Chapter Eighty Three. A Circular Conflict
Strange as it may seem, even in that hour these observations had interested me; but while making them I observed something that gratified me still more. It was the blue dawn that, mingling with the yellower light of the moon, affected the hue of the foliage upon which I had been gazing. Morning was about to break.
Others had noticed it at the same instant, and already the sleepers were rising from their dewy couch, and looking to the girths of their saddles.
We were a hungry band; but there was no hope of breakfast, and we prepared to start without it.
The dawn was of only a few minutes’ duration, and, as the sky continued to brighten, preparations were made for the start. The sentries were called in – all except four, who were prudently left to the last minute, to watch in four different directions. The horses were unpicketed and bridled – they had worn their saddles all night – and the guns of the party were carefully re-primed or capped.
Many of my comrades were old campaigners, and every precaution was taken that might influence our success in a conflict.
It was expected that before noon we should come up with the savages, or track them home to their lair. In either case, we should have a fight, and all declared their determination to go forwards.
Some minutes were spent in arranging the order of our march. It was deemed prudent that a few of the more skilled of the men should go forwards as scouts on foot, and thoroughly explore the woods before the advance of the main body. This would secure us from any sudden attack, in case the enemy had formed an ambuscade. The old hunters were once more to act as trackers, and lead the van.
These arrangements were completed, and we were on the point of starting – the men had mounted their horses, the scouts were already entering the edge of the timber, when, all on a sudden, several shots were heard, and at the same time, the alarm-cries of the sentries who had fired them. The four had discharged their pieces almost simultaneously.
The woods appeared to ring with a hundred echoes. But they were not echoes – they were real reports of rifles and musketry; and the shrill war-cry that accompanied them was easily distinguished above the shouting of our own sentries. The Indians were upon us.
Upon us, or, to speak less figuratively, around us. The sentries had fired all at once, therefore, each must have seen Indians in his own direction. But it needed not this to guide us to the conclusion that we were surrounded. From all sides came the fierce yells of the foe – as if echoing one another – and their bullets whistled past us in different directions. Beyond doubt, the glade was encompassed within their lines.
In the first volley two or three men were hit, and as many horses. But the balls were spent and did but little damage.
From where they had fired, the glade was beyond the “carry” of their guns. Had they crept a little nearer, before delivering their fire, the execution would have been fearful – clumped together as we were at the moment.
Fortunately, our sentries had perceived their approach, and in good time given the alarm.
It had saved us.
There was a momentary confusion, with noise – the shouting of men – the neighing and prancing of horses; but above the din was heard the guiding voice of old Hickman.
“Off o’ yer horses, fellers! an’ take to the trees – down wi’ ye, quick! To the trees, an’ keep ’em back! or by the tarnal arthquake, every mother’s son o’ us’ll git sculped! To the trees! to the trees!”
The same idea had already suggested itself to others; and before the hunter had ceased calling out, the men were out of their saddles and making for the edge of the timber.
Some ran to one side, some to another – each choosing the edge that was nearest him, and in a few seconds our whole party had ensconced itself – the body of each individual sheltered behind the trunk of a tree. In this position we formed a perfect circle, our backs turned upon each other, and our faces to the foe.
Our horses, thus hurriedly abandoned, and wild with the excitement of the attack, galloped madly over the ground, with trailing bridles, and stirrups striking against their flanks. Most of them dashed past us; and, scampering off, were either caught by the savages, or breaking through their lines, escaped into the woods beyond.
We made no attempt to “head” them. The bullets were hurtling past our ears. It would have been certain death to have stepped aside from the trunks that sheltered us.
The advantage of the position we had gained was apparent at a single glance. Fortunate it was, that our sentries had been so tardily relieved. Had these been called in a moment sooner, the surprise would have been complete. The Indians would have advanced to the very edge of the glade, before uttering their war-cry or firing a shot, and we should have been at their mercy. They would have been under cover of the timber, and perfectly protected from our guns, while we in the open ground must have fallen before their fire.
But for the well-timed alarm, they might have massacred us at will.
Disposed as we now were, our antagonists had not much advantage. The trunks of the trees entrenched us both. Only the concave side of our line was exposed, and the enemy might fire at it across the opening. But as the glade was fifty yards in diameter, and at no point had we permitted the Indians to get up to its edge, we knew that their bullets could not carry across; and were under no apprehension on this score.
The manoeuvre, improvised though it was, had proved our salvation. We now saw it was the only thing we could have done to save ourselves from immediate destruction. Fortunate it was that the voice of Hickman had hurried us so quickly to our posts.
Our men were not slow in returning the enemy’s fire. Already their pieces were at play; and every now and then was heard the sharp whip-like “spang” of the rifles around the circle of the glade. At intervals, too, came a triumphant cheer, as some savage, who had too rashly exposed his red body, was known to have fallen to the shot.
Again the voice of the old hunter rang over the glade. Cool, calm, and clear, it was heard by every one.
“Mind yer hind sights, boys! an’ shoot sure. Don’t waste neer a grain o’ yer powder. Ye’ll need the hul on’t, afore we’ve done wi’ the cussed niggers. Don’t a one o’ ye pull trigger till ye’ve drawed a bead on a red skin.”
These injunctions were full of significance. Hitherto the younger “hands” had been firing somewhat recklessly – discharging their pieces as soon as loaded, and only wounding the trunks of the trees. It was to stay this proceeding that Hickman had spoken.
His words produced the desired effect. The reports became less frequent, but the triumphant cheer that betokened a “hit,” was heard as often as ever. In a few minutes after the first burst of the battle, the conflict had assumed altogether a new aspect. The wild yells uttered by the Indians in their first onslaught – intended to frighten us into confusion – were no longer heard; and the shouts of the white men had also ceased. Only now and then were heard the deep “hurrah” of triumph, or a word spoken by some of our party to give encouragement to his comrades. At long intervals only rang out the “yo-ho-ehee,” uttered by some warrior chief to stimulate his braves to the attack.
The shots were no longer in volleys, but single, or two or three at a time. Every shot was fired with an aim; and it was only when that aim proved true, or he who fired it believed it so, that voices broke out on either side. Each individual was too much occupied in looking for an object for his aim, to waste time in idle words or shouts. Perhaps in the whole history of war, there is no account of a conflict so quietly carried on – no battle so silently fought. In the interludes between the shots there were moments when the stillness was intense – moments of perfect but ominous silence.
Neither was battle ever fought, in which both sides were so oddly arrayed against each other. We were disposed in two concentric circles – the outer one formed by the enemy, the inner, by the men of our party, deployed almost regularly around the glade. These circles were scarce forty paces apart – at some points perhaps a little less, where a few of the more daring warriors, sheltered by the trees, had worked themselves closer to our line. Never was battle fought where the contending parties were so near each other without closing in hand-to-hand conflict. We could have conversed with our antagonists, without raising our voices above the ordinary tone; and were enabled to aim, literally, at the “whites of their eyes.”
Under such circumstances was the contest carried on.