University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

Meantime the repairing of the pallisades had been going bravely forward,
every moment rendering the garrison more and more secure, which served
not a little to revive their spirits; and when at length the women had all entered,
the gate been barred, and they had seen themselves well supplied with
water, they could restrain their feelings no longer, and one grand, simultaneous
cheer burst from their lips.

“Now then,” said Father Albach, “let 'em come, and I reckon as how
they'll meet with a warm reception. But to draw 'em on, we must send out
a party to make a feint to fight the others.”

Thirteen young men, among whom was Isaac, were accordingly selected,

to pass out by the eastern gate and commence firing rapidly, while the remainder,
with loaded muskets, were to range themselves along the western
pickets, and be ready to pour their deadly contents into the swarthy horde of
besiegers, in case their attack should be made in that quarter. As the young
men departed, all relapsed into a solemn silence of anxious suspense, which
was presently broken by the rapid discharge of firearms, outside the fort, accompanied
with cheers and yells, from both the whites and Indians. Now
was the all important moment—the war sounds were gradually growing more
and more distant—and every eye of the inner garrison was strained in
breathless expectation, in the direction of the spring, while every rifle was
cocked and in rest, ready for any emergency.

Suddenly the tall weeds—which a moment before had been quietly waving
in the morning breeze—became dreadfully agitated, and the next instant, as
if by magic, the ground was peopled by some five hundred hideous savages,
who, led on by the notorious renegade, now rushed forward, with wild frantic
yells, to the western pallisades, where our gallant little band stood drawn up
ready to receive them. They had advanced in a tremendous body, to within a
few feet of the fort, when the word “Fire,” uttered in a clear, manly voice, resounded
above their own frightful yells, and was followed the next moment,
by a terrible volley of leaden balls, that carried death and terror into their
serried ranks. With one simultaneous yell of rage, consternation and disappointment,
they halted a moment in indecision, when another death-dealing volley,
from the gallant Kentuckians, decided their course of action, and again
yelling fearfully, they parted to the right and left, and bearing their dead
and wounded with them, rushed for the covert of a neighboring forest. At
the same moment, the party which had sallied forth upon the Lexington
road, to make a feint of attacking their decoys, entered the fort by the eastern
gate, in high good spirits at the success of their manœuvre.

The warfare was now carried on in the usual manner, after the failure of
stratagem, for several hours, with but little success on either side. The
block-houses were immediately manned by the garrison, who by this means
could command every point of compass; and whenever an Indian came in
sight, he was at once made the target for three or four keen riflemen, who
rarely missed their mark. In consequence of this the wily savage rarely
showed himself in an open manner, but would creep stealthily among the
tall weeds, or among the tall standing corn; that covered about an hundred
acres of ground on the southern side of the station, or ensconce himself behind
some stump or trunk of a tree in the vicinity, and discharge his rifle at
any mark thought suitable, or let fly his burning arrows upon the roofs of
the cabins. To avoid, if possible, a conflagration, every boy of ten
years and upwards, was ordered upon the roofs of the houses, to throw
off these burning missiles; but notwithstanding their great vigilance, so
rapidly were they sent at one period, that two of the cabins, being in a very
combustible state, took fire, to the great consternation of all, and, before they
could be extinguished, were totally consumed. Here again the hand of an
overruling Providence was manifest; for a light wind drove the flames from
the other buildings, and thus a terrible and fatal calamity was averted.

From the attack in the morning by the main body, a sharp fire was maintained
on both sides till towards noon, when it began to slacken considerably,
and a little past meridian ceased altogether—the savages having withdrawn
for another purpose, as we shall show anon, leaving the garrison in suspense
as to whether they had totally abandoned the siege or not.

We have previously stated that Bryan's station stood on a gentle rise on
the southern bank of the Elkhorn, whereby it commanded a view of much of

the surrounding country. A considerable portion of the land in the immediate
vicinity had been cleared and was under cultivation; but still, in
some places, the forest approached to a close proximity, so that it was impossible,
without traversing the ground, to determine whether the foe had
withdrawn altogether, or, as was more probable, now lay hidden therein, awaiting
an unguarded moment of the besieged to renew hostilities. Where the
Maysville and Lexington road now runs, was a long narrow lane, bounded on
one side by the large cornfield before alluded to, and on the other by a heavy
wood. Through this lane the reinforcements from Lexington must naturally
pass, to reach the station; and knowing this, and that they were expected,
(for the escape of the two courriers in the morning had not been overlooked)
the Indians, to the number of more than three hundred, had concealed themselves
in the thicket, within pistol shot of the road, and were now quietly
waiting to cut them off.

Notwithstanding the quiet which had succeeded the sounds of warfare, the
garrison were still on the look out, fearful of being surprised. In this manner
an hour or two passed away, without any event occurring worth being
recorded, when a voice shouted joyfully:

“The Lexington reinforcements are at hand!”

In a moment the whole station was in commotion—men, women and children,
rushing to the block-houses and pallisades nearest to and overlooking
the long lane just mentioned. The force in question numbered some sixteen
horsemen, and about twice as many foot, who not having heard any firing, nor
seen any savages thus far, were somewhat carelessly approaching the fort at a
liesure pace, thinking, as was not uncommon in those times of danger, when such
things were often exagerated, that perhaps the alarm had been unfounded, or
at the most, based only on slight grounds. They had been overtaken on the
road between Lexington and Hoy's station, for which place they had marched
on receiving the news of Holder's defeat, and had been informed by Tomlinson
and Bell, that Bryan's station was surrounded by a large body of Indians,
of whose numbers they knew nothing. On hearing this, and knowing
the unguarded condition of Lexington, they had instantly turned back, and
pressed forward at what speed they could, to the assistance of their neighbors,
of whom they were now in sight.

“Great God!” cried the voice of the look-out at this moment, in consternation.
“See!—see!—they are ambushed, and will all be cut off!”

As he spoke, a long rolling line of fire could be discerned, and presently
was heard the report of a tremendous volley of musketry, followed by a
cloud of dust and smoke, which for a time completely hid them from view.
In a few minutes, however, the horsemen were seen close at hand, spurring
forward with lightning speed. Some three or four individuals instantly
sprang to and threw open the eastern gate, and in less than two minutes they
reined in their panting steeds in the court of the station. At the first shot of
the savages, they had put spurs to their horses, and, as the ground was very
dry, a cloud of dust had instantly enveloped them, by which means, fortunately,
every one of them had escaped unharmed, although on their way they had
drawn the fire of more than three hundred Indian rifles, successively discharged
at them while passing the lines of the ambuscade. Not thus easily, however,
escaped their companions on foot.

At the commencement of the firing, these latter were advancing toward the
station through the cornfield, and, being completely hidden from the savages
thereby, they might, had they pressed rapidly forward, have gained the fort
in safety. Not so was their conduct. They were brave, hot-blooded, noble
men. They could not think of flying and leaving their friends in danger;

and more noble and reckless than wise and prudent, they turned and rushed
to their assistance. They saw their error, but too late to retrieve it. Their
friends had fled, and were safe, but they were now placed within a few paces
of three hundred blood-thirsty warriors. On seeing them, the savages uttered
the most hideous yells, rushed forward and cut them off from the fort,
and then sprang after them tomahawk in hand. Luckily, however, for our
little band of heroes, the Indians had just discharged their rifles, and their
own were loaded; by which means, when hard pressed, they turned and kept
their foes at bay—the savage, in all cases, being too cautious to rush upon a
weapon so deadly, with only a tomahawk wherewith to defend himself. Moreover,
the corn was stout and tall, among which they ran and dodged with
great agility; and whenever an Indian halted to load his rifle, the fugitive for
whom its contents were designed, generally managed by renewed exertions,
to gain a safe distance before it was completed, and thus effect his escape.
Some five or six, however, were so unfortunate as to be knocked or shot
down, when they were immediately tomahawked and scalped; but the remainder,
in various directions and by various artifices, succeeded in making
their escape. A few reached the fort in a roundabout manner, but the main
body of them returned to Lexington, where, had the savages followed them,
they would have found an easy conquest. Fortunately for the whites, however,
the red men were not so inclined; and pursuing them a few hundred
yards only, the latter abandoned the chase as hopeless.

One of the most active and ferocious on the part of the Indians during this
skirmish, which lasted nearly an hour, was Simon Girty. Enraged to madness
at the failure of his stratagem in the morning, he gnashed his teeth and
rushed after the fugitives, with all the fury depicted on his countenance of a
demon let loose from the infernal regions of Pluto. Two with his own hand
he sent to their last account, and was in hot pursuit of a third—a handsome
active youth—who, being hard pressed, turned round, and raising his rifle to
his shoulder, with a scornful smile upon his face, bitterly exclaimed, as he
discharged it:

“Take that, you d—d renegade, and see how it'll digest!”

As he fired, Girty fell, and perceiving which, the Indians, with a yell of
despair, instantly gathered round him, while the young man effected his escape.
This closed the exciting contest of the cornfield—which had been
witnessed throughout from the station with feelings better imagined than discribed—but,
unfortunately for humanity, did not end the career of Girty;
for the ball had taken effect in his shot pouch, instead of his body; and
though wounded, his case was in no wise critical, and he was soon able to
take his place at the council fire, to deliberate upon what further should be
done.[1]

The council alluded to, lasted some two or three hours. The Indians
were disheartened at their loss in the morning, and the failure of all their
stratagems, even to cutting off the reinforcements of the enemy. They
were sufficiently convinced they could not carry the fort by storm, and they
also believed it unsafe to longer remain where they were, as the alarm of
their presence had spread far and wide, and there was no telling at what moment
a force equal to their own might be brought against them; therefore
they were now anxious to abandon the siege and return home. Girty, however,
was by no means satisfied with the turn matters had taken. He had
with great difficulty and masterly persuasion succeeded in getting them to
unite and march in a body (contrary to their usual mode of warfare, which
consisted in skirmishing with small parties,) against the whites, and he now

felt that his reputation was in a manner staked on the issue; consequently
he could illy bear to leave without the trial of one more stratagem. This
he made known to the chiefs of the council, and offered, in case of failure, to
retreat with them at once.

As this last design of Girty was merely to deceive the whites, and frighten
them into capitulation, without any further risk to themselves, the Indians
agreed to it, and the council broke up.

It was nearly sundown, and every one in the station had been on the alert,
ready to repel another attack should the Indians renew hostilities, as was
not unlikely, when a voice cried out.

“Hang me to the nearest cross-bar, of the red sons of Satan hav'nt sent out
a flag of truce!”

This at once drew the attention of most of the garrison to a small white
flag on a temporary pole, which at no great distance was gradually nearing
them, supported in an upright position by some object crawling along on
the ground. At length the object gained a stump, and having mounted it,
was at once recognised by Reynolds as the renegade—although Girty on this
expedition had doffed the British uniform, in which we once described him,
and now appeared in a costume not unlike his swarthy companions.

“Halloo the garrison!” he shouted.

“Halloo yourself!—what's wanted?” cried a voice back again.

“Respect this flag of truce, and listen!” rejoined Girty; and waving it
from side to side as he spoke, he again proceeded: “Courage can do much in
war, and is in all cases a noble trait, which I for one do ever respect; but
there may be circumstances where manly courage can avail nothing, and
where to practice it only becomes fool-hardy, and is sure to draw down certain
destruction on the actor or actors. Such I hasten to assure you, gentlemen,
is exactly your ease in the present instance. No one admires the
heroism which you have one and all, even to your women and children, this
day displayed, more than myself; but I feel it my duty to inform you that
henceforth the utmost daring of each and all of you combined can be of no avail
whatever. Resistance on your part will henceforth be a crime rather than
a virtue. It is to save bloodshed and you all from a horrible fate, that I
have ventured hither at the risk of my life. You are surrounded by an
army of six hundred savages. To-morrow there will be a large reinforcement
with cannon, when, unless you surrender now, your bulwark will be
demolished, and you, gentlemen, with your wives and children, will become
victims to an unrelenting, cruel foe. Death will then be the mildest of your
punishments. I would save you from this. I am one of your race, and, although
on the side of your enemy, would at this time counsel and act toward you a
friendly part. Do you not know me? I am Simon Girty—an agent of the
British. Take my advice and surrender now your fort into my hands, and I
swear to you not single hair of your heads shall be harmed. But if you hold
out until you are carried by storm, I cannot save you; for the Indians will
have become thirsty for your blood, and no commander on earth could then restrain
them. Be not hasty in rejecting my friendly offer. It is for your good I
have spoken—and so weigh the matter well. I pause for an answer.”

The effect of Girty's speech upon the garrison, was to alarm them not a
little. His mention of reinforcements with cannon, caused many a stout
heart to tremble, and many a face to blanch and turn to its neighbor with an
expression of dismay. Against cannon they knew, as Girty stated, resistance
would be of no avail; and cannon had, in 1780, advanced up the Licking
Valley, and destroyed Riddle's and Martin's stations. If Girty told the
truth, their case was truly alarming.

As the renegade concluded, Reynolds—who saw the effect his words
had produced, and who, knowing him better than any of the others,
believed his whole tale to be false—at once begged leave to reply for the
garrison, which was immediately granted. Placing himself in full view of
Girty, he answered as follows, in a tone of railery:

“Well done, my old worthy companion! and are you really there, carrying
out another of your noble and humane designs? When, O when, I
humbly beg to know, will your philanthropic efforts end? I suppose not
until death has laid his claim, and the devil has got his due. You ask us if we
know you. What! not know the amiable Simon Girty, surnamed the Renegade?
Could you indeed for a moment suppose such a thing possible?
Know you? Why we have an untrusty, worthless cur-dog in the fort here,
that has been named Simon Girty, in compliment to you—he is so like you
in every thing that is ugly, wicked and mean. You say you expect reinforcements
of artillery. Well, if your stay in this quarter long, I know of
no one that will be more likely to need them than yourself and the cowardly
cut-throats who call you chief. We too expect reinforcements; for the
country is roused in every direction; and if you remain here twenty-four
hours longer, the scalps of yourself and companions will be drying on our
cabins. Bring on your cannon and blaze away as soon as you please! We
shall fear you not, even then; for if you succeed in entering, along with your
naked, rascally companions, we shall set our old women to work, and have you
scourged to death with rods, of which we have on hand a goodly stock for
the purpose. And now to wind up, allow me to say I believe you to be a
liar, and know you to be a most depraved, inhuman, damned villain. This
knowledge of your character is not second-hand. I paid dearly for it, by a
year's captivity. I defied you when in your power: I spit at and defy you
now in behalf of the garrison! My name you may remember. It is Algernon
Reynolds. What would you more?”[2]

“Would that I had you in my power again,” shouted back Girty; “for
by —! I would willingly forego all other vengeance on the whites, to take
my revenge on you. I regret the garrison did not choose some one to reply
who was not already doomed to death. It was my desire to save bloodshed,
but my offer has been rejected from the mouth of one I hate; and now I leave
you to your fate. To-morrow morning will see your bulwarks in ruins, and
yourselves, your wives and little ones, in the power of a foe that never forgives
an injury nor forgets an insult. Farewell till then! I bide my time.”

As Girty concluded altogether, he began to ease himself down from the
stump, when his progress was not a little accelerated by hearing a voice
from the garrison cry out:

“Shoot the d—d rascal!—don't let him escape!”

Instantly some five or six rifles were brought to bear upon him, and his
fate might then have been decided forever, had not the voice of Nickolson
warned them to beware of firing upon a flag of truce. Girty, however,
made good his retreat, and the garrison was disturbed no more that night.
Before morning the Indians, after having killed all the domestic cattle they
could find belonging to the station, began their retreat, and by daylight their
camp was deserted, though many of their fires were still burning brightly,
and several pieces of meat were found on roasting-sticks around them, all
showing a late and hasty departure.