University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

Runners arrived the next day from Hoy's, Bryant's,
Logan's, and Harrod's stations, with the startling intelligence
that Indians had been seen in their respective vicinities.
From the simultaneous appearance of the enemy in
different places, it was inferred that all the forts were to be
attacked at once, and, if possible, demolished at a blow.

Preparations were made to repel any assault, and to
withstand a siege. The grain was gathered and all the
stock confined within the hollow square of cabins.

Nor had these measures been taken a moment too soon;
for, the day afterward, the enemy appeared in considerable
force on the south side of the river, and surrounded the station.
They consisted principally of Indians,—Wyandots,
Shawnees, and Western Delawares; a small party of British
from Canada, commanded by Duquesne; and some half
a dozen renegade Americans, among whom were the Girtys.

Duquesne desired a parley, and professed to have been
charged by Governor Hamilton to offer such terms as could
be honourably accepted by the settlers. But their treacherous
purpose was soon discovered.

From that moment the deadly strife began. On all
sides the fort was assailed, for it was surrounded completely.
But the fatal aim of Kenton, McSwine, and others, stretched
so many of the savages on the plain that they were compelled,
in despite of Duquesne's orders, to fall back and
seek shelter behind the trees and under the protecting
bank of the river.

At night the assault was renewed, and the besieged had
to fire at the flash of the enemy's guns. The night was
dark, the sky overcast with clouds; and the blazing arrows
whizzing through the air, the continued fire of rifles without,
in a crescent form, extending half-way round the fort,
and, within, radiating outward to the enemy, formed a
grand and terrific spectacle.

The females moulded bullets for their defenders and
carried them food, so that they might not be under the
necessity of abandoning their posts; and a certain number
of the men, who were not expert with the rifle, or unpractised
in shooting “at the flash,” as it was called, were
detailed for the purpose of watching the blazing arrows
and extinguishing the roofs and sides of the cabins when
ignited. Among these Paddy had been placed, much
against his will, for he greatly preferred peering through a
small loophole to exposing his person on the huts.

“And now, Mr. Bone,” said he, leaping down, “I
naadn't stay up there ony more, for all the water's spilt.”

Boone long remained silent. His great error—indeed
the only error he had committed in the location of his fort—
was now painfully apparent. The spring was some distance
above, and in possession of the enemy! The stock
of water, as Paddy said, was exhausted!

“Fill your buckets with the damp earth!” the pioneer
exclaimed; “and if that gives out you must roll upon the
fire and smother it with your hands. If one cabin burns,
all must go, and every one of us will be scalped!”

Paddy rushed back to his post, pale and desperate. He
thought it better to be shot than burned; but he kept as
much as possible in the lee of the apex of the roofs.

So far, only two of the garrison had fallen; but the
enemy suffered severely, and the death-halloo was heard
continually, as Boone, or Kenton, or McSwine, fired “at
the flash,”—an achievement hitherto unattained by the Indians.

At first they believed their warriors were accidentally
stricken; but it could not long escape their observation
that they always received the fatal wound in the head,
and most generally in the eye, and when in the act of
firing themselves. This discovery induced them to observe
greater caution, and not to fire more than once or twice
from the same position.

Toward morning a smart shower fell, much to the relief
of the garrison, and apparently in answer to the petition
of the Rev. Mr. Jones, who watched and prayed alternately.
And about this time the besiegers ceased firing, and it was
believed by some they had abandoned the attempt to reduce
the forst. This illusion, however, was soon dispelled. For,
early in the morning, Kenton, stuffing his buckskin coat
with straw and surmounting it with his cap, pushed the
effigy through an orifice in the roof. It represented one
looking out boldly on a field supposed to be deserted by
the enemy. In an instant several sharp reports were
heard, and, Kenton making the man of straw fall back in
imitation of one fatally wounded, a yell of savage exultation
was uttered

“Look at that, Sue!” said Kenton, pointing to the perforations
in his garment.

“I'll mend it for you, Simon,” said she.

“Yes, you'll mend my coat, but you don't care for the
wound under my vest.”

“That was not done by a savage,” said Mary, smiling
composedly, being familiar with such scenes.

“A savage could not be more unfeeling,” said Kenton.
Then, listening to the reiterated shouts without, he continued,
“The yellow d—ls know my coat, and are rejoicing
over my death. You see, Sue, what a great man
I am in their opinion. They count me six, and I am six
in any common crowd! But won't I astonish 'em when
they see me the next time?”

They were interrupted by the entrance of Boone and
Charles, with excited countenances.

“Oh, what is the matter now?” asked Julia.

“Be not alarmed, Julia,” said Charles, taking her cold
hand. “We shall defeat them yet. Boone has conceived
a plan which will frustrate the purpose of Duquesne and
Girty.”

“What purpose do you allude to?”

“Have you not seen how turbid the river has become?”

“Yes. It has been observed by all. Was it not caused
by the rain?”

“Look at the stream above the spring.”

Julia did so, and perceived it was clear, and then exclaimed,
“They are mining! They will burst up the ground
and appear in our midst!”

“No! be the powers, no!” cried Paddy, springing up.
“And is it undermining us they're afther? Let Paddy
alone for countermining 'em. He'll be in his ilement with
the spade. Misther Bone, if ye'll give me a spade, I'll do
the sarvice of three men. I'll give the yaller blackguards
a lesson in the art o' digging!”

Boone smiled, and said if Paddy and a few others would
work with expedition the danger would soon disappear.
And Paddy performed wonders with the spade,—his natural
implement. But again great distress was felt for the want
of water, which, however, was never suspected by Duquesne,
who doubted not a well had been dug in the fort.

Another shower fell during the day and revived the spirits
of the besieged; and toward evening, from the accumulation
of earth thrown up by Paddy and his co-labourers,
the Scots, the enemy, perceiving their design had been
counteracted, abandoned the attempt to effect a subterranean
passage. They recommenced firing from several
points, and manœuvering in such manner as seemed likely
to produce a sally from the garrison. Once, for the purpose
of inducing the whites to come forth, they affected to
be panic-stricken and in full retreat on one side, while on
the other all was silent and still, as if no foe lurked in the
vicinity.

It was in vain. Boone and Charles understood their
purpose, and succeeded for a long time in restraining the
more impetuous and less experienced of their friends from
pursuing the enemy.

There was one man, however, more intractable than the
rest, named McGary, who swore that half the men were
cowards; and, late in the day, when the foe made a final
effort to draw them out on the east, McGary, in disregard
of the urgent remonstrances of Boone, issued forth, followed
by a few others, and charged the savages. Instantly,

as had been apprehended, the main body of Indians sprang
up from the place of their concealment on the west, and
made desperate efforts both to storm the garrison and to
intercept the sallying party. They reached the gate of the
enclosure, which they hacked with their tomahawks. In
several places they succeeded in setting fire to the cabins,
while a detachment, led by Girty, got between McGary
and the station.

Boiling rain-water and molten lead were contributed by
the women to aid in repelling the attack; and the fire was
extinguished and the assailants hurled back with loss. But
the situation of McGary and his men became desperate.

Driven from the gate and the cabins, the main body of
the enemy were soon concentrated near the spring, and
kept up an incessant firing on the men who had inconsiderately
left the defences and were now endeavouring to
fight their way back to the friendly shelter.

McGary's men at length concealed themselves in a “sink-hole,”—a
funnel-shaped depression in the earth often met
with in Kentucky,—about ninety paces distant from the fort,
but not more than forty from the spring. From this position
they returned the fire of the enemy at the embankment
of the river, but were liable at any moment to be
assailed from an opposite direction by the decoying savages
they had gone in pursuit of.

“There!” exclaimed Boone, listening intently, “they
are doomed unless we save them! Girty is coming on the
other side!”

“Let's plunge into 'em heels over head!” said Kenton.

“I don't believe any are now on the west of us,” said
Charles.

Boone darted a look of admiration at the young man.

“That's the idea!” said he. “They must not kill
McGary. Take the Scots with you into the brake and
make a circuit beyond the sink-hole. Give the attacking
halloo as a signal. We will meet you at the spring.”

Words were few and brief, and the order was executed
without delay. The enemy retreated up the river, leaving
a number of their dead on the ground, and McGary was
rescued, but not without the loss of several of his men.

Charles and Kenton followed the foe until they made a
stand in the thick woods, when Boone sent them word—

himself remaining at the spring, supplying the garrison with
water—to desist from the pursuit.

The order was well timed; for the enemy, recovered from
the surprise, were preparing to charge in turn. And when
the whites were re-entering the garrison the bullets of the
Indians were pattering around them.

The exasperated Indians exposed themselves more recklessly
than ever, and challenged the white men to come
forth again and have a fair fight in an open field. The
garrison, being outnumbered three to one, of course declined
the invitation.

In the course of the day the besiegers were reinforced
by several straggling parties; and on each occasion the
accession was announced by a particular halloo, well understood
by Charles.

“That was the fierce howl of the Senecas,” said Charles
to Julia, whom he had briefly joined.

“The Senecas!” iterated Julia, in terror. “I hoped
they were gone! Their presence here is proof that you or
I, or both, have especial reason for painful forebodings.”

“I think not,” said Charles. “No doubt it is the party
which captured you, and some of the servile instruments
of the vengeful Esther. They fear to appear in her presence
without being able to conduct one or both of us thither
as prisoners.”

“And what do you suppose would be our fate?” asked
Julia.

“If the council of sachems did not interfere it would be
a terrible one. The longer Esther hates, the more implacable
she becomes; and we have thus far thwarted her
designs.”

“Yes, it is that party; I know it now,” said Julia,
listening to a familiar sound.

This was the braying of Peter Shaver's ass; and it was
followed by the shouts and mirthful laughter of the Indians
and British. No chief among them seemed to attract more
attention than the renowned Popcorn.

Just then Paddy ran in.

“Och, Misther Charles,” said he, with wide-staring eyes,
“Misther Bone wants me to go out and help Misther
Kenton, who's as crazy as a loon, to catch his horse. It
got out of the gate and is playing round the fort, and the

bloody savages are watching to kill the first man who lays
hands on him.”

“If it is Kenton's favourite steed,” said Charles, it
must be recovered, or its master will be lost.”

“And Misther Bone says I ought to go out and expose
me body as a target, because the horse knows me. I shall
be careful in forming intimate acquantances with other
paple's horses hereafther! I'll shoot, or I'll dig, but I
won't go out horse-hunting wid the blackguard savages!”

When Charles accompanied Paddy to the gate, which
was held partly open to admit of ready ingress if Simon
should return with his steed, he beheld a spectacle which
riveted him to the spot. The horse, having become impatient
of his confinement, was now making amends by
taking sufficient exercise. He ran round playfully, but
would not permit Kenton to approach near enough to place
his hand on his mane. He reared, kicked up behind, and
then rapidly circled round his master.

The Indians, hoping to capture the spirited animal, came
from behind the trees and embankments which had sheltered
them, and gazed with interest at the scene. They
hoped the horse would entice his master within their reach;
and they forbore to fire, fearing, if the horse were killed,
Kenton would elude their grasp.

Alternately, when the steed avoided a skilful attempt of
his master to sieze him, or when Kenton by some manœuvre
balked the horse in his purpose of passing him,
shouts of applause and laughter came alike from the besieged
and besiegers. At last, when all eyes were fixed
upon the spectacle, and the deadly strife seemed suspended
by mutual consent, they were startled by the renewed braying
of Peter's ass, and the next instant that distinguished
animal, perhaps recognising the horse as an old acquaintance,
rushed forth from the tangled brake, with the
frightened Peter on his back. Peter strove in vain to turn
him aside, out of the range of the rifles of friend and foe,
to which he was equally exposed.

Fearing the loss or desertion of “Popcorn,” several of
the Indians fired at the ass; but so greatly convulsed were
they with laughter that their aim was wide of the mark,
and Peter was resistlessly borne along toward the fort.
The noble horse pricked forward his ears and stared at the

approaching beast. Evidently he did not recognise his old
acquaintance, whether from contempt of his meaner nature
or because of the change in his aspect—for the Indians
had painted the poor creature most fantastically—was not
obvious; but, snorting loudly, the noble steed turned and
ran toward the gate, followed by Kenton, and both were
quickly admitted within the enclosure, amid the yells and
huzzas of the spectators.

“Don't shoot me! Don't shoot me!” cried Peter, his
braying ass still trotting directly toward the gate. “Don't
shoot!” he continued, with his arms spread out, and his
face turned now toward the fort and now in the direction
of the besiegers. “I ain't an Indian! I ain't an Indian!”
cried he; “and I guess I'm on your side!”

“Who are you?” demanded the man at the gate, who
had never before seen Peter or his ass.

“I'm Peter Shaver! I'm Peter Shaver! Don't shoot!
Let me in!”

Boone himself threw open the gate and admitted Peter.
And when the jack met his numerous acquaintances, male
and female, within the area, he ran about and brayed very
rapturously.

There was much joy over the recovery of the long-lost
Peter, and he was congratulated upon successfully running
the gauntlet of two fires.

“Talking of fires,” said Peter, “I reckon I can tell you
some news that'll keep you from freezing this winter.
The Indians have concluded to burn every mother's son of
you! I saw 'em roast a poor fellow the other day! I
guess I'll never have a pleasant dream again.”

“Was it a drame?” asked Paddy.

“A dream! You'll see soon. They know you. They
say they'll make splinters of the Irishman to kindle the
others with.”

“Och, murther! and will they split me up before they
kill me, and burn me before I'm dead? Och, Paddy,
Paddy! why did ye lave the cabbages of yer own native-born
counthry!”

“That's a sensible remark,” said Peter; “and if I ever
set my toes in Harford streets once more, old Trumbull
may hang me for a Tory before I go fighting the savages
again.”

“Every one to his post!” cried Charles. “They are
coming from all directions!”

“Reserve your fire!” shouted Boone; “and when they're
within twenty paces let each man aim at the one opposite
him. After firing, out with your tomahawks and down
with your rifles!”

The assailants were divided in four parties, approaching
rapidly from the different points of the compass. They
were in number fourfold the strength of the garrison.
But there would have been a very material diminution of
their force if Boone's directions had been followed.

Unfortunately, Paddy's agitation was so great that his
gun went off a moment too soon. Many others, supposing
this a signal, followed his example, but not before the assailants,
as was doubtless concerted, had prostrated themselves,
and thus escaped the fatal effects of the discharge.

`Be jabers, we've kilt ivery blackguard of 'em!” cried
Paddy, in exultation. “Be me sowl, I was mistaken!” he
added, the next moment, upon seeing them rise again;
“they were only stunned.”

The few who reserved their fire now selected their victims,
and their fatal aim produced an astonishing effect on
the savages, who vainly supposed all the rifles were discharged
over their prostrate forms.

“We've stopped them! Now load and fire as fast as you
can!” cried Boone, seeing the enemy reeling and hesitating,
instead of attempting to surmount the picketing. This
order was obeyed with alacrity and complete success on the
sides where Boone and Charles and Kenton commanded. But
on the other, where Girty led, the assaulting party succeeded
in pulling down several of the palisades between the cabins.

They rushed in, tomahawk in hand, and were met by
McSwine and his Scots in the centre of the area. A desperate
conflict ensued, amid yells and shouts, the prancing
of horses and the braying of the jackass. But the
struggle was terminated by the fall of Girty himself, at
whose side the Rev. Mr. Jones had taken a deliberate aim
with his pistol. The Indians and the few British under the
renegade's immediate command bore him out and retreated
under cover of the river-bank. Several of the party, however,
had been left within the enclosure, and these were
immediately tomahawked and scalped.

It was just at this distracting moment, when the battle
was won and the enemy were flying in all directions, that
the ears of Charles were assailed by a familiar voice, and,
looking in the direction whence it proceeded, he beheld,
issuing from the cane on the west of the fort, the form of
his forest sister.

She came, with arms uplifted, crying, “Kill me! kill
me! kill me!”

“Don't fire, for your lives!” shouted Charles, seeing
several of the men aiming at the advancing girl.

He threw open the gate and rushed forth to meet her, at
the same time speaking in a loud voice, and in the Indian
language, to the enemy, beseeching them to spare the sister
of Thayendanegea.

Brown Thrush never lowered her uplifted hands, nor
ceased to cry “Kill me!” until she fell upon the breast of
Charles, who, turning, bore her through the gate into the
fort, where they were instantly surrounded by eager spectators.

“Oh!” cried Julia, pale and tearful, “see the blood!
Who could have done the cruel deed?”

The poor Indian girl was weltering in her gore, inanimate,
but with her arms still clasped round the neck of
Charles.

“Merciful heaven!” gasped Charles, on beholding the
wound in the breast of the poor girl, “who could have done
this? Some miscreant has killed her in my arms!”

Every one in the fort denied having perpetrated the act,
and, as her history was known to most of the garrison, pity
and indignation were felt and expressed by all.

“It was one of Queen Esther's instruments! It must
have been!” said Charles, weeping over his forest sister.

“Bring her into the cabin,” said the Rev. Mr. Jones,
“and she may recover. She is not dead. I feel her heart
beating.”

“See! she revives!” said Julia. “Poor sister!” she
continued; “I will be her nurse.”

Charles followed the preacher with his burden, the arms
of the wounded girl still clinging to his neck; and, when
gently deposited on a couch, her consciousness returned,
and, upon recognising the features of the one she loved, a
sweet smile spread over her face.

“My poor sister,” said Charles, in broken accents, “why
did you expose your tender breast to the aim of the Seneca
dogs?”

“The Brown Thrush had sung her last song,” said she,
in her own musical language, which none but Charles and
Mr. Jones could fully understand. “She longed to go to
the happy land where the bright streams are dancing—
where those who love can never be separated—and where
the warm sunshine is never intercepted by clouds. Your
wild-wood sister was afraid to take her own life, since the
Great Spirit had forbidden it; but she thought he would
not be angry if she had another to kill her. I was so unhappy!
Oh, my brother, when will you come? And must
I travel to the far land alone? How long shall I wait for
thee?”

Charles was incapable of utterance, but wept like a child
over his dying sister. Mr. Jones, perceiving the wound
was mortal, and that the poor girl's life was rapidly ebbing
away, strove to cheer her with such assurances as his mission
authorized him to pronounce.

“Do not weep for me!” said she, seeing the tears of
Charles and Julia. “We shall meet again where tears
cannot come. Then the White Eagle shall love the Brown
Thrush as dearly as the Antelope. I am happy now. My
sight is growing dim, like the mist of the morning; but thou
art near. My sister, give me your warm hand; let me
place it on my cold breast. My brother, be happy; but
don't forget her who charmed thee in the wild woods with
her song. When we meet again in the spirit-land, open
your arms as you did to-day, and clasp your sister to your
heart. When you did so I was happy, though the wound
came at the same moment. I will be more happy there,
where no wounds can reach me. Dig a deep grave by the
spring, and breathe a prayer over thy faded sister! Farewell!”

Her form sank back, and her spirit fled to its eternal
abode. A profound silence ensued, and every head was
bowed in sorrow. The preacher sank upon his knees, and,
although his lips moved in prayer, no one heard his words
but the Invisible Being who alone possessed the ability to
grant his requests.

A flag was sent in the next day by Duquesne with a proposition

for a suspension of hostilities until the dead could
be buried; and, as his party had suffered the most severely,
and he would derive the greatest benefit from a strict fulfilment
of the terms, the request was granted. But the bearer
of the flag was, to the astonishment of the garrison, the
famous Simon Girty himself, whom they believed to be dead,
and most of them had rejoiced in his supposed destruction.
It appeared that a piece of leather in his pocket had saved
his life. The ball of the pistol, however, had stunned him
and brought him to the ground.

The body of the Indian girl, after being shown to the
chiefs of the enemy at their special request, that they
might know she had not been scalped, was enclosed in a
bark coffin and deposited in a deep grave under the weeping-willow
near the spring, as she had requested.

After lingering a few days in the hope of obtaining
horses, but which was blasted by the vigilance of Kenton,
the Indians departed for their homes on the Scioto and
the Little Miami.