University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

The enemy, twice repulsed, and on both occasions
with severe loss, had been taught the folly
of exposing themselves too freely to the fire of the
travellers; but although driven back, they manifested
little inclination to fly further than was necessary
to obtain shelter, and as little to give over
their fierce purposes. Concealing themselves
severally behind logs, rocks, and bushes, and so
disposing their force as to form a line around the
ruin, open only towards the river, where escape
was obviously impracticable, they employed themselves
keeping a strict watch upon the hovel,
firing repeated volleys, and as often uttering yells,
with which they sought to strike terror into the
hearts of the travellers. Occasionally some single
warrior, bolder than the rest, would creep
near the ruins, and obtaining such shelter as he
could, discharge his piece at any mouldering
beam, or other object, which his fancy converted
into the exposed body of a defender. But the
travellers had taken good care to establish themselves
in such positions among the ruins as offered
the best protection; and although the bullets
whistled sharp and nigh, not a single one had yet
received a wound; nor was there much reason to
apprehend injury, so long as the darkness of night
befriended them.

Yet it was obvious to all, that this state of security
could not last long, and that it existed only

because the enemy was not yet aware of his advantage.
The condition of the ruins was such
that a dozen men of sufficient spirit, dividing
themselves, and creeping along the earth, might,
at any moment make their way to any and every
part of the hovel, without being seen; when a
single rush must put it in their power. An open
assault, indeed, from the whole body of besiegers,
whose number was reckoned by Nathan at full
fifteen or twenty, must have produced the same
success, though with the loss of several lives. A
random shot might at any moment destroy or disable
one of the little garrison, and thus rob one
important corner of the hovel, which from its dilapidated
state, was wholly indefensible from within,
of defence. It was, indeed, as Roland felt,
more than folly to hope that all should escape unharmed
for many hours longer. But the worst
fear of all was that previously suggested by Nathan:
all might survive the perils of the night;
but what fate was to be expected, when the coming
of day should expose the party, in all its true
weakness, to the eyes of the enemy? If relief
came not before morning, Roland's heart whispered
him, it must come in vain. But the probabilities
of relief,—what were they? The question
was asked of Nathan, and the answer went like
iron through Roland's soul. They were in the
deepest and most solitary part of the forest,
twelve miles from Bruce's Station, and at least
eight from that at which the emigrants were to
lodge; with no other places within twice the distance,
from which help could be obtained. They
had left, three or four miles behind, the main and
only road on which volunteers, summoned from
the Western Stations to repel the invasion, of
which, the news had arrived before Roland's departure
from Bruce's village, could be expected to
pass; if indeed the strong force of the enemy
posted at the Upper Ford had not cut off all communication
between the two districts. From
Bruce's Station, little or no assistance could be
hoped, the entire strength of its garrison, as Roland
well knew, having long since departed to
share in the struggle on the north side of Kentucky.
Assistance could be looked for only from
his late companions, the emigrants, from whom
he had parted in an evil hour. But how were
they to be made acquainted with his situation?

The discussion of these questions almost distracted
the young man. Help could only come
from themselves. Would it not be possible to cut
their way through the besiegers? He proposed a
thousand wild schemes of escape; now he would
mount his trusty steed, and dashing among the
enemy, receive their fire, distract their attention,
and perhaps draw them in pursuit, while Nathan
and the others galloped off with the women in
another quarter; and again, he would plunge
with them into the boiling torrent below, trusting
to the strength of the horses to carry them
through in safety.

To these and other wild proposals, uttered in
the intervals of combat, which was still maintained,
with occasional demonstrations on the
part of the enemy of advancing to a third assault,
Nathan replied only by representing the certain
death they would bring upon all, especially `the
poor helpless women;' whose condition, with the
reflection, that he had brought them into it, seemed
ever to dwell upon his mind, producing feelings
of remorseful excitement not inferior even to
the compunctions which he expressed at every
shot discharged by him at the foe. Indeed his conscience

seemed sorely distrest and perplexed;
now he upbraided himself with being the murderer
of the two poor women, and now of his Shawnee
fellow-creatures; now he wrung the soldier
by the hand, begging him to bear witness, that he
was shedding blood, not out of malice, or wantonness,
or even self-defence, but purely to save the
innocent scalps of poor women, whose blood
would be otherwise on his head; and now beseeching
the young man with equal fervour to let the
world know of his doings, that the blame might
fall, not upon the faith of which he was an unworthy
professor, but upon him, the evil-doer and
back-slider. But with all his remorse and contrition,
he manifested no inclination to give over the
work of fighting; but, on the contrary, fired
away with extreme good-will at every evil Shawnee
creature that showed himself, encouraging
Roland to do the same, and exhibiting throughout
the whole contest the most exemplary courage
and good conduct.

But courage and good conduct, although so unexpectedly
manifested, in the time of need, by all
his companions, Roland felt, could only serve to
defer for a few hours the fate of his party. The
night wore away fast, the assailants grew bolder;
and from the louder yells and more frequent shots
coming from them, it seemed as if their numbers,
instead of diminishing under his own fire, were
gradually increasing, by the dropping in of their
scouts from the forest. At the same time, he became
sensible that his stores of ammunition were
fast decreasing.

“Friend!” said Nathan, wringing the soldier's
hand for the twentieth time, when made acquainted
with the deficiency, “it is written, that thee

women shall be murdered before thee eyes! Nevertheless
I will do my best to save them. Friend,
I must leave thee! Thee shall have assistance.
Can thee hold out the hovel till morning?—But it
is foolish to ask thee; thee must hold it out; and
with none save the coloured person and the man
Dodge, to help thee: for I say to thee, it has come
to this at last, as I thought it would,—I must break
through the lines of thee Injun foes, and find thee
assistance.”

“If you but could!” said Roland, grasping at
the hope; “but how to pass them in safety? Hark
you, man, we can, by a show of attack on our
own part, draw a fire from the villains; and then
a horseman as familiar as yourself with the woods,
might dash through and effect his escape. We
will do this: you shall have the best horse,—Briareus
himself: worn and exhausted as he is, he will
bear you off at the top of his speed, and fall dead,
before he attempts to slacken it. With him, you
can reach the emigrants in half an hour; and
then, then, Heaven be praised! you will find men
brave and true, who will follow you as quickly to
the rescue.”

“It would be the better for thee poor women,”
replied Nathan, “if I had a fleet horse to bear me
on the way faster than I can run on my own legs;
but, truly, friend, the riding away of a man on
horseback through this crew of murdering Injuns,
is no such safe matter as thee thinks, where there
are knives and axes, as well as rifle-bullets; and
it would, besides, be the ruin of thee and thee
poor women, as showing the lessening of thee
numbers, and the fear that was on thee spirit. Of
a truth, what I do must be done in secret; thee
enemies must not know it. I must creep among
them, friend, and make my way on foot.”

“It is impossible,” said Roland, in despair;
you will only provoke your destruction.”

“It may be, friend, as thee says,” responded
Nathan; “nevertheless, friend, for thee women's
sake, I will adventure it; for it is I, miserable sinner
that I am, that have brought them to this
pass, and that must bring them out of it again, if
man can do it. If I succeed, and thee friends is
the men thee says, truly, then I shall save thee life
and the lives of all; if I fail, then, friend, I shall
not see the sight I have seen before,—the death of
innocent, helpless women under the Injun scalping-knife.
Friend, I tell thee,” he continued, “I
must creep through thee foes; and with Heaven's
help and little Peter's, truly, it may be that I shall
creep through them successfully.”

At a moment of less grief and desperation, Roland
would have better appreciated the magnitude
of the service which Nathan thus offered to attempt,
and even hesitated to permit what must
have manifestly seemed the throwing away of a
human life. But the emergency was too great
to allow the operation of any but selfish feelings.
The existence of his companions, the life
of his Edith, depended upon procuring relief,
and this could be obtained in no other way. If the
undertaking was dangerous in the extreme, he
saw it with the eyes of a soldier, as well as a
lover; it was a feat he would himself have dared
without hesitation, could it have promised, in his
hands, any relief to his followers.

“Go, then, and God be with you,” he muttered,
eagerly; “you have our lives in your hand. But
it will be long, long before you can reach the
band on foot. Yet do not weary or pause by the
way. I have but little wealth,—but with what I
have, I will reward you.”

“Friend,” said Nathan, proudly, “what I do, I
do for no lucre of reward, but for pity of thee poor
women; for, truly, I have seen the murdering and
scalping of poor women before, and the seeing of
the same has left blood upon my head, which is a
mournful thing to think of.”

“Well, be not offended: do what you can—
our lives may rest on a single minute.”

“I will do what I can, friend,” replied Nathan;
“and if I can but pass safely through thee foes,
there is scarce a horse in thee company, were it
even thee war-horse, that shall run to thee friends
more fleetly. But, friend, do thee hold out the
house; use thee powder charily; keep up the spirits
of thee two men; and be of good heart theeself,
fighting valiantly, and slaying according to thee
conscience: and then, friend, if it be Heaven's
will, I will return to thee and help thee out of thee
troubles.”

With these words of encouragement, Nathan
immediately prepared for the undertaking, desperate
as it seemed, of making his way through the
lines of the enemy. His preparations were few
and easily made, and consisted principally of disburthening
himself of his powder and ball, which
he gave to Roland to be divided among the three
remaining combatants, in drawing up the skirts of
his leather coat, which he belted round his waist
in such way as to leave his legs free for the peculiar
duty to which they were to be put, and in
summoning to his side little Peter, whom he had
taken the earliest opportunity to stow away in a
safe place among the ruins, where he had quietly
remained ever since; for, as Nathan said, “Little
Peter's good qualities was, not in fighting, but in
taking care of his master.” His rifle, although he
had robbed himself of ammunition, leaving but a

single charge in his horn and pouch, Nathan obstinately
insisted on retaining and carrying with
him, however much it might encumber him in his
flight; and with this poised in his hand, his knife
transferred from his belt to his breast, where it
was ready to be grasped at a moment's warning,
and little Peter crouched upon the earth before
him, to guide the way, he prepared to execute his
bold purpose, with an alacrity that awoke something
like suspicion in Roland's bosom.

“If you fail me, man,” he muttered, with some
agitation, as he pondered upon the effects of such
defection, “if you have devised this undertaking
only to effect your own escape, deserting me, deserting
my friends, whom you leave in such extremity,
abandoned to our fate,—may Heaven
fail you in like manner, and that in the time of
your greatest need!”

“If thee knew what it was to creep through a
camp of warring Shawnees,” said Nathan, with
great equanimity, “thee would allow that the
cowardly and betraying man would look for
some safer way of escape. Do thee but be as
true to theeself and thee women as I will, and it
may be that all shall yet escape unharmed. Farewell,
friend,” he continued, grasping Roland's
hand, and grasping it as one who meditated the
mean and cowardly desertion which Roland had
for a moment imputed to him, could never have
done; “if I fall, I shall not hear the last shriek of
thee murdered women; if I live, and thee can
make good thee defence till morning, neither shalt
thou.”

With these words, Nathan turned from the soldier,
setting out upon his dangerous duty with a
courage and self-devotion of which Roland did
not yet know all the merit. He threw himself

upon the earth, and muttering to little Peter,
“Now, Peter, as thee ever served thee master
well and truly, serve him well and truly now,”
began to glide away among the ruins, making his
way from log to log and bush to bush, close behind
the animal, who seemed to determine the
period and direction of every movement. His
course was down the river, the opposite of that
by which the party had reached the ruin, in
which quarter the woods were nighest, and promised
the most accessible, as well as the best shelter;
though that could be reached only in the event
of his successfully avoiding the different barbarians
hidden among the bushes on its border. He
soon vanished, with his dog, from the eyes of the
soldier; who now, in pursuance of instructions
previously given him by Nathan, caused his two
followers to let fly a volley among the trees, which
had the expected effect of drawing another in return
from the foes, accompanied by their loudest
whoops of menace and defiance. In this manner,
Nathan, as he drew nigh the wood, was enabled
to form correct opinions as to the different
positions of the besiegers, and to select that point
in the line which seemed the weakest; while the
attention of the foe was in a measure drawn off,
so as to give him the better opportunity of advancing
on them unobserved. With this object in
view, a second and third volley were fired by the
little garrison; after which they ceased making
such feints of hostility, and left him as he had
directed, to his fate.

It was then that, with a beating heart, Roland
awaited the event, and, as he began to
figure to his imagination the perils which Nathan
must necessarily encounter in the undertaking,
he listened for the shout of triumph that he feared

would, each moment, proclaim the capture or
death of his messenger. But he listened in vain,
—at least, in vain for such sounds as his skill
might interpret into evidences of Nathan's fate:
he heard nothing but the occasional crack of a
rifle aimed at the ruin, with the yell of the savage
that fired it, the rush of the breeze, the
rumbling of the thunder, and the deep-toned
echoes from the river below. There was nothing
whatever occurred, at least for a quarter of an
hour, by which he might judge what was the
issue of the enterprise: and he was beginning to
indulge the hope that Nathan had passed safely
through the besiegers, when a sudden yell of a
peculiarly wild and thrilling character, was uttered
in the wood in the quarter in which Nathan
had fled; and this, exciting, as it seemed to do, a
prodigious sensation among his foes, filled him
with anxiety and dread. To his ears the shout
expressed fury and exultation such as might well
be felt at the sudden discovery and capture of the
luckless messenger; and his fear that such had
been the end of Nathan's undertaking was greatly
increased by what followed. The shots and
whoops suddenly ceased, and, for ten minutes or
more, all was silent, save the roar of the river,
and the whispering of the fitful breeze. “They
have taken him alive, poor wretch!” muttered
the soldier, “and now they are forcing from him
a confession of our weakness!”

It seemed as if there might be some foundation
for the suspicion; for presently a great shout burst
from the enemy, and the next moment a rush was
made against the ruin as if by the whole force of
the enemy. “Fire!” shouted Roland to his companions:
“if we must die, let it be like men;”
and no sooner did he behold the dark figures of

the assailants leaping among the ruins, than he
discharged his rifle and the pair of pistols which
he had reserved in his own hands, the other pair
having been divided between Dodge and the negro,
who used them with equal resolution, and
with an effect that Roland had not anticipated:
the assailants, apparently daunted by the weight
of the volley, seven pieces having been discharged
in rapid succession, instantly beat a retreat, resuming
their former positions. From these, however,
they now maintained an almost incessant
fire; and by and by several of them, stealing cautiously
up, effected a lodgment in a distant part of
the ruins, whence, without betraying any especial
desire to come to closer quarters, they began to
carry on the war in a manner that greatly increased
Roland's alarm, their bullets flying about
and into the hovel so thickly that he became
afraid lest some of them should reach its hapless
inhabitants. He was already debating within
himself the propriety of transferring Edith and
her companion from this ruinous and now dangerous
abode to the ravine, where they might be
sheltered from all danger, at least for a time,
when a bolt of lightning, as he at first thought it,
shot from the nearest group of foes, flashed over
his head, and striking what remained of the roof,
stood trembling in it, an arrow of blazing fire.
The appearance of this missile, followed, as it
immediately was, by several others discharged
from the same bow, confirmed the soldier's resolution
to remove the females, while it greatly increased
his anxiety; for although there was little
fear that the flames could be communicated from
the arrows to the roof so deeply saturated by the
late rains, yet each, while burning, served, like a
flambeau, to illuminate the ruins below, and must
be expected before long to reveal the helplessness
of the party, and to light the besiegers to their
prey.

With such fears on his mind, he hesitated no
longer to remove his cousin and her companion
to the ravine; which was effected with but little
risk or difficulty, the ravine heading, as was mentioned
before, under the floor of the hovel itself,
and its borders being so strewn with broken timbers
and planks, as to screen the party from observation.
He concealed them both among the
rocks and brambles with which the hollow
abounded, listened a moment to the rush of the
flood as it swept the precipitous bank, and the
roar with which it seemed struggling among
rocky obstructions above, and smiling with the
grim thought, that, when resistance was no longer
availing, there was yet a refuge for his kinswoman
within the dark bosom of those troubled
waters, to which he felt, with the stern resolution
of a Roman father rather than of a christian
lover, that he could, when nothing else remained,
consign her with his own hands, he returned to
the ruins, to keep up the appearance of still defending
it, and to preserve the entrance of the
ravine.