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<SPAN name="chap58"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Fifty Eight.</h3> <h4>A Rampart on Wheels.</h4> <p>For a time, our hearts throbbed more lightly; the pressure of apprehension was removed. We fancied the savages had either not yet become fully aware of the advantage of storming our position, or that the certainty of losing some of their number had intimidated them from making the attempt. They had abandoned their design, whatever it was; and intended waiting for night—the favourite fighting-time of the Indian. This was just what we desired; and we were congratulating ourselves that the prospect had changed in our favour. Our joy was short-lived: the enemy showed no signs of repose. Clustered upon the plain, they still kept to their horses. By this, we knew that some other movement was intended. The chiefs were again in the centre of the crowd, the Red-Hand conspicuous. He was heard haranguing his warriors, though we could not guess the purport of his speech. His gestures told of fierce rage—his glances, now and then directed towards us, betokened a spirit of implacable vengeance. At the conclusion of his speech, he waved his hand in the direction of the waggon. The gesture appeared to be the accompaniment of a command. It was promptly and instantly obeyed. A dozen horsemen dashed out from the group, and galloped off. Their course was straight up the valley—towards the scene of their late strife. Those who had remained upon the ground dismounted, and were seen giving their horses to the grass. This might have led us to anticipate a suspension of hostilities; but it did not. The attitude of our enemies was not that of purposed repose. On the contrary, they came together afoot; and engaged in what appeared to be an eager consultation. The chiefs spoke in turn. Some new scheme was being discussed. We watched the party who had ridden off. As anticipated, the waggon proved to be the <i>butt</i> of their excursion. Having reached it, they halt; and, dismounting, become grouped around it. It is impossible for some time to tell what they are doing. Even the glass does not reveal the nature of their movements. There are others besides those who rode up; and the white tilt appears in the midst of is dark cluster of men and horses. Their errand at length becomes obvious. The crowd is seen to scatter. Horses appear harnessed to the tongue—the wheels are in motion—the vehicle is turning round upon the plain. We see that some half-dozen horses are hitched on, with men seated upon their backs as teamsters! They make a wheel, and head down the valley in the direction of the butte. They are seen urging the animals into a rapid pace. The waggon, no longer loaded, leaps lightly over the smooth sward. The horses are spurred into a gallop; and amidst the shouts of the savage drivers, drag the huge vehicle after them with the rough rapidity of a mountain howitzer. In a few minutes, it advances to the ground occupied by the dismounted band, who surround it upon its arrival.</p> <p>We upon the summit have a full view of all. We recognise the well-known Troy waggon—with its red wheels, blue body, and ample canvas roof. The lettering, “Troy, New York,” is legible on the tilt—a strange sight in the midst of its present possessors! What can be their object with the waggon? Their actions leave us not long in doubt. The horses are unharnessed and led aside. Half-a-dozen savages are seen crouching under the axles, and laying hold of the spokes. As many more stand behind—screened from our sight by the tilt-cloth, the body, and boxing. The pole projects in the direction of the mound!</p> <p>Their object is now too painfully apparent. Without thinking of the analogy of the Trojan horse, we see that this monster of a modern Troy is about to be employed for a similar purpose. Yes—shielded by the thick planking of its bed—by its head and hind boards—by its canvas covering, and other cloths which they have cunningly spread along its sides, the savages may approach the mound in perfect safety. Such is their design. With dismay, we perceive it. We can do nought either to retard or hinder its execution. Those under the vehicle can “spoke” the wheels forward, without in the least exposing their bodies to our aim. Even their hands and arms are not visible: buffalo-robes and blankets hang over, draping the wheels from our view. Those behind are equally well screened; and can propel the huge machine, without risk of danger. We note all these circumstances with feelings of keen apprehension. We adopt no means to hinder the movement: we can think of none, since none is possible. We are paralysed by a sense of our utter helplessness.</p> <p>We are allowed but little time to reflect upon it. Amidst the shouts of the savages, we hear the creaking of the wheels; we behold the mass in motion! Onward it comes toward the mound—advancing with apparently spontaneous motion, as if it were some living monster—some horrid mammoth—approaching to destroy and devour us!</p> <p>Had it been such a monster, its proximity could scarce have inspired us with a greater dread. We felt that our destruction was equally certain. The savages would now surround us—advance up the rocks—spring upon us from all sides at once; and, although we might fight to the death—which we had determined to do—still must we die. The knowledge that we should die fighting, and with arms in our hands—that we should fall upon the corpses of our enemies, avenging death before parting with life—this knowledge was but a feeble ray to support and cheer us. Though no cowards—not one of us—we could not look forward to our fate, without a feeling of dread. The certainty of that fate we could no longer question. Even the time seemed to be fixed. In a few minutes, the assailants would be upon us; and we should be engaged in the last struggle of our lives—without the slightest probability of being able to save them!</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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