University of Virginia Library


139

THE LONG-KNIFE SQUAW.

MRS. MERRILL'S DEFENCE.

The event which forms the subject of the ballad occurred in Nelson County, Kentucky, during the summer of 1787. About midnight, the approach of a hostile party was made known to John Merrill and his wife, by the barking of their house-dog. At first, Merrill supposed it to be some travellers seeking shelter, and opened the door. He received the fire of a half-dozen rifles, which broke an arm and a thigh. He fell, and his wife, at his call, closed the door. The Indians broke open the door, but Mrs. Merrill, who was a very large and powerful woman, killed four of them with an axe, and they gave that up. They next climbed the roof to effect an entrance by the broad chimney. There was a fire smouldering on the hearth, and on this Mrs. Merrill threw the feathers of the bed, which she had ripped open. The smoke caused two of the remaining three Indians to fall insensible. Braining these, she ran to the open door where the last surviving savage was entering. He was too close for her to strike, but she cut his cheek with the keen blade of the axe. He gave a yell of affright and despair, and fled, spreading a terrible story of the strength and courage of his female antagonist. A similar instance of female courage is that of Mrs. Dustan, in New England; but in the latter case the victims were asleep.

I was out upon the Piqua, two-and-forty years ago,
Ere my sinews lost their vigor, or my head received its snow.
I was not so skilled in woodcraft as I should have been that day,
And towards the shade of evening, in the forest lost my way.
Yet I wandered hither, thither, till beside a grey old rock,
I beheld the smoky lodges of a band of Shawanock.
There was peace between the races, and a welcome warm I found,
And a supper which they gave me, by the camp-fire, on the ground.
That despatched, I fell to smoking, and as up the round moon rolled,
With a thirsty ear I listened to the tales the old men told.
There they sat and chatted gayly, while the flickering of the blaze
Led the shadows on their faces in a wild and devious maze.

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And among them one I noted, unto whom the rest gave place,
Which was token he was foremost in the fight or in the chase.
He had been among the white men till he spoke our language well,
Though his speech was marked by phrases that from Western hunters fell.
There was pausing in the stories, when he turned and spoke to me,
As his red pipe he replenished—“I could tell a tale,” said he.
“Those there are of daring white men, whom no danger can appall;
But I knew a squaw among them, who surpassed them one and all.
“Six good Shawanock, my comrades, did that pale-face woman kill.”
Then I said—“Pray tell the story!” Quoth the other—“So I will.
“There were seven of us together, who upon an August day,
From the sullen, broad Ohio, up Salt River took our way.
“Up the Rolling Fork we travelled, seeking where we might obtain
Precious plunder from the living, bleeding trophies from the slain.
“By a spring-branch in the bottom, near a clearing in the wood,
Hidden by the sombre hemlocks, Merrill's low-roofed cabin stood.
“It was built of logs of white-oak, chinked, save loop-holes here and there,
With a door of heavy puncheons, made the axe's blow to bear.
“At its end a good stone chimney reared itself among the trees,
And the smoke-wreaths, as we neared it, still were breaking in the breeze.
“Out we lay upon the mountain, till the midnight hour came on,
Till the darkness growing deeper told the summer moon had gone.
“Then we downward crept in silence—not a rustle, scarce a stir—
Till by chance a stone we loosened, which descended with a whirr.
“Rose the dog who had been lying in the cabin's deepest shade,
Snuffed our presence in the valley, and, to warn his master, bayed.
“Then aroused he came to tear us, in his fury, limb from limb,
But my hatchet's blow unerring was enough to quiet him.

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“There was stirring in the cabin, and I heard old Merrill say—
‘Wife, that is some wearied hunter, who perchance has lost his way.
“‘Rouse you, stir the ash-hid embers, and get ready to prepare
Bed of feathers for the stranger and a bait of cabin fare.’
“How we chuckled as he said it; then, in English, ‘House!’ I cried,
While my comrades all stood ready, when the door should open wide.
“With one hand his rifle grasping, Merrill then unclosed the door,
When we poured a sudden volley, and he sank upon the floor.
“In the fall the gun exploded, lighting up again the dark;
But no fingers drew the trigger, and the bullet found no mark.
“Ere we reached the open portal, though the journey was not far,
Lo! the woman Merrill closed it, and secured it with a bar.
“Long we hacked and long we hammered at the door with useless din,
Till at length a heavy sapling, fiercely driven, burst it in.
“Young Penswataway, our leader, stout old Cornstalk's gallant son,
At the breach we had thus opened, entered in the foremost one.
“He had battled at Point Pleasant, and escaped the deadly ball,
By the weapon of a woman at the dead of night to fall.
“There she stood, that fearless woman, in her hand a heavy axe;
Came a sound of skull-bone crashing, and he died there in his tracks.
“Then, as four more strove to enter at the breach within the door,
One by one my slaughtered comrades sank and died upon the floor.
“Thus that stern unflinching woman managed five of us to slay,
And with axe and blow so ready those surviving kept at bay.
“Yet another entry offered; so, while I with rifle stood,
Lest the woman should escape us in the darkness of the wood,
“To the roof my two companions quickly climbed, a path to gain
By the great, capacious chimney, where resistance would be vain;

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“For, so soon as they descended and attacked her on the floor,
Unopposed I'd find an entrance in the then unguarded door.
“But let no one boast his cunning, if a squaw be in the way,
Never fox hath more of shrewdness than a woman held at bay.
“From its place within the corner soon she tore a feather-bed,
And she tossed it in an instant on the embers fiery red.
“Scorched with fierce and sudden blazing, nearly stifled with the smoke,
Fell my two remaining comrades, to receive her axe's stroke.
“Then I struggled at the entrance, and had partly made my way
When the woman came before me, like a wounded buck at bay.
“From her mouth the foam was flying, and her eyes were glazed and green;
Such a sight to shake my courage, I before had never seen.
“Turned I quickly in my terror, bounding through the darkness deep,
And I never stopped my running till the dawn began to peep.
“Now, what think you of my story?” said the savage unto me—
“Was she not a woman worthy leader of a tribe to be?”
“Ay!” I answered, “but I tell you, should you try it, you would see
We have many a hundred women that in need were stout as she.
“On the mountains of Virginia, in Kentucky's bloody ground,
In the forests of Ohio, scores of such are to be found—
“Women tender, trusting, tearful; yet if peril forced among,
They can fight as stern and fiercely as a pantheress for her young.”
Quoth the chieftain, “If so many like that woman you can find,
You should send them forth to battle, while your men remained behind.
“I have met your braves in combat when the skies were red with fire,
And the sabres of your horsemen flashed the lightning of their ire—
“When your brazen-bodied cannon spoke their wrath to those around,
And the trampling of your legions shook the awed and trembling ground.

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“Where the waters of Kanawha rush to join a clearer tide,
I was there with stout old Cornstalk, when you broke our power and pride.
“With the Mingoes, under Girty, at Fort Henry I was one,
When your forty kept four hundred baffled there from sun to sun.
“By Tecumthe's side I battled at the Thames the day he fell,
Where continual flash kept lighting forest, river, swamp, and dell.
“But I never knew a terror, and a fear I never felt,
Save that midnight when the woman so upon my comrades dealt.
“And if I were young and likely, then, whatever dames I saw,
I would wed none save the equal of that daring long-knife squaw.”