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Updated: May 2, 2025
There was no sudden shrill whistling of a rifle ball, and Demeré, thinking of the fate of Coytmore on the river-bank at Fort Prince George, began to breathe more freely. A vague sense of renewed confidence thrilled through the watching group. Stuart had stipulated that he should go alone otherwise he would not make the essay.
"War is war, and when we call it civilized we only mean that invention has multiplied and elaborated our methods of taking life. A commander can but use the surest means to his end against his enemy that the circumstances afford. A soldier is at best but the instrument of the times." "And what of the torture, the knife, the fagot?" demanded Demeré, excitedly. "What do you think of them?"
At daylight the next morning, while on the march to Fort Prince George, the soldiers were set upon by the treacherous Cherokees, who at the first onset killed Captain Demere and twenty-nine others.
Halsing, she, too, marveled if Captain Stuart felt the need of aught. But Demeré, looking into the past as the tide of reminiscence rose, said to a sympathetic heart a thousand things of home.
The two maintained silence for a time, the coal dying in Captain Stuart's pipe as he absently contemplated the fireless chimney-place filled now with boughs of green pine. Demeré spoke first. "If we can get no communication with Colonel Montgomery it means certain death to all the garrison." "Sooner or later," assented Stuart. The problem stayed with them all that night.
Captain Demeré and Captain Stuart, on their way to a post of observation in the block-house tower, came near running over these young people seated thus one moonlight night to Captain Demeré's manifest confusion and Captain Stuart's bluff delight, although both passed with serious mien, doffing their hats with some casual words of salutation.
And if he did not look to the future that sweet December night of Saint Martin's summer by the placid Tennessee River, perhaps it was as well, oh, poor Captain Demeré! The next day ushered in a crisis in the affairs of the would-be stationers the house-raising began.
She was silent, a trifle mortified because of her own mortification to be supposed a mere captive. "Everybody else knows that you are the commanding officer at MacLeod's Station," said Stuart in pretended consolation, only half smothering a laugh. "Besides," Demeré argued, gravely, "you will never be able to convince them of the facts.
But she only said aloud, with a strong effort to control her attention, "And for men, too." "Men must needs follow when duty leads the way," said Captain Demeré, a trifle priggishly. Odalie, trying to seem interested, demanded, lifting her eyes, "And what do women follow?" If Captain Demeré had said what he truly thought, he would have answered: "Folly! their own and that of their husbands!"
Demeré, who had placed himself, wrapped in his military cloak, on the ground near Stuart, that they might quietly speak together in the night without alarming the little camp with the idea of precautions and danger and plotting and planning, noted first a roseate lace-like scroll unrolled upon the zenith amidst the vague, pervasive, gray suggestions of dawn.
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