained court, near the spared building, were assembled
the mournful group who had been set at liberty by their captor, and
who, being yet unprepared to depart, remained unwilling spectators
of the melancholy scene. Henrich was with these, once more at the
side of Blanche as her friend and adviser, having obtained his full
liberty by the courtesy of the English commander; yet he was not
without apprehension that the withdrawal of the army would be the
signal for the return of his rival from some lurking-place in the
wilderness. Such an event might render his own position highly
perilous in a territory where the count's authority would now perhaps
be temporarily recognised, and the more by reason of his own recent
and unreversed sentence of banishment, and the suspicions to which
invaders.
But Carlton was not in the wilderness. He had heard, with
unspeakable terror, his name excepted in the offered terms of quarter
made by the English commander; he had heard these terms repeated
with the same explicit and fearful reservation; had listened to the
hoarse shouts of the soldiery applauding his anticipated doom, and
had felt, at that moment, in his coward and guilty breast, more than
the pains of death. For a while, encouraged by the confident
language of Montaigne, he had hoped for victory, and dreading the
baron's wrath and scorn for pusillanimity, had made some feint of
aiding in the contest at points where the danger was least. As the
battle went on, and its issue became more certain, he had sought to
flee, but his frightened imagination had peopled the whole court with
vigilant guards watching to intercept him, and he did not dare to
venture forth. Too frantic for reflection, he yet remembered a secret
room and its ingeniously contrived entrance which had once been
shown to him by Montaigne, and he hastened to make it at least a
temporary refuge.
In an upper chamber, a large iron chandelier was suspended from
a circular panneling in the ceiling; seemingly immovable, it could
yet be drawn down by touching a spring at the end of the rod which
supported it, and with it descended not only the panelling to which
it was attached, but an extending ladder of rope, forming an entrance
into a room above, to which there was no other access. When
the ponderous chandelier was drawn back to its place, and the fastening
adjusted, there was no longer any trace of the passage, and
the upper apartment, which was small, was also unexposed to observation
from without, being lighted and ventilated only by a small
window in the roof.
To this retreat Carlton, in his terror, had fled, to avoid the immediate
danger, for he rightly conjectured that the first movement that
followed victory would be a vigorous and diligent search for him.
attempt an escape to the forest; but this design was defeated
by an unexpected occurrence. The chamber with which his hiding-place
communicated was appropriated, after the engagement, to the
use of several of the wounded English soldiers, a circumstance which
their voices and groans plainly proclaimed to the entrapped count.
To discover himself to these, who imputed all their injury to his perfidy,
would be a betrayal to certain death. It was late in the morning
when they were removed, and then the precincts of the castle
were swarming with the foreign soldiery, and flight was still impossible;
he remained half senseless in his retreat, hoping against hope
for the several contingencies which might yet save him. The enemy
might be attacked and driven off by the Indians; they might not
destroy the castle, or they might only set fire to it and depart, without
waiting to see it consumed, and thus afford him an opportunity
of escape.
These, with other hope-woven fallacies, occupied his mind for a
while, and were only dispelled by the smell of fire, by the crackling
sound of its progress, and by the thin wreaths of smoke which began
to force themselves up through the floor of his apartment. Appalled,
he flew to the passage, and opening it, was met by a stifling
current of heated air; the room was in flames; he could not descend
but to instant suffocation. Closing the aperture, he piled the
scant furniture of his room together, and from the summit of the
heap reached the skylight, and dashing it open climbed to the roof,
at once discovering the assembled multitude below, and revealing
himself to their view. A shout from the soldiery announced his appearance,
but the spectacle was too awful for exultation; the circling
smoke was already enveloping his figure, as he hastily traversed the
summit of the building and approached its edge, now brushing the
blinding clouds from before him, and now extending his arms, as if
imploring pity and aid from those who had no power to assist him.
Horror held motionless the beholders; but Myrtle, with a piercing
main entrance of the castle, disappeared within the burning pile.
The distracted baroness followed with faltering steps, but a score of
soldiers, obeying not less the impulse of their own hearts than the
quick signal of the officer, sprang past her and reached the doorway,
though only to battle for a moment with the heated vapors that encountered
them, and fall back proclaiming the impossibility of rescue.
As they retreated, however, a young Mohawk brave sped past
them at a bound, and entered the hall. Unbreathing, to avoid the
stifling air, he groped for the main stairway, which he rightly judged
Myrtle had attempted to ascend, and, mounting its hot steps, gained
the first landing, and saw the white robes of the prostrate maiden
before him. To seize the light burden and bear it back to the outer
air was but the work of a second, and the prolonged shouts of the
spectators spoke their gratification, and their applause of the heroic
deed.
Myrtle was borne senseless into the barracks by her anxious
friends, and the attention of the throng, momentarily diverted by
this frightful episode, was again given to the unhappy Carlton. He
now stood at the edge of the parapet which overlooked that part of
the court where the people were assembled, and seemed to contemplate
a leap from his dizzy height. Now he shouted for help—for a
ladder—for a rope—for something to break his fall; now he ran
back and looked vainly into the aperture through which he had
ascended, and anon he sought to gain the less elevated roof of a
wing of the building, but was prevented by the flames, which had
already broken forth in that direction. While he hoped, and hesitated,
and despaired, a thick column of smoke, spangled with sparkling
cinders, rolled towards him, and enveloping his figure in its
murky pall, concealed it from the view of the horrified spectators.
A half-stifled cry proceeded from the midst of the whirling mass,
which, growing blacker and blacker with continued accessions, and
rising higher and higher into the air, seemed like one of the genii of
its gigantic bulk above the diminutive prison in which it
had been so long compressed. Now revealing, through its rent
folds its staggering victim, and now closing again around him, it
moved, with solemn gyrations, slowly onward, and passing, at length,
left the unhappy man prostrate in its path, struggling, but vainly
attempting to rise.
An Indian chief who stood by the side of Major Bain, whispered
a moment to the latter, who, unreplying, turned away with an
agitated air, and the savage, taking his silence for assent to his really
humane proposition, passed a brief word of command to a small
division of his men. A dozen rifles were raised simultaneously, and
as their sharp report rang upon the air, the body of the count rolled
lifeless down a slight descent of the roof, to a point where the greedy
flames were raging and raged higher as they received it. He had
passed from earth, and his ungathered ashes mingled with those of
his lofty funeral pyre.
In another hour the triumphing army had vanished from the
scene of their victory, and were rapidly pursuing their homeward
route; they were accompanied by the liberated Seabury, who,
having been at large on his parole, had taken no part in the combat,
although his soldier spirit had chafed at the intangible fetters which
restrained him from doing so.
Myrtle's injuries proved severe, and the intelligence of Carlton's
fate gave a shock to her mind, which added greatly to her sufferings,
and increased the peril of her situation. For several days the fair
patient remained an inmate of an apartment in the barracks,
attended with kindness and solicitude by her friends, who waited
only her convalescence to quit for ever a spot rife with the memory
of so many tragedies. Their anxious hopes in her behalf were not
disappointed, and on the third day they were enabled to set out in
boats, for Montreal, accompanied by several of the returned Hurons
as guides and assistants. The baron's remains, in the interval, had
Blanche having been prevailed on with difficulty to relinquish the
idea of transporting the body over their long and difficult journey.
The priests remained at their post faithful to the wounded men in
their charge, of whom several were evidently destined to require the
last consolations of religion and the solemn rites of sepulture at their
hands.
From such a scene of ruin and misery went Blanche and Henrich,
with Emily, Myrtle, and the baroness; their tears were many, and
their hearts were sad, some with their own bitter grief, and some
with sympathetic sorrow.
| CHAPTER XXXV. The King of the Hurons | |