University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Byron.

The next day was one of terrible importance
to the people of Wyoming. It brought against
them the combined forces of their unfeeling
enemies. Flushed with victory, and breathing
denunciations of desolation and ruin on the hitherto
flourishing settlements of this fair valley, the
fierce Mohawks and merciless tories, swept along
in their march from the fort of Wintermoot to that
of Wyoming, without meeting any opposition.
The country indeed was deserted before them.
Men, women and children,—the cattle, and all
kinds of easily transported property, had been
hurried off to places of security. In their hasty
flight, however, the fugitives had unavoidably
left much valuable property behind. This, it
is not to be supposed, was spared by the invaders.
Every dwelling was pillaged, and whatever
could not be removed or was not thought
worthy of removal, was destroyed. The plundered

houses were subjected to the flames, and
even the fences of the fields were vengefully
and wantonly demolished.

At length the drums and trumpets of the tories,
and the terrifying war-whoop of the savages,
were heard by the garrison of Wyoming,
and the alarmed multitude of women, children,
aged and infirm under its protection. Every
disposition that judgment and zeal could suggest
towards an effective defence was adopted
by the Governor and his military coadjutor
Colonel Dennison. Their men were divided
between them, and each took his station at a
separate wing of the entrenchment, in order
to repel the enemy from whatever part it
should be assaulted. Upon two sides only
could the fort be easily attacked, and to these
was the defence now chiefly directed.

The assailing force was also divided into two
bodies, the savages and the tories, being ranged
under their respective leaders, Brandt and Butler.
The tories were the first that made the
assault. They advanced toward the moveable
bridge, but found that it was drawn up against
the gate of the parapet. They retired, and in
the course of half an hour constructed a frame
of light timber. This they intended to throw
over the ditch which was now full of water.
In approaching to make the attempt they were

saluted with such an effective volley of musquetry
from the Governor's division that they
could not accomplish their design. They
withdrew, greatly chagrined, with the loss of
nearly a hundred men.

In the meantime the savages had dragged
forward, as near to the fort as they could with
safety approach, a large quantity of rubbish and
timber torn from the houses of the village, in
order to fill the ditch in a quarter where they
thought the entrenchment assailable. But here
they also met with such a warm reception
from the walls as obliged them to desist, after
the destruction of about fifty of their warriors.

Butler and Brandt now held a consultation.
“These pale-faced rebels,” said the latter,
“fight like furies. How shall we penetrate
their strong-hold? To approach it on any side
is destruction.”

“It is an unexpected resistance,” said Butler.
“We must use artifice. Let us withdraw
our men from the reach of danger, and
then deliberate.”

The attack was suspended, and the chiefs
conferred together.

“The rebels manage their affairs better than
I expected,” said Butler. “They know the
strength of their position, and they have availed
themselves of it with much spirit. It is in

vain to exert our force against them while thus
sheltered. We cannot reach their ramparts,
otherwise we might scale them. But our
musketry produces on them no effect, while
theirs, whenever we approach near enough
thins our ranks in the most murderous manner.
Cannon we have none. If we had, the state of
affairs would be different,—this consultation
would not be required. We have the choice
of two measures—to besiege, and endeavour
to starve them into a surrender, or to allure
them out of their strong-hold either by fair
promises or pretended flight. Which shall
we adopt?”

“A siege is tedious,” replied Brandt. “I
love action. My heart rejoices in the excitement
of strife. But flight is shameful. Are
we vanquished that we must leave the field to
the victors?”

“No,” said Butler. “We are not vanquished.
We shall not fly—we shall only retire
to a better position. I dislike the tediousness
and dulness of a siege as much as
thou. The delay might frustrate all our designs.
The rebels are in daily expectation of
succours from their great army. We must
subdue them soon, and possess their fortified
places, or we shall not be able to withstand the
force that may be sent against us. A siege,

therefore, will not answer. But, brother, are
thy people not expert at stratagems? Do ye
not love the animating variety of dextrous
manœuvres, ambuscades, rapid marches, surprises
and sudden actions in war? Are such
not the favourite pastimes of true warriors, who
shun no toil and dread no danger?”

“Brother,” replied Brandt, “thou art skilful.
Thou hast spoken truth. My people
glory in the manœuvres of war. The rapid
march, the silent ambush, and the clamorous
battle are changes that delight them. Exert
thy wisdom—let thy cunning dictate. I and
my people will obey thee.”

Butler being satisfied with this assurance,
took his measures accordingly. He first sent
a message to the garrison summoning it to surrender,
offering them terms more favourable
than he had any intention of fulfilling. The
Governor was inclined to accede to these terms;
but the other leaders were averse to them,
and he was overruled. They insisted that it
would be folly to trust to the professions of so
treacherous a character as Butler, whom no
treaties could bind. Besides, the terms now
offered being only personal safety, and the
guarantee of certain property under the obligation
of never again resisting British authority,
were such as became conquerors only to propose

to the vanquished. But their enemies
were not conquerors; nay, thus far, they were
themselves the victors in the strife. In fine,
the terms were rejected, and Butler hastened
to adopt other measures.

During the attack which had taken place,
Mr. Norwood, who was entrusted with the
maintenance of quiet and regularity in the interior
of the barracks, where those unfit to assist
in the defence were collected, had found
abundant exercise for all his fortitude as a man
and his influence as a divine. The ferocity of the
Indian character, had, by the repetition of a
thousand tales, made a deep impression on the
minds of the women and children. The very
name of Brandt was terrifying to them. It
was connected in their minds with all that was
terrible in savage cruelty or dreadful in human
suffering. Nor was the name of Butler, at this
time, much less appalling than that of his barbarous
confederate. The atrocities committed
under his sanction at fort Wintermoot had
struck them with dismay, for they felt that if
they should fall into his hands, they might expect
nothing but a similar fate. Lamentations
and cries, and prayers to Heaven for protection,
filled every apartment occupied by these
unfortunate people, during the whole continuance
of the firing produced by the action that

had taken place. In the work of consolation
and encouragement, Mr. Norwood was zealous
and active, and he had two assistants whose
zeal and activity were little inferior to his own.
These were his daughter and her friend Mary
Watson. Their own hearts were torn with
anxiety and terror. But they lost not their
presence of mind. They concealed the agitation
which they could not overcome; and,
hastening from one group to another of their
terrified companions, they soothed their alarms
and diffused among them at least a portion of
that courage which they themselves so nobly
exerted.

As soon as the firing ceased, and it was
ascertained that their enemies were beaten off,
the joy and gratitude which pervaded all hearts
were equal to the alarm and despair they had
before experienced. Praises and blessings,
loudly expressed and earnestly felt, were showered
upon their brave defenders. Mothers
pressed their sons to their bosoms, daughters
their fathers, sisters their brothers, and wives
their husbands, with all that ecstacy of delight
and thankfulness with which they would have
hailed their restoration from the dead. After
the first ebullition of joy had subsided, and
tranquillized feelings permitted their thoughts
to arise to the Author of all good, Mr. Norwood

assembled them in the open space between
the barrack and the ramparts, and publicly
offered up to Heaven grateful acknowledgments
for the protection they had experienced,
and earnest entreaties, if it were consistent
with the Divine will, that it might be
continued until their enemies should no longer
seek their destruction.

Intelligence that their enemies were retiring
from before the fort, soon added to their satisfaction.
Scouts were despatched to watch the
proceedings, and if possible ascertain the intensions
of the retiring foe. It was in a short
time ascertained that the tories and the Indians
had separated, and marched off in different directions.
Many supposed or rather hoped,
from this circumstance, that some misunderstanding
had arisen between these confederates,
and if so, that the enterprises of either against
their settlement, if continued, would be easily
resisted and overthrown.

While the minds of the people, in the fort,
were occupied with these and other conjectures
relative to the present aspect of their
affairs, one of the scouts who had been taken
prisoner by the tories, and was released by the
order of Butler, after experiencing from the
latter much unexpected kindness, returned to
the garrison. He reported to the Governor

that Butler was heartily tired of his alliance
with the Indians, on account of their ferocious
cruelty at Fort Wintermoot, as well as the
general obstinacy of their character, which prevented
him from being able to restrain their
excesses, or even to direct their military force
to any useful purpose. The scout also stated,
that besides giving him this information, Butler
had requested him to acquaint the Governor
of Wyoming with his desire to enter into arrangements
by which their differences might be
reconciled, and peace restored to the settlement.

What we ardently wish to be true, we are
extremely ready to believe. The Governor
was, therefore, much disposed to credit this
statement of his kinsman's wishes. There were,
notwithstanding the known perfidy of Butler's
character, many circumstances which countenanced
the supposition that he was sincere in
this instance. The scout, who had conversed
with him, seemed fully convinced of his sincerity.—It
was believed that he had witnessed
cruelties enough to render him sick of such
scenes; he had been worsted in his attempt upon
their fort, and might begin to feel hopeless of
success in his designs; and above all, he had
found his savage allies so intractable that he had
been obliged to separate from them. Why
might he not, therefore, be desirous of a reconciliation

with his former friends who had treated
him with much kindness, and with whom he
had lived in tranquillity and ease.

These reasons operated on the minds of many
besides the Governor. But Mr. Norwood,
Colonel Dennison, and Dr. Watson, placed no
confidence in them. They expressed their
conviction that the professions of Butler were
totally false, and that they were intended
merely as a lure to facilitate the execution of
some stratagem, against which it would be proper
diligently to guard. They, however, believed
that, with due vigilance, his sincerity
might be put to the test, without any risk on
their part. Since so many of their friends,
therefore, were desirous to open the door for a
reconciliation, which might put an end to such
a barbarous and unnatural war, they would
throw no opposition in the way of any prudent
and honourable effort to effect so desirable an
object. But they trusted that if a negociation
were opened with the tories while they continued
to form an armed force, the utmost circumspection
should be used to prevent any surprise,
or the gaining of any undue advantage in a military
respect, by enemies so unprincipled and
unfeeling.

It was, at length, determined that the same
individual who made the report relative to Butler's

wishes, should return to him and ascertain
on what terms he would disband his forces and
accept of the forgiveness and friendship of the
people of Wyoming, who were, even yet, willing
to overlook all his hostility, and restore to him
their former protection and kindness. The messenger
soon returned with Butler's answer,
which was, that if the Governor and any number
of his friends would meet him at an appointed
place, they would confer together, and,
no doubt, speedily agree upon terms.

This reply was certainly vague and unsatisfactory.
It strengthened the doubts of those
who had suspicions of Butler's intentions.
Why should he want the Governor and his
friends to leave their place of security, and
meet him in a situation where, it was evident
they could have no other guarantee for their
safety than his word. Was it not mockery in
him to pretend that he expected they would
rely on the promise or the honour of one who
had already so egregiously deceived them, and
had proved so bitterly their enemy? Yet the
fond hope of bringing the distressing state of
their affairs to a termination could not be slightly
abandoned, and some risk might well be incurred
for the attainment of such an object.

It was therefore agreed that the Governor,
Colonel Dennison, and Mr. Austin, should proceed

to the place appointed. But as it was thought
imprudent for them to go without protection,
they were accompanied by upwards of three hundred
and fifty men well armed, comprising, with
the exception of about sixty soldiers, the whole
force of the garrison. The fort was entrusted to
the care of Dr. Watson and Mr. Norwood, the
former being invested with the military, and
the latter, if we may so term it, with the civil
command which required the performance of
but few more duties than he had hitherto discharged.

The Governor and his party marched out of
the fort in high hopes and joyous spirits, anticipating
a speedy and prosperous return with
their repentant and submissive enemy. When
they had proceeded nearly a mile, they perceived
the enemy's flag about a furlong before them at
a bend of the road. They hastily pushed forward
in order to overtake it; but it receded
as they advanced, continuing for a considerable
time at nearly the same distance from them,
without any accompanying force in view, even
he, who bore it, being but seldom visible. At
length it stopped at the entrance of a defile.
Colonel Dennison, who strongly suspected
treachery, had just advised the Governor to follow,
what he called a deluding meteor, no further.
The Governor was about taking his

advice, and retracing his steps to the fort, when
the stationary appearance of an unprotected
hostile flag at such a short distance from him,
induced him to advance toward it. When the
Wyoming party reached the entrance of the
defile, the flag suddenly disappeared. But further
in advance a white flag was perceived,
which soon began to approach. They awaited
its arrival. The man who carried it stated, that
Butler felt unwilling to subject himself to the
hazard of an interview with the Governor
while attended by so large a party of armed
men personally hostile to him. He proposed
that, if the Governor would select five or six of
his friends, Butler would select the same number
of his own, and attended by these only, they
should meet at the bottom of a high cliff which
he pointed out about a quarter of a mile further
up the defile. In spite of the remonstrances of
Colonel Dennison, the Governor agreed to this
proposal. He left his men in charge of the
Colonel, and accompanied by Mr. Austin and
five others, proceeded to the place appointed.
Butler, with a small party, had reached the
ground a few minutes before them. They had
scarcely met, when the latter retired suddenly
from the group, and sounded a small horn. Instantly
a band of about twenty men, who had
been concealed in an adjoining hollow, rushed
upon the Governor and his friends. They made
a brave resistance until four of them were killed,
among whom was Mr. Austin. The Governor
and another named Dorance, who held the rank
of captain, were taken prisoners. But the latter
was so badly wounded that he died shortly
afterwards.

On perceiving the attack thus treacherously
made upon their friends, Colonel Dennison and
his whole force hastened forward to rescue them
or avenge their fate. They had proceeded but
a short way, when they perceived at some distance
up a narrow rugged ravine in the hill on
their right, a flag which they conceived to be
the fatal one that had decoyed them into this
snare; but their anxiety to save their friends,
whose lives were, before their eyes, so perfidiously
assailed, induced them to hurry forward
without stopping to revenge the injury it had
done them. So rapid indeed was their approach
that they succeeded in rescuing the Governor;
his assailants hastily disappearing behind the
rock at the base of which the assault had taken
place. On advancing to this spot, however,
the Wyoming soldiers were struck with consternation
to behold the whole tory force issuing
from the midst of a dark glen, to attack
them. They had scarcely time to form their
ranks, which had been broken by the rapidity

of their advance, when their hearts were appalled
by the sound of the dreadful savage war-whoop,
which awoke the trembling echoes of
the hills behind them. They turned, and saw
the ferocious warriors of Brandt rushing impetuously
forward to attack them. These savages
had been lying in ambush in the defile where
the Wyoming troops, on passing to the aid of
the Governor, saw the flag which they supposed
had ensnared them into their present appalling
situation. Appalling, indeed, was that
situation. A well armed band of royalists, at
least three times their number, was close upon
them on the one side, while an infuriate
force of red warriors had already attacked them
on the other. There was little time for deliberation,
but what there was, the Governor and
Colonel Dennison improved to the best advantage.
Their force was divided into two parties.
The Governor, at the head of the one which
was somewhat most numerous, waited the onset
of the tories, while Dennison led the other to
attack the savages. The Governor had not to
wait long. In a few minutes, a volley from the
tories levelled about one fourth of his party
to the earth. Their companions, however,
avenged them by a destructive fire upon the
assailants, which for some moments checked
their approach. But it was only for some moments;
for soon an overwhelming torrent of
bayonets rushed into the midst of their ranks,
and consigned them to one general doom—
indiscriminate, unsparing destruction. Cries
for quarter—entreaties for mercy, addressed by
name to those who had received kindness, many
and great, from the imploring victims, were totally
disregarded on this dreadful day, by men
who had hearts harder than tigers and more
unnatural than fiends.

Scarcely a remnant of the Governor's party
escaped this terrible slaughter. He himself,
for some time, fought bravely, and brought
several of his assailants to the ground. He
soon, however, perceived all to be lost in this
quarter, and hastened with about thirty men,
who followed him, to reinforce Colonel Dennison,
who was making head gallantly against
the Indians. On reaching the Colonel's party,
the governor exclaimed—

“All's lost above—the tories have slaughtered
our friends; they are hastening upon ourselves.
Our only chance is, with desperation,
to cut our way through the midst of the savages.
On! my brave men! and as many as
survive, fly to the fort, lest it, too, fall into the
hands of the unmerciful!”

Dashing on, he lead the way. Colonel Dennison
followed, and their whole band rushed to

the same point. The astonished savages were
either overthrown or fell back before them.
But the inveterate and victory-flushed tories
were dealing death upon their rear, and the
thunder of the savage rifles, rolling upon them
from all directions, also dealt destruction at
every step. About forty only succeeded in
escaping from this fatal defile. They hastened
to the fort; the sad remnant of that gallant
band of nearly four hundred patriot soldiers
who had so recently left it in sanguine hopes
and joyous spirits.