"Mass the
cannon and the rest of us will back them up with our rifles. Maybe we can
silence her, and if we do then's the time to take her by storm."
The supply fleet drew back and its fire died. It seemed, in truth, as if
it were beaten and that, hemmed in by fire, as it were in the narrow
bayou, it must surrender. A tremendous shout of triumph burst forth from
the men on the schooner, and the Indians took it up in a vast and shriller
but more terrible chorus.
Then came one of those sudden and ominous silences that sometimes occur in
a battle. The fire of the Americans ceasing, that of their enemies ceased
for the moment also. But the pause was more deadly and menacing in its
stillness than all the thunder and shouting of the combat had been. It
seemed unnatural to hear again the sighing of the wind through the forest
and the quiet lap of water against the shore. The bank of smoke, no longer
increased from below, lifted, thinned, broke up into patches, and began to
float away. The moon's rays shot through the mists and vapors once more,
and lighted up the watery battlefield of the night, the schooner, the
desperate men on it, the swarms of canoes, the coppery, high-cheeked faces
of the Indians, the supply fleet packed now in a rather close mass, the
tanned faces of the men on board it, animated by the high spirit of daring
and enterprise, the wounded lying silent in the boats, and the wreckage
floating on the bayou.
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