osc.am2.redprophet-第52章

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tween　the　hills　filled　with　Reds；　funneling　into　the　narrow　ground　where　French　cannon　and　musketry　would　rake　the　Americans　while　the　Reds　killed　any　who　tried　to　flee。　The　victory　would　be　plete。　Except　that　the　Americans　were　supposed　to　be　demoralized；　confused；　and　their　numbers　deeply　reduced　by　the　Red　men　shooting　at　them　all　the　way　here。
　　The　tactics　were　successful；　except　that　when　the　American　army　came　in　view　of　the　French；　and　hesitated　before　the　muzzles　of　nine　cannon　loaded　with　canister；　and　two　thousand　muskets　arrayed　to　sweep　and　doublesweep　the　field；　the　French　inprehensibly　began　to　move　back。　It　was　as　if　they　did　not　trust　the　impregnability　of　their　own　position。　They　did　not　even　try　to　withdraw　the　cannon。　They　retreated　as　if　they　feared　immediate　destruction。
　　The　course　of　the　battle　was　predictable；　then。　Old　Hickory　knew　what　to　do　with　opportunity。　His　soldiers　ignored　the　Reds　and　fell　on　the　retreating　Frenchmen；　slaughtering　all　who　did　not　run；　seizing　their　cannon　and　muskets；　their　powder　and　shot。　Within　an　hour　they　had　used　the　French　artillery　to　break　down　the　fortress　walls　in　three　places；　Americans　streamed　into　Detroit；　there　was　bloody　fighting　in　the　streets。
　　Ta…Kumsaw　should　have　left　then。　He　should　have　let　the　Americans　destroy　the　French；　should　have　taken　his　men　to　safety。　Perhaps　he　felt　a　duty　to　help　the　French；　even　after　they　had　betrayed　him。　Perhaps　he　saw　a　glimmer　of　hope　that　with　the　Americans　involved　in　battle；　his　army　of　Reds　might　win　a　victory　after　all。　Or　perhaps　he　knew　that　never　again　would　he　have　the　power　to　gather　all　the　fighting　men　of　every　tribe；　if　he　retreated　now；　with　the　battle　unfought；　who　would　follow　him　again？　And　if　they　would　not　follow　him；　they　would　follow　no　one；　and　the　White　men　would　nibble　their　way　to　conquest；　devouring　now　this　tribe；　now　that。　Ta…Kumsaw　surely　knew　that　it　was　either　victory　now；　however　unlikely；　or　the　struggle　would　be　over　for　all　time；　and　any　of　his　people　who　weren't　slaughtered　outright　would　either　escape　into　the　west；　a　strange　land　to　them；　lacking　in　forest；　or　would　remain　as　a　diminished　people；　living　like　White　men　instead　of　Red；　the　forest　forever　silent。　Whether　he　hoped　for　victory　or　not；　he　could　not　surrender　to　such　a　future；　not　without　a　fight。
　　So　armed　with　bows　and　arrows；　clubs　and　knives；　the　Reds　attacked　the　American　army　from　behind。　At　first　they　reaped　the　Whites　in　bloody　harvest；　clubbing　them　to　the　ground；　piercing　them　with　flints。　Ta…Kumsaw　shouted　at　them　to　take　muskets；　powder；　ammunition　from　the　dead；　and　many　Reds　obeyed。　But　then　Old　Hickory　got　the　disciplined　core　of　his　men　into　action。　The　guns　were　turned。　And　the　Reds；　exposed　on　the　open　field；　were　felled　in　great　swathes　of　grapeshot。
　　By　evening；　the　sun　going　down；　Detroit　was　on　fire　and　the　smoke　filled　the　nearby　wood。　In　that　choking　darkness　stood　Ta…Kumsaw　with　a　few　hundred　of　his　own　Shaw…Nee。　Other　tribes　made　isolated　stands　here　and　there；　most　despaired　and　fled　into　the　forest；　where　no　White　man　could　follow。　Old　Hickory　himself　led　the　final　assault　against　Ta…Kumsaw's　wooded　fortress；　bringing　with　him　the　thousand　Americans　who　weren't　busy　looting　the　French　city　and　smashing　the　idols　in　the　Papist　cathedral。
　　The　bullets　came　from　all　directions；　it　seemed。　But　through　it　all　Ta…Kumsaw　stood　upright；　shouting　to　his　men；　urging　them　to　fight　on　with　muskets　stolen　from　fallen　Americans　in　the　first　attack。　For　fifteen　minutes　that　seemed　like　forever；　Ta…Kumsaw　fought　like　a　madman；　and　his　Shaw…Nee　fought　and　died　beside　him。　Ta…Kumsaw's　body　blossomed　with　scarlet　wounds；　blood　streaked　down　his　back　and　belly；　one　arm　hung　limp　by　his　side。　No　one　knew　how　he　found　the　strength　to　stand；　he　had　so　many　wounds　in　him。　But　Ta…Kumsaw　was　made　of　flesh　like　any　other　man；　and　at　last　he　fell　in　the　smoky　dusk；　bearing　half　a　dozen　wounds；　any　one　of　which　would　surely　have　been　fatal　by　itself。
　　When　Ta…Kumsaw　fell；　the　firing　slackened。　It　was　as　if　the　Americans　knew　that　they　had　only　to　kill　that　one　man；　and　they　would　break　the　spirit　of　the　Red　man；　now　and　forever。　The　dozen　surviving　Shaw…Nee　warriors　crept　away　in　the　smoke　and　the　darkness；　to　bear　the　bitter　news　of　Ta…Kumsaw's　death　to　every　Shaw…Nee　village；　and　eventually　to　every　hut　where　Red　men　and　women　lived。　The　great　battle　was　hopeless；　White　men　could　not　be　trusted；　French　or　American；　and　so　Ta…Kumsaw's　great　plan　could　never　have　succeeded。　Yet　the　Red　men　remembered　that　at　least　for　a　time　they　had　united　under　one　great　man；　had　bee　a　single　people；　had　dreamed　of　victory。　So　Ta…Kumsaw　was　remembered　in　song　as　Red　villages　and　families　moved　west　across　the　Mizzipy　to　join　the　Prophet；　he　was　remembered　in　stories　told　beside　brick　hearths；　by　families　who　wore　clothing　and　worked　at　jobs　like　white　men；　but　still　remembered　that　once　there　was　another　way　to　live；　and　the　greatest　of　all　the　forest　Reds　had　been　a　man　called　Ta…Kumsaw；　who　died　trying　to　save　the　woodland　and　the　ancient；　doomed　Red　way　of　life。
　　It　was　not　only　Reds　who　remembered　Ta…Kumsaw。　Even　as　they　fired　muskets　at　his　shadowy　figure　in　the　woods；　the　American　soldiers　admired　him。　He　was　a　great　hero　out　of　olden　times。　Americans　were　all　farmers　and　shopkeepers　at　heart；　Ta…Kumsaw　lived　a　story　like　Achilles　or　Odysseus；　Caesar　or　Hannibal；　David　or　the　Maccabees。　〃He　can't　die；〃　they　murmured　as　they　saw　him　take　bullets　and　still　not　fall。　And　when　at　last　he　did　fall；　they　searched　for　his　body　and　did　not　find　it。
　　〃The　Shaw…Nee　dragged　him　off；〃　said　Old　Hickory；　and　that　was　that。　He　wouldn't　even　let　them　search　for　the　Renegado　Boy；　figuring　that　such　a　White　traitor　was　no　doubt　as　faithless　as　the　French　and　snuck　off　during　the　fight。　Leave　be；　said　Old　Hickory；　and　who　was　going　to　argue　with　the　old　man？　He　won　them　the　victory；　didn't　he？　He　broke　the　back　of　Red　resistance　once　and　for　all；　didn't　he？　Old　Hickory；　Andy　Jackson　　they　wanted　to　make　him　King；　but　they'd　have　to　settle　for　President　someday。　Yet　in　the　meantime　they　could　not　forget　Ta…Kumsaw；　and　rumors　spread　that　he　was　alive　somewhere；　crippled　by　his　wounds；　waiting　to　get　healed　up　and　lead　a　great　Red　invasion　from　across　the　Mizzipy；　from　the　swamps　of　the　South；　or　from　some　secret　hidden　fastness　in　the　Appalachee　Mountains。
　　
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　　All　through　the　battle　Alvin　worked　with　all　his　might　to　keep　Ta…Kumsaw　alive。　As　each　new　bullet　tore　through　flesh；　Alvin　mended　broken　arteries；　trying　to　hold　Ta…Kumsaw's　blood　inside　him。　The　pain　he　had　no　time　for；　but　Ta…Kumsaw　seemed　not　to　mind　the　savage　injuries　he　took。　Alvin　crouched　down　in　his　hiding　place　between　a　standing　tree　and　a　fallen　one；　his　eyes　closed；　watching　Ta…Kumsaw　only　with　his　inward　eyes；　seeing　his　flesh　from　the　inside　out。　Alvin　saw　none　of　the　images　that　would　haunt　Ta…Kumsaw's　legends。　Alvin　never　even　noticed　as　bullets　sent　a　spray　of　leaf　bits　and　chips　of　wood　falling　on　him。　He　even　took　a　sharp　stinging　bullet　in　the　back　of　his　left　hand　and　hardly　felt　it；　he　was　concentrating　so　hard　on　keeping　Ta…Kumsaw　on　his　feet。
　　But　one　thing　Alvin　saw：　Beyond　the　edges　of　his　vision；　just　out　of　reach；　there　was　the　Unmaker　like　a　transparent　shadow；　shimmering　fingers　slicing　through　the　wood。　Ta…Kumsaw；　him　Alvin　could　heal。　But　who　could　heal　the　greenwood？　Who　could　heal　the　tearing　apart　of　tribe　from　tribe；　Red　from　Red？　All　that　Ta…Kumsaw　had　built　was　shivered　apart　in　that　single　fraction　of　an　hour；　and　all　Alvin　could　do　was　keep　a　single　man　alive。　A　great　man；　true；　a　man　who　had　changed　the　world；　who　had　built　something；　even　if　it　was　something　that　in　the　end　led　to　more　harm　and　suffering；　Ta…Kumsaw　was　a　builder；　and　yet　even　as　Alvin　saved　his　life；　he　knew　that　Ta…Kumsaw's　building　days　were　done。　Likely　enough　the　Unmaker　didn't　begrudge　Alvin　his　friend's　life。　What　was　Ta…Kumsaw；　pared　to　what　the　Unmaker　was　consuming　at　this　feast？　Just　like　Taleswapper　had　said　so　long　ago；　the　Unmaker　could　tear　down；　eat　through；　use　up；　and　crush　things　faster　than　any　one　man　could　ever　hope　to　build。
　　All　the　time；　though　Alvin　scarcely　noticed　where　Ta…Kumsaw　was　what　with　worrying　about　what　was　going　on　inside　him；　the　Red　man　circled　Alvin's　hiding　place　like　he　was　a　dog　tied　to　a　tree；　winding　around　and　getting　closer　and　closer。　So　when　the　bullets　finally　became　too　much　for　Alvin　and　the　blood　flowed　so　fast　from　dozens　of　wounds　that　Alvin　couldn't　stanch　them　all；　it　was　into　Alvin's　sheltered　place　that　Ta…Kumsaw　fell；　sprawling　across　Alvin's　body；　knocking　the　wind　out　of　the　boy
　　Alvin　scarce　heard　the　search　go　on　around　him。　He　was　too　busy　healing　wounds；　binding　up　torn　flesh；　connecting　severed　nerves　and　straighterung　broken　bones。　In　desperation　to　save　Ta…Kumsaw's　life　he　opened　his　eyes　and　cut　into　the　Red　man's　flesh　with　his　own　flint　knife；　prying　bullets　out　and　then　healing　up　where　he　had　cut。　And　all　the　time　it　was　like　the　smoke　gathered　above　them；　making　it　impossible　for　anyone　to　see　into　the　little　sheltered　place　where　the　Unmaker　had　got　Alvin　holed　up　in　hiding。
　　It　was　afternoon　next　day　when　Alvin　awoke。　Ta…Kumsaw　lay　beside　him；　weak　and　spent；　but　whole。　Alvin　was　filthy　and　itchy　and　he　had　to　void　himself；　gingerly　he　pulled　himself　out　from　under　Ta…Kumsaw；　who　felt　so　light；　as　if　he　was　half　made　of　air。　The　smoke　was　gone　now；　but　Alvin　still　felt　invisible；　walking　around　in　broad　daylight　dressed　like　a　Red　man。　He　could　hear　drunken　singing　from　the　American　camp　near　the　ruins　of　Detroit。　Stray　smoke　still　drifted　through　the　trees。　And　everywhere　Alvin　walked　were　the　bodies　of　Red　men　cast　like　wet　straw　on　the　forest　floor。　It　stank　of　death。
　　Alvin　found　a　brook　and　drank；　trying　not　to　imagine　some　dead　body　lying　in　it　upstream。　He　washed　his　face　and　hands；　dipped　his　head　into　the　water　to　cool　his　brain；　the　way　he　used　to　do　at　home　after　a　hard　day's　work。　Then　he　went　back　to　wake　Ta…Kumsaw　and　bring　him　here　to　drink。
　　Ta…Kumsaw　was　already　awake。　Already　standing　over　the　body　of　a　fallen　friend。　His　head　was　tipped　back；　his　mouth　open；　as　if　he　uttered　a　cry　so　deep　and　loud　that　human　ears　couldn't　hear　the　sound　of　it；　could　only　feel　the　earth　trembling　with　the　vibration　of　the　shout。　Alvin　ran　to　him　and　flung　his　arms　around　him；　clinging　to　him　like　the　child　he　was；　only　it　was　Alvin　doing　the　forting；　Alvin　whispering；　〃You　done　your　best；　you　done　all　that　could　be　done。〃
　　And　Ta…Kumsaw　answered　not　at　all；　though　his　silence　was　an　answer；　too；　like　as　if　he　was　saying；　I'm　alive；　which　means　I　didn't　do　enough。
　　They　walked　away　in　the　afternoon；　not　even　bothering　to　conceal　themselves。　Some　White　men　later　woke　up　with　hangovers；　swearing　they　saw　visions　of　Ta…Kumsaw　and　the　Renegado　Boy　walking　through　the　corpses　of　the　Red　army；　but　nobody　paid　them　mind。　And　what　did　it　matter？　Ta…Kumsaw　wasn't　no　danger　to　the　Whites　now。　He'd　broken　against　them　like　a　great　wave；　but　they　stood　against　him；　he　thought　to　shatter　them；　but　they　broke　him　and　his　people　into　spray；　and　if　some　dro