tecumseh had chosen well the ground where he had forced proctor to stand at bay. the river thames, running between high precipitous banks, protected his left flank, and a great marsh nearly parallel to the river protected his right. he could be reached only by a direct frontal attack, during which the americans would be continually under fire. midway between river and swamp was a smaller swamp, almost impassable. the only road ran close along the river; the rest of the space between swamp and river was a park-like expanse thinly set with great trees, beech, sugar maple, and oak. beneath them the ground was bare, save where trees had fallen. any enemy who might advance across it must infallibly have his columns broken and would yet be exposed to volley fire, against which the trees would offer little or no protection.
beyond this park, at the edge of a thicket of beech, the british regulars were posted on a line running from the river to the smaller swamp. their artillery was placed so as to sweep the river road. tecumseh and his warriors held the line between the two swamps and along the front of the larger swamp, ready to pour an enfilading fire on the[316] american flank and to charge upon its rear the moment it pressed too far forward in its attack. one false move, one error, and the disaster of the river raisin might be repeated. but this time a real soldier was in command.
it was long past noon when the american regiments swung out of the underbrush that had screened their movements onto the broad park-like expanse that rolled to the edge of the beech wood and the swamp where their foes waited.
over the sun-drenched fields and through the pleasant woods they held their way, thrashing through the tall grass, crushing the underbrush beneath their columned tread. their slanting flags, whipping in the rising breeze, revealed the stripes and the soaring stars and flaunted the regimental symbols. on the right were the regulars of the 25th infantry, one hundred and twenty strong, grim, well-drilled men who marched with a precision not found among the volunteers. in the center and on the left were the kentucky volunteers, headed by johnson’s cavalry, burning to avenge the butchery of their kindred at the river raisin. above them the bayonets flashed back the sunlight.
steadily they advanced. the distance was still too great for musketry fire, but it was lessening every instant. the british howitzers, too, were waiting, masked behind their leafy screen.
a far-off report broke the silence. a mound of[317] white erected itself at the end of the river road and a howitzer ball hummed along it. along the edge of the beech wood ran the crackle of small arms. from the swamp on the left came the enfilading fire of the indians. a private in desha’s regiment fell forward and lay upon his face, motionless. a sergeant a hundred feet away doubled up with a grunt.
steadily the volunteers swung forward to where the westering sun shone red across the red and yellow carpet that autumn’s winds had strewn. as they marched they sang, at first low, then with a swing that rose terribly to the skies:
scalps are bought at stated prices,
proctor pays the price in gold.
freemen, no more bear such slaughters,
rouse and smite the faithless foe.
most of the victims of the river raisin had been kentuckians; it was meet and proper that kentuckians should avenge them at the thames.
jack was far in advance of the troops. familiar with the ground from his adventure of the night before, he knew where to look for the enemy’s lines and could venture nearer to them than any other scout. he had left his horse behind, well out of danger, and had crept forward on foot, closer and closer, determined to learn in what order the british designed to meet the attack. nearer and nearer he crept, flat on the ground, worming his way. at[318] last, beneath the shadow of the trees he saw the crossed white on red that marked the british soldiers. detail after detail he noted; then, when a bugle at the rear told him that the americans were advancing, he began to worm backward.
at his horse at last, he leaped to the saddle and drove the spurs deep, heading for the spot where the ringing bugle was sounding the advance.
general harrison, surrounded by his staff, stood watching. “now’s the time,” he muttered. “trumpeter! sound the——” he broke off, as a scout came dashing toward him.
it was jack. “general!” he clamored. “they’re in two lines in open order.”
harrison started. “in open order!” he cried. “you’re mad.”
“no! it’s true! i’ve been within a hundred yards of them. it’s true! i swear it.”
another horseman wearing the shoulder straps of a major dashed up. “general!” he cried. “they’re in open order. i’ve just——”
“enough!” harrison spun around. “by god! we’ve got them! mr. telfair, tell colonel johnson my orders are to charge home.” he swung around. “major wood, tell colonel trotter the plans have been changed. colonel johnson will attack on horseback and the infantry will support him. go!”
ten minutes later the kentucky cavalry rode into the narrowing neck between the river and the[319] small swamp. as they crowded in, the space grew too small for effective manœuvres. colonel r. h. johnson, afterward to be elected vice-president of the united states, rode at the head of the left-hand squadron, naked saber resting against his shoulder. he noticed the constriction and called to his brother, commanding the right-hand column. “say, jim,” he cried. “you handle the british. i’ll cross the swamp and tackle tecumseh.” he turned to his men. “column left,” he ordered.
jack, defiant of the rule that bade him rejoin general harrison, once his message had been delivered, had followed close at colonel johnson’s heels. now, he sped across to those of lieutenant-colonel james johnson.
“attention!” james’s voice rang above the thudding hoofs. “by troops! right front into line. march.”
the shimmering column broke up, dividing into four. “forward! steady! right dress. forward!” quickly the orders followed.
james faced about. “advance rifles,” he ordered; and the muskets rattled as they fell into position.
the woods in front were veiled in smoke. the rattle of small arms was incessant. the screech of bullets filled the air. here and there a man fell forward, clutching at his horse’s neck. here and[320] there one swayed and crashed to the ground. over all the sunlight pulsed in bands of fire.
coolly james’s voice arose. “hold your fire till you can see the whites of their eyes,” he ordered. “then give ’em h—l.” he waved his sword. “forward! gallop!” he cried.
the pace quickened. the ground was becoming more open and the enemy’s bullets were coming faster. but the americans did not fire. they could not see the foe in the tangled thicket ahead of them, and they had no shots to waste.
“form for attack! by fours! right front into line! march!”
the columns broke up, changing, as if by magic, into a long double line of horsemen, galloping toward the smoking woods.
“forward! remember the raisin! charge!”
the trumpets sounded and from the crowding horsemen rose a yell. “remember the raisin;” loud and thrilling the cry echoed back from the woods. the horses sprang forward, furious with the battle clangor.
still the americans did not fire. their first weapon was the running horse; against the enemy’s lines they hurled him. later they would use their muskets and the long pistols that hung at their belts.
at the front rode johnson. neck and neck with him rode jack, heading for the very center of the[321] british line. not for all the devils in h—l would he have fallen back an inch.
for a moment blinding smoke filled his eyes. right and left ran the red flash of the british rifles. then he was among the trees, plunging through a line of redcoated men, who reeled and ran, throwing down their guns as they went. “quarter! quarter!” the cry rang loud above the crash of falling arms.
jack did not heed it. a second line, fringed with flames, was rising behind the first. midway of it, through the smoke, he saw brito’s face. at it he drove. “wait for me,” he yelled.
but brito did not wait. before the rush of the maddened horses the second line was breaking up, dissolving into fragments. to wait was to surrender or to die, and brito had no mind for either. probably he did not hear jack’s challenge. certainly he did not wait. as the line dissolved he turned and fled, bending low upon his horse’s neck.
jack glanced neither to the right nor to the left. his eyes were fixed only on his foe. for an instant the roar of battle rose around him. rifles flashed in his face. men struck at him with sabers and clubbed guns. then he was out of the ruck, crashing through the autumn woods. saplings lashed at him with stinging strokes. low-hung branches scraped his horse’s back, dragging at him. thickets, seemingly impassable, broke before the impetus of[322] his rush. then, abruptly the roar of battle died away. the flickering rifle flames vanished.
then far to his left a second roar arose; jack did not know it, but it was colonel johnson and his first squadron striking the indian line, and it sounded the knell of the great chief, tecumseh. jack paid no attention to it; heart and soul alike were concentrated on the rider whose red coat he saw far ahead through the packed woods. recklessly he spurred.
after a time the woods opened and he saw his enemy clearer. he was gaining rapidly, too rapidly. he was in no haste to bring his foe to bay. his horse, a bright bay, bred in kentucky and brought north with johnson’s regiment, had come through the short, sharp battle without a wound and was in perfect condition, well rested, and capable both of long pursuit and of extraordinary bursts of speed when need should arise. he knew nothing of brito’s horse, except the patent fact that it was a big black that seemed to carry its heavy rider with ease, but he had little doubt that his own was better. almost at will he could close in and sooner or later he meant to do so and to balance the long-due account between himself and brito. but he did not know where alagwa was. brito did. therefore brito should lead him to her.
for a long time he galloped on, keeping his distance[323] behind the fleeing englishman, and availing himself of every bit of cover to screen himself from observation, though he had little fear that brito would suspect his identity. he guessed, what he afterwards learned to be a fact, that nearly all the british officers who possessed horses were using them to escape; general proctor, for instance, fled sixty-five miles without a halt. if brito should see him he was far more likely to think him a brother officer and to halt and wait for him than to suspect that an american had dared to venture so far behind the british lines even after the destruction of the british army.
the chase went on. the sun was dropping toward the west and dusk was creeping over the brown fields and low tree-crowned sandy ridges. already a veil of deep blue shadow lay on the land. soon it would be night. the moon, high overhead, a pale ghost in the daylit sky, might or might not illumine the darkness. jack shook his reins and his bay responded gloriously, cutting down by half the interval between himself and brito’s black.
steadily the fugitive drove on. deserted farm-houses swept by; thickets rose and passed; but he showed no signs of stopping. anxiously jack glanced at the darkening west. soon he must bring the other to bay or risk losing him. could he have judged wrong? could brito be merely fleeing to[324] save himself, careless of alagwa? could she be already far behind? jack’s heart sank at the thought. should he close in and have done with it?
as he hesitated brito turned abruptly aside, urging his horse toward the crest of a low ridge that rose to the north. an instant later he vanished into the fringe of trees that crowned it.
jack’s anxiety swelled uncontrollably. for the first time he used the spur, and the bay responded nobly, turning into the narrow wood road that brito had followed and tearing up the slope and crashing into the fringe of trees like a tornado. he, like his master, seemed to guess that the long chase was nearing its end.
jack leaned forward, listening with all his ears. sight no longer aided him and he could depend only on hearing, and this availed him little. the snapping branches, the hollow thunder of his horse’s hoofs, the rustling of the night wind in the trees, the laboring breathing of his own steed, drowned all more distant sounds. jack set his teeth hard.
over the crest of the ridge he passed and thundered down the opposite slope. then in a moment the woods broke sharply off, opening to right and to left, and he found himself on the edge of a wide, open space in which stood a farmhouse. before it, just drawing his horse to a halt, was brito.
jack halted, reining in and leaning forward,[325] every nerve thrilling. was it the place? had brito led him true?
a crowd of men and women came pouring from the farmhouse door. with staring eyes jack watched, counting them as they came. two men, five women, as many children, then—then—last of all came alagwa.
jack shouted aloud—a great shout that startled the sleepy birds. he had found her. his hour had come.
