CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. THE STRUGGLE IN THE STOCKADE. On that same night the Indians, led by Wacora, stormed the stockade upon the hill. The combat proved long and desperate, but the place was at length taken. Bravely as the settlers fought, they had a foe to deal with implacable and determined. As fast as the red warriors fell in the attack, others took their places, and from out the darkness legions seemed to rise to avenge the deaths of their fallen comrades. The white women loaded the rifles, stood by their brothers and husbands assisting them in the fearful strife. But valour availed not; the settlers were doomed. Never had Elias Rody been seen to greater advantage. He seemed ubiquitous, cheering and inspiring the men around him. Many who had condemned him till then gave him credit for his bravery. He seemed to bear a charmed life, and was seen where-ever bullets whistled, unharmed and undaunted! All his hopes on earth were centred in successfully maintaining himself; and that strong physical courage which he undoubtedly possessed, stimulated by his frightful responsibility, made him for the moment heroic. His daughter, the gentle Alice, showed herself equally brave. She took under her care the wounded men--she who, at any other time, would have fainted at the sight of blood--bound up the ghastly wounds, and stood on that dreadful night by more than one death-bed, calm and courageous, upheld by the sustaining idea. But what availed courage and devotion against numbers? The stockade was at length carried, and, after it, the house, which was instantly given to the flames. A horrible carnage ensued amongst those who, unable to fly, were left to the besiegers' fury. The worst passions were displayed in their worst forms, and helplessness pleaded in vain to hearts steeled with revenge. The moon's rays lighted up a fearful scene. Corpses of Indians and settlers, with their wives and children strewed the ground of the enclosure! The glare of the burning house added to the horror of the sight. Some few of the colonists fled across the country, pursued by their relentless foes. Though a small number escaped with life, many perished in their flight. With revengeful cries the Indians sought for Elias Rody, but failed to find him. Had he, too, escaped? It seemed so, for nowhere could his body be discovered among the slain. His daughter had also disappeared. But half of their revenge seemed accomplished, and Wacora felt that, with Rody alive, his uncle's death was not yet avenged. In vain did he send warrior after warrior in search of the missing man. All returned with the same answer. The white chief was not to be found! Enraged at being thus baffled in his revenge, Wacora called his straggling forces together, and returned with them to the Indian camp. After their departure there was profound stillness within the stockade, more awful from contrast with the battle there so late raging.