University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Troilus AND Cressida.

It may now be necessary to take a rapid glance
at the situation of the whole combat, which had
begun to thicken in different parts of the valley.
The party led by Dudley, and exhorted by Meek,
had broken its order on reaching the meadows behind
the fort, and, seeking the covers of the stumps
and fences, it had thrown in its fire, with good effect,
on the irregular band that pressed into the
fields. This decision quickly caused a change in
the manner of the advance. The Indians took to
covers, in their turn, and the struggle assumed that
desultory but dangerous character, in which the
steadiness and resources of the individual are put
to the severest trial. Success appeared to vacillate;
the white men at one time widening the distance
between them and their friends in the dwelling,
and, at another, falling back as if disposed to seek
the shelter of the palisadoes. Although numbers
were greatly in favor of the Indians, weapons and
skill supported the cause of their adversaries. It
was the evident wish of the former to break in
upon the little band that opposed their progress to
the village, in and about which they saw that scene
of hurried exertion which has already been described—a
spectacle but little likely to cool the furious
ardor of an Indian onset. But the wary manner
in which Dudley conducted his battle, rendered
this an experiment of exceeding hazard.

However heavy of intellect the Ensign might
appear on other occasions, the present was one
every way adapted to draw out his best and most
manly qualities. Of large and powerful stature, he
felt, in moments of strife, a degree of confidence
in himself, that was commensurate with the amount
of physical force he wielded. To this hardy assurance
was to be added no trifling portion of the sort
of enthusiasm that can be awakened in the most
sluggish bosoms, and which, like the anger of an
even-tempered man, is only the more formidable
from the usually quiet habits of the individual.
Nor was this the first, by many, of Ensign Dudley's
warlike deeds. Besides the desperate affair already
related in these pages, he had been engaged in
divers hostile expeditions against the aborigines,
and on all occasions had he shown a cool head and
a resolute mind.

There was pressing necessity for both these essential
qualities, in the situation in which the Ensign
now found himself. By properly extending his
little force, and yet keeping it at the same time
perfectly within supporting distance, by emulating
the caution of his foes in consulting the covers, and
by reserving a portion of his fire throughout the
broken and yet well-ordered line, the savages were
finally beaten back, from stump to stump, from
hillock to hillock, and fence to fence, until they had
fairly entered the margin of the forest. Further,
the experienced eye of the borderer saw he could
not follow. Many of his men were bleeding, and
growing weaker as their wounds still flowed. The
protection of the trees gave the enemy too great
an advantage for their position to be forced, and
destruction would have been the inevitable consequence
of the close struggle which must have followed
a charge. In this stage of the combat, Dudley
began to cast anxious and inquiring looks behind

him. He saw that support was not to be expected,
and he also saw, with regret, that many of the
women and children were still busy, transporting
necessaries from the village into the fort. Falling
back to a better line of covers, and to a distance
that materially lessened the danger of the arrows,
the weapons used by quite two-thirds of his enemies,
he awaited, in sullen silence, the proper moment to
effect a further retreat.

It was while the party of Dudley stood thus at
bay, that a fierce yell rung in the arches of the
forest. It was an exclamation of pleasure, uttered in
the wild manner of those people; as if the tenants
of the woods were animated by some sudden and
general impulse of joy. The crouching yeomen regarded
each other in uneasiness, but seeing no sign
of wavering in the steady mien of their leader,
each man kept close, awaiting some further exhibition
of the devices of their foes. Ere another minute
had passed, two warriors appeared at the margin
of the wood, where they stood apparently in contemplation
of the different scenes that were acting
in various parts of the valley. More than one musket
was levelled with intent to injure them, but a
sign from Dudley prevented attempts that would
most probably have been frustrated by the never-slumbering
vigilance of a North American Indian.

There was however something in the air and port
of these two individuals, that had its share in producing
the forbearance of Dudley. They were
evidently both chiefs, and of far more than usual
estimation. As was common with the military leaders
of the Indians, they were men also of large and
commanding stature. Viewed at the distance from
which they were seen, one seemed a warrior who
had reached the meridian of his days, while the
other had the lighter step and more flexible movement
of a much briefer existence. Both were well

armed, and, as was usual with people of their origin
on the war-path, they were clad only in the customary
scanty covering of waist-cloths and leggings.
The former, however, were of scarlet, and the latter
were rich in the fringes and bright colors of Indian
ornaments. The elder of the two wore a gay
belt of wampum around his head, in the form of a
turban; but the younger appeared with a shaven
crown, on which nothing but the customary chivalrous
scalp-lock was visible.

The consultation, like most of the incidents that
have been just related, occupied but a very few
minutes. The eldest of the chiefs issued some orders.
The mind of Dudley was anxiously endeavoring
to anticipate their nature, when the two disappeared
together. The Ensign would now have
been left entirely to vague conjectures, had not the
rapid execution of the mandates that had been issued
to the youngest of the Indians, soon left him
in no doubt of their intentions. Another loud and
general shout drew his attention towards the right;
and when he had endeavored to strengthen his position
by calling three or four of the best marksmen
to that end of his little line, the youngest of the
chiefs was seen bounding across the meadow, leading
a train of whooping followers to the covers that
commanded its opposite extremity. In short, the
position of Dudley was completely turned; and the
stumps and angles of the fences, which secreted his
men, were likely to become of no further use. The
emergency demanded decision. Collecting his yeomen,
ere the enemy had time to profit by his advantage,
the Ensign ordered a rapid retreat towards
the fort. In this movement he was favored by the
formation of the ground, a circumstance that had
been well considered on the advance; and in a very
few minutes, the party found itself safely posted
under the protection of a scattering fire from the

palisadoes, which immediately checked the pursuit
of the whooping and exulting foe. The wounded
men, after a stern or rather sullen halt, that was
intended to exhibit the unconquerable determination
of the whites, withdrew into the works for
succor, leaving the command of Dudley reduced by
nearly one-half of its numbers. With this diminished
force, however, he promptly turned his attention
towards the assistance of those who combated
at the opposite extremity of the village.

Allusion has already been made to the manner in
which the houses of a new settlement were clustered
near each other, at the commencement of the
colonial establishments. In addition to the more
obvious and sufficient motive, which has given rise
to the same inconvenient and unpicturesque manner
of building, over nine-tenths of the continent
of Europe, there had been found a religious inducement
for the inconvenient custom. One of the enactments
of the Puritans said, that “no man shall
set his dwelling-house, above the distance of half-a-mile,
or a mile at farthest, from the meeting of the
congregation where the church doth usually assemble
for the worship of God.” “The support of the
worship of God, in church fellowship,” was the reason
alleged for this arbitrary provision of the law;
but it is quite probable that support against danger
of a more temporal character was another motive.
There were those within the fort who believed the
smoking piles that were to be seen, here and there
in the clearings on the hills, owed their destruction
to a disregard of that protection which was thought
to be yielded to those who leaned with the greates
confidence, even in the forms of earthly transactions
on the sustaining power of an all-seeing and all-directing
Providence. Among this number was Reuben
Ring, who submitted to the loss of his habitation,
as to a merited punishment for the light-mindedness

that had tempted him to erect a dwelling at
the utmost limits of the prescribed distance.

As the party of Dudley retreated, that sturdy
yeoman stood at a window of the chamber in which
his prolific partner with her recent gift were safely
lodged, for in that moment of confusion, the husband
was compelled to discharge the double duty
of sentinel and nurse. He had just fired his piece,
and he had reason to think with success, on the
enemies that pressed too closely on the retiring party,
and as he reloaded the gun, he turned a melancholy
eye on the pile of smoking embers, that now
lay where his humble but comfortable habitation
had so lately stood.

“I fear me, Abundance,” he said, shaking his
head with a sigh, “that there was error in the measurement
between the meeting and the clearing.
Some misgivings of the lawfulness of stretching
the chain across the hollows, came over me at the
time; but the pleasant knoll, where the dwelling
stood, was so healthful and commodious, that, if it
were a sin, I hope it is one that is forgiven! There
doth not seem so much as the meanest of its logs,
that is not now melted into white ashes by the fire!”

“Raise me, husband,” returned the wife, in the
weak voice natural to her feeble situation; “raise
me with thine arm, that I may look upon the place
where my babes first saw the light.”

Her request was granted, and, for a minute, the
woman gazed in mute grief at the destruction of
her comfortable home. Then, as a fresh yell from
the foe rose on the air without, she trembled, and
turned with a mother's care towards the unconscious
beings that slumbered at her side.

“Thy brother hath been driven by the heathen
to the foot of the palisadoes,” observed the other,
after regarding his companion with manly kindness

for a moment, “and he hath lessened his force by
many that are wounded.”

A short but eloquent pause succeeded. The woman
turned her tearful face upwards, and stretching
out a bloodless hand, she answered—

“I know what thou wouldst do—it is not meet
that Sergeant Ring should be a woman-tender, when
the Indian enemy is in his neighbor's fields! Go to
thy duty, and that which is to be done, do manfully!
and yet would I have thee remember how many
there are who lean upon thy life for a father's
care.”

The yeoman first cast a cautious look around
him, for this the decent and stern usages of the Puritans
exacted, and perceiving that the girl who occasionally
entered to tend the sick was not present,
he stooped, and impressing his lips on the cheek of
his wife, he threw a yearning look at his offspring,
shouldered his musket, and descended to the court.

When Reuben Ring joined the party of Dudley,
the latter had just issued an order to march to the
support of those who still stoutly defended the
southern entrance of the village. The labor of securing
necessaries was not yet ended, and it was on
every account an object of the last importance to
make good the hamlet against the enemy. The
task, however, was not as difficult as the force of
the Indians might, at first, have given reason to believe.
The conflict, by this time, had extended to
the party which was headed by Content, and, in
consequence, the Indians were compelled to contend
with a divided force. The buildings themselves,
with the fences and out-houses, were so many breast-works,
and it was plain that the assailants acted
with a caution and concert, that betrayed the direction
of some mind more highly gifted than those
which ordinarily fall to the lot of uncivilized men.

The task of Dudley was not so difficult as before,

since the enemy ceased to press upon his march,
preferring to watch the movements of those who
held the fortified house, of whose numbers they
were ignorant, and of whose attacks they were evidently
jealous. As soon as the reinforcement reached
the Lieutenant who defended the village, he
commanded the charge, and his men advanced with
shouts and clamor, some singing spiritual songs,
others lifting up their voice in prayer, while a few
availed themselves of the downright and perhaps
equally effective means of raising sounds as fearful
as possible. The whole being backed by spirited
and well-directed discharges of musketry, the effort
was successful. In a few minutes the enemy fled,
leaving that side of the valley momentarily free
from danger.

Pursuit would have been folly. After posting a
few look-outs in secret and safe positions among the
houses, the whole party returned, with an intention
of cutting off the enemy who still held the meadows
near the garrison. In this design, however,
their intentions were frustrated. The instant they
were pressed, the Indians gave way, evidently for
the purpose of gaining the protection of the woods;
and when the whites returned to their works, they
were followed in a manner to show that they could
make no further movement without the hazard of
a serious assault. In this condition, the men in and
about the fort were compelled to be inefficient
spectators of the scene that was taking place
around the “Heathcote-house,” as the dwelling of
old Mark was commonly called.

The fortified building had been erected for the
protection of the village and its inhabitants, an object
that its position rendered feasible; but it could
offer no aid to those who dwelt without the range of
musketry. The only piece of artillery belonging to
the settlement, was the culverin which had been discharged

by the Puritan, and which served for the
moment to check the advance of his enemies. But
the exclamations of the stranger, and the appeal
to his men, with which the last chapter closed,
sufficiently proclaimed that the attack was diverted
from the house, and that work of a bloody character
now offered itself to those he and his companion
led.

The ground around the dwelling of the Heathcotes
admitted of closer and more deadly conflict
than that on which the other portions of the combat
had occurred. Time had given size to the
orchards, and wealth had multiplied and rendered
more secure the inclosures and out-buildings. It
was in one of the former that the hostile parties
met, and came to that issue which the warlike
stranger had foreseen.

Content, like Dudley, caused his men to separate,
and they threw in their fire with the same guarded
reservation that had been practised by the other
party. Success again attended the efforts of discipline;
the whites gradually beating back their enemies,
until there was a probability of forcing them
entirely into the open ground in their rear, a success
that would have been tantamount to a victory.
But at this flattering moment, yells were heard behind
the leaping and whooping band, that was still
seen gliding through the openings of the smoke, resembling
so many dark and malignant spectres
acting their evil rites. Then, as a chief with a turbaned
head, terrific voice, and commanding stature,
appeared in their front, the whole of the wavering
line received an onward impulse. The yells redoubled;
another warrior was seen brandishing a
tomahawk on one flank, and the whole of the deep
phalanx came rushing in upon the whites, threatening
to sweep them away, as the outbreaking
torrent carries desolation in its course.

“Men, to your square!” shouted the stranger,
disregarding cover and life, together, in such a
pressing emergency; “to your square, Christians,
and be firm!”

The command was repeated by Content, and echoed
from mouth to mouth. But before those on the flanks
could reach the centre, the shock had come. All
order being lost, the combat was hand to hand,
one party fighting fiercely for victory, and the other
knowing that they stood at the awful peril of their
lives. After the first discharge of the musket and
the twang of the bow, the struggle was maintained
with knife and axe; the thrust of the former, or the
descent of the keen and glittering tomahawk, being
answered by sweeping and crushing blows of the
musket's but, or by throttling grasps of hands that
were clenched in the death-gripe. Men fell on each
other in piles, and when the conqueror rose to shake
off the bodies of those who gasped at his feet, his
frowning eye rested alike on friend and enemy. The
orchard rang with the yells of the Indians, but the
Colonists fought in mute despair. Sullen resolution
only gave way with life; and it happened more than
once, that fearful day, that the usual reeking token
of an Indian triumph was swung before the stern
and still conscious eyes of the mangled victim from
whose head it had been torn.

In this frightful scene of slaughter and ferocity,
the principal personages of our legend were not idle.
By a tacit but intelligent understanding, the stranger
with Content and his son placed themselves back to
back, and struggled manfully against their luckless
fortune. The former showed himself no soldier of
parade; for, knowing the uselessness of orders when
each one fought for life, he dealt out powerful blows
in silence. His example was nobly emulated by Content;
and young Mark moved limb and muscle with
the vigorous activity of his age. A first onset of the

enemy was repelled, and for a moment there was a
faint prospect of escape. At the suggestion of the
stranger, the three moved, in their order, towards
the dwelling, with the intention of trusting to their
personal activity when released from the throng.
But at this luckless instant, when hope was beginning
to assume the air of probability, a chief came
stalking through the horrible mêlée, seeking on each
side some victim for his uplifted axe. A crowd of
the inferior herd pressed at his heels, and a first
glance told the assailed that the decisive moment
had come.

At the sight of so many of their hated enemies
still living, and capable of suffering, a common and
triumphant shout burst from the lips of the Indians.
Their leader, like one superior to the more vulgar
emotions of his followers, alone approached in silence.
As the band opened and divided to encircle the victims,
chance brought him, face to face, with Mark.
Like his foe, the Indian warrior was still in the freshness
and vigor of young manhood. In stature, years,
and agility, the antagonists seemed equal; and, as
the followers of the chief threw themselves on the
stranger and Content, like men who knew their leader
needed no aid, there was every appearance of a
fierce and doubtful struggle. But, while neither of
the combatants showed any desire to avoid the contest,
neither was in haste to give the commencing
blow. A painter, or rather sculptor, would have
seized the attitudes of these young combatants for
a rich exhibition of the power of his art.

Mark, like most of his friends, had cast aside all
superfluous vestments ere he approached the scene
of strife. The upper part of his body was naked to
the shirt, and even this had been torn asunder by
the rude encounters through which he had already
passed. The whole of his full and heaving chest was
bare, exposing the white skin and blue veins of one

whose fathers had come from towards the rising
sun. His swelling form rested on a leg that seemed
planted in defiance, while the other was thrown in
front, like a lever, to control the expected movements.
His arms were extended to the rear, the
hands grasping the barrel of a musket, which threatened
death to all who should come within its sweep.
The head, covered with the short, curling, yellow
hair of his Saxon lineage, was a little advanced
above the left shoulder, and seemed placed in a
manner to preserve the equipoise of the whole frame.
The brow was flushed, the lips compressed and resolute,
the veins of the neck and temples swollen nearly
to bursting, and the eyes contracted, but of a gaze
that bespoke equally the feelings of desperate determination
and of entranced surprise.

On the other hand, the Indian warrior was a man
still more likely to be remarked. The habits of his
people had brought him, as usual, into the field, with
naked limbs and nearly uncovered body. The position
of his frame was that of one prepared to leap;
and it would have been a comparison tolerated by
the license of poetry, to have likened his straight
and agile form to the semblance of a crouching
panther. The projecting leg sustained the body, bending
under its load more with the free play of muscle
and sinew than from any weight, while the slightly
stooping head was a little advanced beyond the perpendicular.
One hand was clenched on the helve
of an axe, that lay in a line with the right thigh,
while the other was placed, with a firm gripe, on the
buck-horn handle of a knife, that was still sheathed
at his girdle. The expression of the face was earnest,
severe, and perhaps a little fierce, and yet the whole
was tempered by the immovable and dignified calm
of a chief of high qualities. The eye, however, was
gazing and riveted; and, like that of the youth

whose life he threatened, it appeared singularly
contracted with wonder.

The momentary pause that succeeded the movement
by which the two antagonists threw themselves
into these fine attitudes, was full of meaning.
Neither spoke, neither permitted play of muscle,
neither even seemed to breathe. The delay was
not like that of preparation, for each stood ready
for his deadly effort, nor would it have been possible
to trace in the compressed energy of the countenance
of Mark, or in the lofty and more practised
bearing of the front and eye of the Indian, any
thing like wavering of purpose. An emotion foreign
to the scene appeared to possess them both, each
active frame unconsciously accommodating itself
to the bloody business of the hour, while the inscrutable
agency of the mind held them, for a brief
interval, in check.

A yell of death from the mouth of a savage who
was beaten to the very feet of his chief by a blow
of the stranger, and an encouraging shout from the
lips of the latter, broke the short trance. The
knees of the chief bent still lower, the head of the
tomahawk was a little raised, the blade of the knife
was seen glittering from its sheath, and the but
of Mark's musket had receded to the utmost tension
of his sinews, when a shriek and a yell, different
from any before heard that day, sounded near. At
the same moment, the blows of both the combatants
were suspended, though by the agency of very
different degrees of force. Mark felt the arms of
one cast around his limbs, with a power sufficient
to embarrass, though not to subdue him, while the
well-known voice of Whittal Ring sounded in his
ears—

“Murder the lying and hungry Pale-faces! They
leave us no food but air—no drink but water!”

On the other hand, when the chief turned in
anger, to strike the daring one who presumed to
arrest his arm, he saw at his feet the kneeling figure,
the uplifted hands, and agonized features, of Martha.
Averting the blow that a follower already aimed
at the life of the suppliant, he spoke rapidly in his
own language, and pointed to the struggling Mark.
The nearest Indians cast themselves on the already
half-captured youth. A whoop brought a hundred
more to the spot, and then a calm as sudden, and
almost as fearful, as the previous tumult, prevailed
in the orchard. It was succeeded by the long-drawn,
frightful, and yet meaning yell by which the
American warrior proclaims his victory.

With the end of the tumult in the orchard, the
sounds of strife ceased in all the valley. Though
conscious of the success of their enemies, the men
in the fort saw the certainty of destruction, not only
to themselves, but to those feeble ones whom they
should be compelled to leave without a sufficient
defence, were they to attempt a sortie to that
distance from their works. They were therefore
compelled to remain passive and grave spectators
of an evil they had not the means to avert.