 | The Maid of Fort Henry. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West |  |
3. The Maid of Fort Henry.
Reader! come with me, and together let us enter a
wilderness-fort, at a period when our now great Republic
was in its infancy—at a period when the heroes of the
American Revolution were in the very heat of strife, doing
those brave and noble deeds which have brought their
names down to us covered with immortal renown.
There! we now stand within the walls of a Western
fortress; and on all sides we are enclosed by strong palisades,
about eight feet in height, which mark out the
ground, some three-quarters of an acre, in the form of a
parallelogram. At each of the four corners is a block-house
made of logs, which rises above and projects beyond
the stout pickets or palisades; and in each of these block-houses
are loop-holes, which enable us to look out upon
the surrounding country, and also along the outside of the
pickets, without being ourselves exposed to the view of
whatever enemy may be lurking about.
And what do we see? On one side the Ohio river; on
another a straggling wood, stretching back into a mighty
fence; on the fourth a small village of log-houses;
and on all sides hideously painted and half-naked savages.
Yes! we are surrounded by Indians—a large body of
vindictive red men—who are thirsting for the blood of
those who are in the fort with us, for we are not the only
occupants of this stronghold. It is now past one o'clock
of a warm, clear, bright, autumnal day; and since the
golden rising of the sun, there have been some terrible
scenes enacted, and many human beings have passed from
time to eternity by the most violent and bloody of deaths.
Last night—soon after the tenants of yonder log-houses,
which we have pointed out to you, had retired to rest—the
whole village was roused by the alarming intelligence,
brought by an Indian hunter, that a great body of savages
were prowling about the vicinity; and men, women and
children, catching up their most valuable articles, rushed
into the fort, and spent the night here in peace and safety.
This morning the garrison numbered forty-two fighting
males, including several youths, some quite young, but all
brave, and all sharp-shooters.
About daylight this morning, there being no signs of the
enemy, the commandant of the fortress dispatched a white
man and a negro back into the country on an errand—but
the white man never will return. As he was passing
through yonder cornfield, a hideous-looking savage suddenly
and then killed and scalped him. The negro saw the
bloody deed performed, and, with a yell of horror, fled back
to the fort, where he communicated to anxious listeners the
startling fact.
“We must dislodge the enemy, which doubtless is small,”
said Colonel Shepherd, the commandant of the fort. “Captain
Mason, take fourteen picked men, and let the red
devils have a taste of your bravery and skill.”
And Captain Mason marched out with his fourteen brave
followers, through that large gate which you see in the
centre of the eastern line of pickets, and hurried down to
the cornfield, which he thoroughly searched for his savage
foe, but without finding him; and he was on the point of
retracing his steps, when suddenly there came the crack of
a hundred muskets; a hundred balls came whizzing among
his little force, killing several and wounding nearly all;
and then up-rose, on every side—front, flank and rear—
many hundreds of vindictive red men, who, with shrill
whoops and yells, rushed upon the gallant few still living
and began to hew them down. They made a brave resistance—but
what could such a handfull do against such a
host? One by one they fell, and were tomahawked and
scalped. Captain Mason fought desperately; and cutting
his way through the ranks of the enemy, succeeded in
reaching some fallen timber, where, though badly wounded,
him dead.
Twelve more men, under Captain Ogle, rushed from the
fort to cover the retreat of their gallant comrades; but
they too were drawn into an ambuscade, and were all cut
off from rejoining their friends in the fortress—only some
two or three of the party being now alive, secreted in the
underbrush of yonder wood. And still three more of the
little garrison sallied forth to the support of Captain Ogle;
but they were forced to make a hasty retreat, and were
pursued to the very gate of the fort, and fired upon as they
entered, and had one of their number mortally wounded.
And now the siege commenced in earnest. With whoops
and yells of triumph, some five hundred savages surrounded
the fortress, and began to fire upon it. And now the little
garrison—numbering only twelve, all told—began to return
their fire; and so sure was their aim, that some one of the
besiegers bit the dust at every shot. Several times did
the enemy make a rush, in large bodies, to effect a lodgment
under the walls—but the unerring rifles of the heroic
borderers, fired through the loop-holes of the different
block-houses, drove them back in dismay, burdened with
the weight of their fallen comrades.
Once only was there a pause in the conflict. A white
flag was thrust out of a window of one of yonder cabins,
and the head of a white man appeared, demanding, in
Majesty. He read the proclamation of a British
Governor, and promised protection to all in the fort, if
they would surrender at once, and swear allegiance to the
British crown. He was answered with derision.
“If you want the fort, why don't you and your red,
howling devils come and take it?” replied the intrepid
Colonel Shepherd.
“And if we do take it, by—! we'll put to death all
that are in it!” replied the white leader of the savages.
“You would do that even if we surrendered, you redheaded,
white-livered renegade!” was the taunting rejoinder
“No! You shall be protected; I swear it, by all I hold
sacred!”
“And what do you hold sacred, you treacherous scoundrel!”
cried the gallant Colonel. “Bah! Simon Girty, we
know you; and this place shall never be surrendered to
you, while there is an American soldier left to defend it.”
Girty, the renegade—for the white chief was none other
—was about to renew his treacherous proposition, when
one of the men in the fort, becoming exasperated, lodged
a bullet in the logs, just above his head, as a warning of
what he might expect himself, unless he withdrew, which
he did immediately.
Again were hostilities renewed, and continued up to the
the reader.
And now, for the second time since daylight this morning,
have the Indians ceased their assault. It is one
o'clock, and for eight long hours has there been almost
incessant firing. Let us look through the loop-holes.
Away there against the wood, at the base of the hill,
beyond rifle range, you see a body of savages collected,
holding a council of war. Yonder, along the edge of the
cornfield, partly hidden by the fence and partly concealed
among the fallen timber, you may see many dusky forms,
and may readily believe you see only a few of the number
which there lie in wait, as a sort of corps de reserve.
And up among the cabins, yonder, you see a few more
savages—some sauntering about, some peering through the
palings, and some gazing out of the windows. And look
where you may, in every direction you behold Indians.
How is it within the fort? In the centre of the area
which the palisades enclose, in front of yonder row of
cabins—where many a brave father, husband, and son slept
last night, whose mangled bodies now repose in yonder
cornfield—in the centre of the area, I say, a group of men,
women and children are collected. There stand gray-haired
sires, and strippling youths—staid matrons, and
maidens in bloom—and all look sad and anxious. Some
of the men, with doleful faces, are leaning upon their
from their bronzed features; and some of the women are
clasping little innocent infants to their hearts, and looking
down upon them with fond eyes dimmed with tears.
“God help us!” says the gallant Colonel Shepherd—a
fine, noble specimen of humanity, who is standing in the
centre of the group—and as he speaks, he casts down his
eyes and sighs. “If we could only die like soldiers, fighting
to the last, selling our lives at a heavy price to our
accursed foes, it would not seem so hard; but to be compelled
to stand idle and helpless, and see the hideous monsters
enter our stronghold, and butcher our mothers, wives,
sisters, and children, while we ourselves are secured for
future tortures—oh! it is terrible! terrible! And yet it
must come to this soon, if the Indians renew their attack,
unless kind Providence saves us by a miracle. Men,” he
added, with a kindling eye, “you have done nobly—you
have fought like heroes: boys, you are worthy of your
sires—I see no cowards here; and oh! would to God we
all had the means to continue our gallant defence! But
what are rifles without powder? and it is a startling fact
that we have but three rounds left!”
“What an oversight,” says another, “that we did not
fetch all our powder with us! There is a whole keg in my
house; and if we had it now, it would be our salvation.”
“It must be procured,” returns a third.
“But how?” inquires the Colonel. “The Indians are
all around us, and more than a hundred eyes are constantly
on the fort, so that no movement can be made outside the
walls that will not be discovered. And yet, my friends,
that powder must be procured, or we are lost. It is a
perilous undertaking—and, in all probability, whoever
makes the attempt will lose his life, and so I will detail
no one to the duty—but if there is any one here brave
enough to volunteer, I will accept his services; and if he
falls, and we escape, we will remember his name and do it
honor; and if he saves us, and is saved with us, our
blessings shall be upon him through life. Is there any
one present who will volunteer to go into the very jaws
of death?”
Four young men instantly spring forward, and, almost in
the same breath, each exclaims:
“I will go.”
“But we can spare but one of you, my noble lads!”
says the Colonel, while his features flush, and his dark eye
sparkles with pride, at the self-sacrificing bravery of his
young comrades. “Which shall it be?”
“Me!” cries one; “I spoke first.”
“No, no, John—I was ahead of you.”
“No you wasn't, Abe—no such thing.”
“I will leave it to the Colonel, if he didn't hear my
voice first of any!” cries a third.
“I was before you, Joe; I call all here to witness!”
exclaims the fourth.
“Ho! listen to Robert—I was first I tell you!”
“No, I was first!” cries John. “You know I was,
Colonel!”
“But I tell you I am going—for I can run the fastest,
and therefore will stand the best chance of getting back
alive!” cries Abe.
“I can run as fast as the best, and I'm much stronger
than either Abe, Joe, or Robert,” says John, laying his
hand on the Colonel's arm. “Let me go—do! And
besides, I've got no mother or sister here to mourn for me,
if I fall.”
“There!” cries one of the others—“he talks as if he
might fall! and I'm sure I could get back safely.”
Look at their flushed faces, and eager, sparkling eyes,
as thus they wrangle for the privilege of being permitted
to go forth to almost certain death! for the chances are
five hundred to one, that he who leaves the fort for the
village will never return alive. And listen to the murmurs
of approbation which come from the surrounding
circle of females! A mother looks fondly on her son—a
sister looks proudly on her brother—and a maiden's heart
swells with emotions unspeakable, as she hears him who is
the light and life of her world, boldly contend for the right
men would shrink aghast.
“Come! come!” chides the Colonel, at length, speaking
almost sternly to the now angry disputants; “you will
ruin all, unless some of you yield—for the Indians may
renew hostilities at any moment, and then we are lost
indeed. You are all brave, noble fellows; and if I could
spare four, you should all go; but as it is, three of you
must give way to the fourth; and I pray you do so
speedily, for time is precious.”
“I will never yield!” cries one.
“Nor I!” exclaims a second.
“I will go, if I have to scale the walls to get out!”
says a third.
“Colonel, I am the strongest and fleetest, and was the
first to accept your offer; and I demand, therefore, that
you settle the dispute by sending me!”
Look! In the circle of men, women and children that
are now promiscuously gathered around these hot, eager,
passionate youths, do you observe one human face that
wears a very singular expression? that seems to be
animated by some strange and powerful emotion? It is
the face of a young and beautiful female, about whom
there is a certain air of refinement—seen in the grace of
attitude, dress, and general demeanor—which contrasts
rather forcibly with many of her coarse-featured, rustie
alone for its beauty—but to mark the expression
of noble, lofty, heroic resolve which is settling upon
it! Do you see the head gradually straightening back, as
if with pride?—do you see those dark, bright eyes kindle
with the almost fanatical enthusiasm of daring self-sacrifice?—do
you see the warm blood spring upward to the
temples, and broad, white forehead, and finally settle in a
bright, red spot upon either soft, downy cheek, as if the
passion-fires of a mighty soul were already burning within?
—do you see the thin nostrils of a slightly aquiline nose
gradually dilate? and the thin, determined lips gradually
close over those white, even teeth?
There! she moves; and mark, I pray you, the proud
step, as she advances into the center of the circle, and
catches all eyes, and sweeps the whole group of curious
and anxious spectators with a lightning glance! And now
her thin lips part, and she speaks in clear, silver tones.
There is no quivering, no tremulousness, in her voice—
and every other voice is hushed. Listen!
“Hold!” she exclaims: “cease this wrangling! cease
this contention for the privilege of being allowed to throw
away a life that cannot be spared! You are all brave—
almost too brave—since you so eagerly court death for the
honor it will confer on the name of him who may die in
the noble attempt to save the rest. But not another
thirty of the forty-two men we numbered this morning are
gone; and shall we take another from the gallant twelve
that remain? No, no—this must not be! The powder
must be procured from my brother's dwelling—but let the
first attempt to obtain it be made by one who cannot use a
rifle. I will go!”
There is an almost simultaneous burst of “No! no!
no!” from the astonished listeners to this heroic offer.
“I am resolved!” replies the noble heroine; “seek not
to alter my determination!”
“But you will be killed!” cries one.
“Then I shall die with the consolation of knowing that,
so far, this brave little garrison is not weakened.”
“No, no—leave this adventure to us!” cries one of the
late disputants: “we can run faster than you, and are
therefore more likely to be successful. We cannot yield
this peril to a lady, the fairest of her sex, and see her
throw her life away—we should not be acting like men,
and shame would ever rest upon us.”
“The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to
the strong,” proudly replies the noble girl. “What is
my life compared to yours, who can skilfully use the rifle
against our savage foe, and are required here for the protection
of these helpless beings who stand around you?
Look at these little, innocent children, each of whose lives
is on you!”
“Lizzie! Lizzie!” now interposes one of her two
brothers who are present—“this must not be! You
must not go! We cannot suffer it and retain the name
of men. You cannot comprehend what you ask—you
do not consider the peril. Remember, you are just from
Philadelphia, where you have lived in safety, in ease, in
comparative refinement and luxury; and you cannot surely
be aware of the risk, the danger, of trusting yourself alone
with a savage, merciless foe, who spares neither sex nor
age! Consider! there are numbers of Indians strolling
about yonder village, to whom your scalp would be a prize
of victory: consider every thing, and give over this mad
folly!”
“Brother,” replies the fair girl, “you have seen little of
me of late, and you know little of my invincible will, or
you would not attempt to thwart me in what I have
resolved to perform. Come! come! we lose time. Open
yon gate, before it is too late, and let me go! for go I
must: something whispers me that the good God will
sustain me!”
In vain they try, with reason, with remonstrance, with
representations of the danger put in every conceivable
form, with affectionate appeals, with downright pleading,
to induce the brave girl to abandon her purpose; and at
heroic proposition. Instantly this assent is gained, she
strips herself of every unnecessary article of clothing, and
demands that the gate be opened to her.
All crowd to the gate, speaking words of affection,
encouragement and hope. Now it slowly opens, and
attracts the attention of the savages in the village, who
wonder if a sally or surrender is to follow. The fair girl
now fixes her eyes steadily upon her brother's house; the
distance is sixty yards; she measures it in her mind; she
calculates the time that will be required to reach it; she
draws a long breath; and now, like a ball from a cannon,
she bounds from the fortress; and sincere, earnest prayers,
from the hearts of every being she goes forth to save,
ascend to Heaven for her protection and safe return.
See how she flies over the intervening space, with the
basilisk-eyes of many swarthy savages fixed upon her! who
stand amazed at the daring of a woman, and are lost in
wonder at what can be the meaning of such a desperate
act! and how the hearts of her white friends beat with
hope and fear as they behold yard after yard of distance
put between them and her! Will she succeed? Will
those brutal savages stand idle and not molest her! who
is thus, with a noble heroism almost unparalleled in the
annals of history, thrusting herself into their very hands
—putting herself into the power of beings that are
her! How long the distance seems for a space that
is so short!
There! she nears the house; sh reaches it; she enters
it; the eyes of the savages have followed her; and now
they move toward the building; they do intend to capture
her after all; God help her, poor girl! See! they
draw nearer—nearer; they are almost at the door. Why
stays she so long? Why does she not come back while
there is an opportunity? One minute more and it will
be too late!
There! there!—she comes! she comes! She holds
some dark object tightly in her grasp; she has the
powder; the fort will be saved! But no! no!—she is
lost! she is lost! The Indians see her; they now comprehend
her purpose; they bound after her, with terrific
screams and yells; they raise their muskets; they fire;
they throw their tomahawks. Still she comes on—on;
nearer—nearer; the balls pass her; they lodge in the
walls; she is still unharmed. One moment more! They
gain upon her—God help her! One moment more!
Nearer—nearer! And now—see! she bounds through
the gate, and is caught in her brother's arms, almost
fainting. But she has the keg of powder clasped to her
breast; she is safe; the gate shuts behind her. And
for now the fort and all it contains will be saved!
No longer any fear in that lonely fortress!—all is now
hope, and animation, and joy. Soon again the Indians
renew hostilities; but the brave little garrison is prepared
for them; and as fast as they venture forth against its
stout walls, so fast they fall back in the arms of death.
The women cut patches and run bullets; and the men
load and fire, with the utmost rapidity, all the day long;
and as their rifles get heated, they change them for muskets;
and still keep on firing—fearing nothing now—for
they have plenty of ammunition, and as brave a girl to
protect as ever the world saw.
The sun goes down and sees nearly one hundred of their
enemies slain; but not a single life lost within the fort,
and only one man slightly wounded.
And all night long the Indians prowl about, and keep
up an irregular fire upon the fort, but do no harm.
And at break of day, after a siege of twenty-four hours
—during which twelve brave, noble fellows have withstood
five hundred savages—reinforcements arrive; the Indians
become disheartened; they burn the village and kill the
cattle; and at last, with loud yells of disappointment and
rage, they raise the siege and depart.
Such was the siege of Fort Henry, on the present site
year 1777—and such the heroism of its gallant defenders.
Immortal be the name of Elizabeth Zane, the
noble Heroine of Fort Henry.
| The Maid of Fort Henry. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West | |