Chapter Five.
We leave the Indian camp—Maysotta’s kind offer—Our ride to Roaring Water—Indians in the distance—In sight of the farm—A stranger Indian—Our reception by Uncle Jeff—The Indian’s story—He gets food and shelter—Matters now look serious—A council of war—My doubts of the Indian—Clarice and Rachel accompany the lieutenant to the Indian camp—We barricade the house—Disappearance of the Indian—Bartle goes out to reconnoitre—Approach of the enemy—A determined attack—Severe losses—The out-buildings set on fire—Our ammunition runs short—The roof takes fire—How are we to escape?—Uncle Jeff’s ruse, and how it succeeded.
The Indian girl readily undertook the charge of our baggage-mules and property, as well as of the deserters’ wheel-barrow, which she promised should be sent back to the farm. Having secured the muskets of the two men to our own saddles, we made them mount and ride on before us, so that they might have no opportunity of running away. Gillooly pulled as long a face as his jovial countenance was capable of, while that of Klitz elongated even more than was its wont.
“We shall probably have some sharp fighting, my lads; and if you behave well I intend to overlook your conduct; but if not, you must take the consequences,” said the lieutenant.
“Sure, if we get sight of an inemy, I will do nothing to disgrace the name of Gillooly,” answered Barney.
Klitz muttered something in German, but what it was I could not make out. They were neither of them likely to fight for honour and glory; at the same time, I had little doubt but they would blaze away at an enemy, when they knew that by failing to do so they would lose their scalps.
“Tell the ‘Fair Lily’ that I have heard of the danger by which she is threatened, and that if she will come here Maysotta will take care of her, and cherish her as a sister,” said the Indian girl, as I was about to vault into my saddle.
I thanked her, and told her that I was sure Clarice would be glad to meet with her. I was much struck by the artless manners of the young Indian girl, who, although endowed with the features of her race, possessed a beauty rarely seen among them.
“Move on, lads; we must be at Roaring Water before nightfall,” cried the lieutenant. “Keep together, and do not pull rein until I give the order. Remember that I will stand no nonsense; and the first of you who plays any trick, I will shoot him through the head.”
“Arrah! sure, we will be afther obeying your honour, thin,” cried Barney, as he and Klitz galloped on ahead—the lieutenant giving them the order to turn to the right or to the left as was necessary.
We kept on at a good pace. The Indian mustangs, although somewhat small, were strong and wiry; and our horses, having had a good feed, were perfectly fresh. The distance, therefore, which on the previous days—having our mules to drag after us—was slowly traversed, was now quickly got over. But we had to call a halt at noon, by the side of a stream, in order to water our animals and let them feed; while we ourselves took some of the provender which we had brought in our wallets.
Klitz and Barney sat down opposite to us, by the orders of the lieutenant, and ate their meal in silence. They bore their disappointment very well. Perhaps, after their three or four days’ experience, they may have begun to suspect that they would not reach their El Dorado without some considerable difficulty, should they ever get there at all; and they possibly consoled themselves with the idea that, since they had been retaken, they were getting off very cheaply.
Our meal over, we moved on as before. I kept a sharp look-out by the way, and twice I caught sight of figures which I knew must be Indians, moving in the distance, but whether friends or foes it was impossible to say. Perhaps they belonged to Winnemak’s tribe; or, should Maysotta’s account be correct, they might be Arrapahas. They did not approach us, however, and we were allowed to proceed unmolested.
Although we were moving along the line used by emigrant trains, we did not meet a single one; but it was possible that any coming from the eastward might have been attacked by the Arrapahas, or, hearing that an enemy was in the neighbourhood, might have halted for the purpose of defending themselves. When Indians can manage to attack a train on the move, they, in most instances, prove successful; whereas even a small party of white men, when encamped and under the protection of their waggons, can generally keep a large band of warriors at bay.
The fact of our not meeting with any emigrant trains made Maysotta’s report more probable. Of course I felt somewhat anxious about ourselves, for, even although we had a couple of rifles and two muskets, besides our pistols, we might find it a hard matter to drive off any large number of mounted assailants; but I felt far more anxious about the inmates of the farm.
We kept the two men moving ahead of us at such a rate that Barney more than once cried out, “Sure, lieutenant, our bastes will have no wind left in thim at all, at all, if we don’t pull up!”
“Go on, go on,” cried the lieutenant; “do not mind your beasts, as long as they can keep their legs.”
“Thin it’s meself I’d be plading for,” cried Barney, turning round.
“Do not mind yourself either,” answered the lieutenant. “The lives of our friends are at stake, and if we are to help them we must get to the farm without delay.”
Whack, whack, whack went Barney’s stick. The German also urged forward his mustang in the same manner—his feet, from the length of his legs, nearly touching the ground. Indeed, when passing through long grass, his feet were so completely hidden, that, as he kept moving his legs about all the time, it appeared as if he were running along with his horse under him.
At length the mountains which rose above Roaring Water appeared in sight. As we neared them I looked out eagerly from the summit of a ridge we had reached, to ascertain if any Indians were in the neighbourhood; but as none were to be seen, I hoped that we might reach the farm before any attack had been commenced.
As we passed the confines of the property I saw none of our people about; but, as the evening was drawing on, I thought it probable that they had gone home from their work. Still, I felt somewhat anxious; my anxiety being also shared by the lieutenant, who was making his tired beast breast the hill faster than he, as a humane man, would otherwise have done.
As we got close to the house, an Indian started up from behind a copse which grew on the side of the hill. He had neither war-paint nor ornaments on, and looked weary and travel-stained. He was a young, active man; but, at the first glance, I did not like his countenance. A person unaccustomed to Indians cannot easily distinguish one from another, although in reality they vary in appearance as much as white men do; as does also the expression of their countenances.
“Are you going to the farm?” he asked, addressing me. He knew at once by my dress that I was a settler.
“Yes,” I replied. “Why do you put the question?”
“I wish to go there too,” he answered. “I want to tell the Palefaces living there that they are likely to be attacked by enemies who have sworn to take their scalps, and that unless they run away they will all lose their lives.”
“You do not bring us news,” I replied; “but you can accompany us to the farm and speak to the white chief, telling him what you know—although I do not think it likely that he will follow your advice.”
“Come on, come on, Ralph,” cried the lieutenant; “do not lose time by talking to that fellow.”
I quickly overtook my companion; while the Indian followed, notwithstanding his tired appearance, at a speed which soon brought him up with us.
As we rode up to the house, Uncle Jeff appeared at the door.
“What has brought you back?” he exclaimed, with a look of surprise. “Glad to see you, at all events; for we have had our friend Winnemak here with news sufficient to make our hair stand on end, if it were addicted to anything of that sort. He declares that the Arrapahas are coming on in overwhelming force, and that, unless we are well prepared for them, we shall one and all of us lose our scalps. He has gone off again, though, promising to make a diversion in our favour, as he has been unable to get his people to come and assist in defending the farm, which would have been more to the purpose. However, as you have returned,—and brought your two deserters, I see,—we shall be able to beat the varmints off. No fear of it, though they may be as thick as a swarm of bees.”
A few words explained how we had fallen in with the runaways.
The Indian who accompanied us then stepped forward. He told Uncle Jeff that he was a Pawnee, that his name was Piomingo, and that, having a warm affection for the Palefaces, he had come to warn us of the danger in which we were placed, and to advise us forthwith to desert the farm and take to the mountains, for that we had not a chance of defending it against the numerous bands of Arrapahas who were advancing to attack us. They had, he said, put to death all the white men, as well as women and children, they had met with in their progress, as their manner was to spare no one; and they would certainly treat us in the same way.
“We have already heard something of this,” said Uncle Jeff, looking as unconcerned as he could; “but how did you happen to know about it?” he asked.
“I was taken prisoner by the Arrapahas while on my way to visit a young squaw, who is to become my wife. But on the night before I was to be tortured and put to death I managed to make my escape, and came on here at once to tell the Palefaces of their danger, of which I had heard when in the camp of the enemy.”
I suspected that Uncle Jeff did not altogether believe the account given by the Indian. At any rate, he received it with perfect composure.
“We thank you, friend Piomingo, for your good intentions. You are now at liberty to pursue your journey on your intended visit to the young squaw of whom you speak,” he answered.
“I would follow the advice of the Paleface chief, but I am weary and hungry, and require sleep and rest. He would not turn me away like a dog from his door!”
“No, I will not do that,” said Uncle Jeff. “You shall have as much food as you require, and you can lie down and sleep until you are rested; after that, you shall be welcome to depart.”
The Indian expressed his gratitude in a much longer speech than the occasion required; but when Rachel brought some food he ate it voraciously, as if he really were as hungry as he had asserted.
Clarice blushed and smiled, when the lieutenant told her how anxious he had been made by the report he had received from Maysotta, and how glad he was for the opportunity of returning.
The sergeant was by this time much better, and able to move about. Pat, too, had behaved very well. The four farm hands had been brought into the house, and Sergeant Custis and Pat had been regularly drilling them, and teaching them how to handle their muskets properly.
I found that Uncle Jeff considered matters far more serious than he had at first been willing to do. Winnemak had been urging him to allow Clarice, attended by Rachel, to quit the farm—promising to conduct them to his daughter, and to afford them protection. Should the farm be attacked, it was quite possible that the defenders might have, as a last resource, to cut their way out; and, encumbered with the two women, the risk they would have to run would be far greater than if they had only themselves to think of.
“I cannot help acknowledging that our Indian friend’s advice is sound,” observed Uncle Jeff. “If we knew that Clarice and Rachel were safe, we should fight with far more freedom than we could do with them in the house. And if matters came to the worst, we should, as he says, be able to escape with far less difficulty than if we had them to look after.”
“I am very unwilling to desert you,” said the lieutenant; “but, under the circumstances, if you will confide your niece to my care, with her attendant, I will undertake to escort them to the Indian camp, where the chief’s daughter is ready to receive her. Indeed, the Indian girl proposed this herself, and seemed to be aware of what her father had advised you to do.”
While we were talking, I observed that the stranger was listening, and apparently doing his best to take in what we said. Though he was a handsome young fellow, yet, as I before remarked, I did not like the expression of his countenance; it now struck me that it had a cunning, sinister look. Whenever he saw my eyes directed towards him, he turned away, and appeared to be thinking only of the food he was eating.
I have elsewhere alluded to my talent as an artist. While Winnemak was with us, I had made a tolerably fair portrait of him; indeed, it was considered a good likeness, and was hung up against the wall. As Piomingo was passing it, I saw him start in a way an Indian seldom does; and he then stood gazing earnestly at it for a minute or more.
“Who is that man?” he asked, pointing to the portrait.
I told him.
“Ah, bad man!” he muttered; “take care what he do.”
“We think him a good man; he is a friend of ours.”
He shook his head, but said nothing more. After this, instead of lying down, he stole near to where Uncle Jeff, the lieutenant, and I were talking; although, unless he knew English much better than he seemed to do, he could not have been any the wiser.
Uncle Jeff considered seriously the proposal made by Winnemak, and now repeated by the lieutenant.
“Yes,” he said at length, “I am sure it is the best plan. I will entrust my niece and Rachel to your charge. I conclude you will take your men with you! Indeed, although we can ill spare any hands, I wish Ralph to accompany you, if you will allow him.”
“You may trust me, Mr Crockett, that I will defend your niece and her attendant with my life; but I shall be very glad to have the aid of your nephew,” answered Lieutenant Broadstreet. “With regard to my own men, I propose taking only the most trustworthy, Sergeant Custis and Sperry; the other two I will leave with you, for they will, at all events, fight as well as better men within walls, and I can more readily spare them than the others.”
On hearing this arrangement, I was placed in a dilemma. I did not at all like the idea of being compelled to quit the post of danger; while at the same time I felt it was my duty to assist in protecting Clarice. I told the lieutenant how I felt on the subject.
“I will speak to your uncle,” he answered; “and if you wish to remain, I will assure him that your coming is not absolutely necessary. We may hope to reach the Indian camp early to-morrow, and your sister will then be placed under the charge of the Indian chief and his daughter.”
When I put the question to Clarice, she replied,—“I would infinitely rather have you with me; but if you believe that it is your duty to remain with Uncle Jeff, I could not bear the thought of your leaving him. Besides, he seems to be confident that he will be able to beat off the enemy, should the farm be attacked.”
I confess that I was in two minds on the subject until the last moment.
The plans being arranged, no time was lost in making the necessary preparations. The horses which had been selected for the journey having been well fed and watered, were brought to the door. Clarice was soon ready. She was a good horse-woman, and even Rachel had been accustomed to the saddle in former years.
I wrung my friend’s hand.
“You will take care of my sister, I know you will,” I said as I parted from him.
“Indeed, Ralph, I will,” he answered solemnly; and I felt that she was as safe as she would have been had I accompanied her.
The moon was now shining brightly, and enabled the lieutenant and his companions to pursue their way at a rapid rate. They took no baggage except such as could be strapped to the saddles of their horses; they were, therefore, not impeded as we had been by slow-moving mules. It was nearly midnight when they set off; and as little noise as possible was made when they left the house, in case any of the enemy’s scouts watching in the neighbourhood might hear them.
The stranger Indian had, some time before the party set off, thrown himself on a buffalo robe in a corner of the room, and was apparently asleep; but I suspected that he knew pretty well all that was going forward. He remained, however, without moving, as if in a sound slumber.
As soon as Uncle Jeff and I returned (we had accompanied our friends a little way down the hill), Uncle Jeff addressed his small garrison.
“Putting all things together, lads,” said he, “I believe these Redskin varmints whom we have been hearing of for some days past will really at last make an attempt to rob the farm; but I know that you will fight to the last, and we shall manage to drive them off. There is no reason why we should not feel confident of success. We have a good store of powder and bullets, with trustworthy rifles and muskets; and what more, pray, can men wish for?”
The men, one and all, promised to stand by him.
“That is all I want,” he answered. “The first thing we have to do is to barricade the lower windows and the doors, so that while we are defending one side the Indians may not walk in at the other.”
There were ten of us altogether, and having abundance of tools and materials, we soon put the building in a state of defence, with loopholes on all sides. Before the doors were finally closed, Uncle Jeff told Bartle to bring in his favourite horse “Jack;” the remainder of the animals had been turned loose to seek their own safety.
The day dawned, but as nothing had yet been seen of our expected enemies, Bartle agreed to go out and ascertain their whereabouts as soon as the sun rose above the horizon. Bartle was too old a scout to care whether he had to approach an enemy in daylight or darkness; his only object at present was to find out if the Indians were really marching towards the farm.
While we were busily engaged in barricading the house, no one had thought of our Redskin visitor. When last seen he was apparently wrapped in slumber.
“I suppose we may count on Piomingo as one of the defenders of the house; he probably knows how to use a rifle,” observed Uncle Jeff, near whom I was working. “Go and speak to him. Say that we expect him to do his duty; and ask him if he knows how to load a rifle.”
As soon as I had finished the work I was about, I went to where Piomingo had been lying down. He was not there; I looked everywhere about for him, but he had disappeared. No one had seen him leave the house, so that, if he was not still within, he must have watched his opportunity when our eyes were off him, and slipped out.
What his object was in coming, and then going away secretly, it was difficult to say. His departure was suspicious, too; he might have visited us with treacherous intentions. But perhaps he was merely a coward, and finding that we would not take his advice and desert the farm, he had escaped, to avoid the danger to which he would be exposed. However, if he intended treachery, it was better to have him out of the way.
“Maybe, afther all, the spalpeen is hiding somewhere,” observed Gillooly, when he found that we were inquiring for the Indian; “if he is anywhere inside, sure I’ll ferret him out;” and the Irishman immediately began poking his nose into every hole and cranny in the building.
“Bedad! he’s convarted himself into a rat, for nowhere can I find him in any hole that a mortal man could stow himself into!” exclaimed Barney, after a long search.
I have not yet described the building which, if we were attacked, was to serve as our fortress. It was of considerable size; the lower part of the walls consisting of stout logs, the upper portion being of framework, and boarded. Round three sides was a stout palisade, forming an enclosure, while the remaining side was occupied by stables and other out-buildings. Barns, cow-sheds, and piggeries were placed at some little distance off. Then there was the hut occupied by the farm hands; while overhanging the stream, which flowed by on one side, was a small mill, the wheel of which was turned by its waters.
The hills rose on either side, but too far off to allow an enemy to command the house from them; while the intervening space was rough and rocky,—forming shelter, however, to an approaching foe. Had we felt sure that we would be attacked, we should have been wise to have destroyed many of these out-buildings, as they were calculated to protect the enemy. But to the last Uncle Jeff was not fully persuaded that the Indians would venture to approach the place, as they must have known that we were prepared for their reception.
The day drew on, but still Bartle did not return; and we began to hope that after all no enemy would appear. But about noon, and just as we were making ready to sit down to dinner, he was seen approaching the house with rapid strides.
“There is no doubt about what these varmints intend!” he exclaimed as he rushed into the house. “They are coming on as fast as their legs can carry them, and will be here before the day is much older. Look to your firearms, lads; we must be ready for them, and give them such a dose of bullets that they will wish they hadn’t come to Roaring Water.”
In accordance with Bartle’s advice, all the doors and windows were fast closed, and we were shut up in our fortress.
“It is ill to fight on empty stomachs, so turn to and eat your dinner, lads; I’ll give you notice when you are wanted.”
Uncle Jeff having thus spoken, mounted to a window commanding the road by which the enemy were likely to approach; and there, after snatching a hasty meal, I quickly joined him. I first, however, took a glance out of another window, opening to the southward, as it was possible that some of the Indians might make their way over the hills so as to take us on the flank.
To each man was given his particular post, at which he was to remain until summoned elsewhere.
The time now seemed to go by very slowly.
“I do not think they will come, after all,” I observed to Uncle Jeff; “more than an hour has passed since Bartle returned.”
He looked at his watch. “It is not one o’clock yet,” he observed; “and Bartle does not often make a mistake.”
Just as he spoke, I saw the plumes of a chief’s head-dress rising over a point of rocky ground round which the road passed, and shortly afterwards a band of painted warriors came into view. They approached very cautiously, and gazed about them, as if expecting at any moment to encounter an enemy. Finding, however, that none of us were visible, they began to advance at a more rapid rate. Immediately afterwards I saw another and a much larger party coming over the hill, who, as they drew near, scattered themselves in every direction, so as to be able to get under shelter behind the intervening rocks and shrubs.
“Tell the men to be ready,” cried Uncle Jeff; “and charge them not to fire until I give the word,—they must not throw a shot away.”
I ran hastily round the building, and ascertained that every man was at his post, prepared for whatever might happen. I then returned to Uncle Jeff for further orders.
Presently an Indian belonging to the party which had descended the hill advanced towards the house with a white handkerchief on a pole.
“The fellows have some pretensions to civilisation,” said Uncle Jeff when he saw it; “perhaps their white friends have put them up to that.”
The Indian, having got within speaking distance, now halted; but seeing no one whom he could address, he proceeded around the building, apparently examining our preparations for defence. At length he again stopped, having satisfied himself that the building was fortified, and contained a garrison.
“Friends,” he shouted, “do you want to lose your scalps? If not, march out and leave this house to us. We mean to come in.”
Uncle Jeff now appeared at the window opposite to where the Indian was standing.
“Clear out of this, you rascal!” he exclaimed. “We do not intend that you shall have our scalps, or get inside these walls. If you make the attempt, you will pay dearly for it; that is what I’ve got to say.”
The Indian seemed to recognise Uncle Jeff. “You, Jeff Crockett,” he shouted out, “you good man! If you like to go out you may go, and we take scalps of rest.”
Uncle Jeff burst into a loud laugh.
“That’s a likely thing,” he thundered out. “If it was not for your white flag, I would treat you as you deserve.”
The tone of voice in which this was said convinced the Indian that Uncle Jeff was in earnest; and in no very dignified fashion he scampered off to rejoin his companions.
The whole of the band now united in giving utterance to a terrific war-whoop, and came rushing up to the house. There was no longer any doubt as to their intentions; they halted for a moment to fire, and then came right on at a rapid pace, up to the palisade.
“Now, lads, give it them!” shouted Uncle Jeff; and every bullet fired by our little garrison brought down one of our foes.
The death of their companions served but to inflame the rage of the rest; and climbing up over the palisade of which I have spoken, they attempted to get into the enclosure. Several were shot down in the act; but others succeeded in reaching the enclosure, though they soon paid dearly for their activity, as they were shot down as soon as we could reload our rifles. The loss of so many men in their first attack seemed to discourage the rest, and they drew off to a distance, under such shelter as they could find.
“We have soon settled the fellows; they have had enough of it,” cried some of our men.
“Wait a bit, lads,” said Bartle; “that is not the Indian fashion. They will be upon us again before long.”
He was right; in a few minutes a considerable number of the enemy were seen moving round, in order to get to the rear of the out-buildings—Bartle and Gideon meanwhile picking off two or three who incautiously exposed themselves. Having gained the position they desired, they made a rush towards the buildings, which sheltered them almost entirely from our fire. Breaking through the enclosure on that side, they next advanced boldly into the open space in front of the stables, where they were once more exposed to view. Scarcely had they reached it when Bartle’s unerring rifle brought down their leader. His followers, on seeing this, rushed into the stables, while others made their appearance in the same direction.
Either because they fancied that their chief was still alive, or that it was a disgrace to allow his body to remain on the ground, a couple of warriors dashed out for the purpose of carrying it off; but before they had time to stoop down and lift it from the ground, Gideon and Bartle’s rifles had laid them both by its side. Two others followed, and were picked off by Gillooly and Klitz, both of whom showed themselves no despicable shots. In the meantime Bartle and Gideon had reloaded, and two more warriors shared the fate of the first.
As yet, all the success had been on our side; and there appeared every probability of our being able to defeat any attempt of the enemy to enter the building. Those who had got into the stables were so many withdrawn from the attack; and although under shelter, they could effect nothing against us. Had the Indians been alone, we might have kept them at bay, cunning as they were; but there were white men among them, who, although not eager to expose their own lives, were well able to assist our enemies by their advice.
Presently our assailants, with the exception of those in the stables and other out-buildings, retreated. It was but for a short time, however; soon they appeared on the opposite side of the house, many of them carrying burning brands, which they threw under the fencing. This being of combustible materials, soon blazed up; and, sheltered by the intervening flames and smoke, the enemy opened a hot fire on us. Every now and then, however, a dark form was seen, and as surely a bullet searched it out. But the whole of our little garrison was now required to keep the enemy at bay on this side; and those who had been hidden in the out-buildings took the opportunity of making their escape. Some of them, we found, had thrown themselves into the mill, which afforded them sufficient shelter to fire steadily at our loopholes with less risk of being hit in return. None of us had hitherto been struck, but no sooner had the mill been taken possession of than two of the farm hands, who were less cautious than the experienced hunters, were badly wounded—one of them mortally, while the other was unable to handle his rifle.
The palisade being now burned to the ground, we were deprived of its protection, and our assailants could consequently get close up to the walls. But though our numbers were diminished, we endeavoured, by the rapidity of our fire, not to let the enemy discover our loss.
The fight had now continued for some hours, but still our foes seemed as determined as ever to capture the place. They, or perhaps the white men, had heard a report that Uncle Jeff was the owner of fabulous wealth, of which they had resolved to make themselves the possessors. This would account for their obstinate perseverance.
Fresh bands continued to arrive, too; and after a cessation of firing, a shower of arrows, from enemies concealed behind the rocks, came flying over the house. Had they been simply arrows, they would not have done much harm; but, to our dismay, we saw that each one carried a piece of burning tow; and if these fell on the shingles of the roof, they would too probably set them on fire. To extinguish the flames, too, we should have to expose ourselves to a great risk of being shot. Happily, as yet the arrows either flew over the building, or the tow fell out, and as far as we could discover no damage had been done. Some, however, struck the out-buildings; and the roofs of these being thatched, they were soon in flames. The barns, too, were set on fire, and blazed furiously.
Night at length came on, but it brought us no respite; for our savage foes could be seen, by the light from the burning out-buildings, still hovering in vast numbers round us. Suddenly, too, the granary burst into flames, making the night almost as bright as the day. It enabled us, however, to see our foes more clearly, and of this we did not fail to take advantage. We prudently retained only light enough in the house to enable us to see our way about; and we were thus comparatively concealed, while they were exposed to view.
We might have still kept the enemy at bay, had not the other two field hands both been struck down, in the same manner as their companions. We were now only six, opposed, as it appeared to us, to several hundred foes. Still no one dreamed of giving in.
Klitz and Gillooly behaved admirably, and did much to retrieve their character. They always kept together—Klitz kneeling down to fire, while Gillooly sprang now on one side, then on the other, of his loophole, as he fired his rifle through it.
Our position had become very critical; the wind might at any moment bring the flames of the out-buildings against the house itself, in which case our fate would be sealed, for it would be almost impossible for us to extinguish them.
At length, to our relief, the enemy again drew off. From their previous daring conduct, we could not hope, however, that they intended to raise the siege; perhaps they only waited to see whether the flames from the out-buildings would set the house on fire, and thus save them all further trouble and danger. But the wind, fortunately, continued to blow up the valley, keeping the flames away from the house.
Uncle Jeff now directed me to go round and give some food to each man. When I came to him, “Ralph,” said he, “go and look into the ammunition-chest. I have my fears that we are running short of cartridges!”
I did as directed, and what was my dismay to find that no more than three rounds remained for each one of us! One of the poor fellows who had been last hit had been employed in supplying us with cartridges, and he had omitted to tell Uncle Jeff how short we had run.
“I wish I had let you go, Ralph,” he said; “but it cannot be helped now. We must cut our way out; it is possible that all of us who are alive may succeed. If the enemy come on again, we must begin blazing away at them as before; then, when our last shot is expended, we must burst open the door and dart out. Call Bartle and Gideon, and I will tell them what I propose doing. You and they are active, and know the country, and if you can reach the mountains you may get off free; although it will go hard, I fear, with the two troopers.”
His two old followers, on hearing that the ammunition was almost expended, agreed that it was the only course to pursue with any chance of saving our lives.
Fortunately there were several swords, and we each of us provided ourselves with one, and besides this we had a pistol apiece.
“Now, then,” said Uncle Jeff, “I propose doing what will look like deserting you, but in reality it is the best plan for saving your lives. I am thinking of dressing up a figure, and placing it on Jack’s back, so as to partly cover me when I am mounted; and I will conceal myself by hanging over along his neck. I will then dash out ahead of you, when the enemy are certain to direct their fire at me, though I hope that they will hit the figure instead. You, in the meantime, can make up the valley; and as you know every inch of the ground, you will soon distance them. What say you to my proposal, Bartle?”
“It is as good as any I can think of,” answered Bartle. “I wish you would let me ride the horse, though, for I think you run a greater risk than any of us.”
“No, no,” answered Uncle Jeff; “although that may be true, it is my duty to you all. And Jack knows me better than any one else; it won’t be his fault if he doesn’t carry me clear.”
I at once began to consider how I could make such a figure as would answer Uncle Jeff’s purpose, and as I was of an ingenious turn, I was not long, with the aid of some pliable laths and some strips of cow-hide, in making the framework; the arms I formed in the attitude of holding the reins. The framework once formed, it was quickly clothed in the costume generally worn by Uncle Jeff; and as I placed it with the legs over a chair, it was allowed that, on a dark night, it might deceive those not prepared for the trick to be played upon them.
Jack, who had been busy munching his hay in a corner of the room, was now saddled, and the figure placed in position, and secured with straps round the body; while Uncle Jeff himself, stripped to his trousers, hung over in the attitude he proposed. Looking across the dimly-lighted room, we could scarcely perceive him.
“That will do,” cried Bartle enthusiastically; “it will give you a better chance of escape, at all events.”
We had reason to be thankful that the Indians gave us so long a time for preparation. The night was now advancing, and any doubts that we might have entertained as to their having taken their departure were soon dissipated, for once more showers of fiery arrows came flying over and against the house—shot, however, from a distance. Several whistled through the loopholes, but none of us were hit, and these were of course immediately extinguished.
I was in the upper story, when, looking up, to my dismay I saw a bright light overhead; the roof had been set on fire. Under other circumstances we might have attempted to extinguish it; as it was, I ran to tell Uncle Jeff what had occurred.
“Then the time has come, my lads, when we must cut our way out. God protect one and all of us. Would that I could help you further.”
We shook hands round, and Bartle and Gideon stood by with their axes to knock away the barricade. Uncle Jeff mounted Jack, and secured the figure behind him. Some time passed, however, before he gave the word. The enemy were close at hand, but they were concentrated, as far as we could judge by the sounds which reached us, on one side of the house, and Uncle Jeff would be able to pass by them, and thus leave the road open for us.
A few strokes cleared away the barricade. Uncle Jeff was to dash out first, Bartle and Gideon were to follow, they understanding that I should keep between them, while Klitz and Gillooly were to bring up the rear.
“Now open the door!” cried Uncle Jeff.
Just as he spoke I looked around, and discovered that neither Klitz nor Gillooly was behind me. What had become of them I could not tell; and there was no time to consider, for the door was thrown open, and out dashed Uncle Jeff, directing his course by the path down the valley.
For some seconds he was not observed by the enemy, until he went clattering away down the steep path at a pace which would have brought many a steed on his knees. But Jack knew what he was about. Not until Uncle Jeff found that the enemy had seen him did he utter a sound. He then gave vent to a loud shout, which rang through the air, echoing from rock to rock. It had the effect he intended, and drew the attention of our foes to him. A shower of bullets went whistling through the figure and on either side of it; still the horse kept on his way uninjured.
The Indians, who had their horses tethered below, mounted in haste, and pushed on in hot chase. But Uncle Jeff was on ahead of them, so, casting off the straps which bound the figure, he let it fall to the ground, whilst he, recovering his proper position, turned round, and shaking his fist at his astonished foes, continued his course at increased speed.
We of course could not see what occurred, but we heard of it afterwards.
Chapter Six.
We are surprised by the Indians while leaving the house—Bartle’s advice—I am persuaded to escape alone—An exciting pursuit—Food and rest—My journey resumed—Among the mountains—My anxiety about my friends—A weary day—An Indian in sight—Friend or enemy?—A recognition—Winnemak and his braves—I am kindly treated—No news of Uncle Jeff—A spy—We start in pursuit of him—The spy overtaken—A deadly combat—Winnemak overcomes Piomingo—Is he dead?—My intercession—On the way for Winnemak’s camp.
The furious rush made by Uncle Jeff had, as he expected, so distracted the attention of our numerous enemies surrounding the house, that they did not at first notice Bartle, Gideon, and me. We were thus able to get to some distance from the house, and had hopes of escaping altogether unobserved, when the party who had been concealed in the mill caught sight of us, and uttering a loud war-whoop, rushed out expecting to take our scalps. Bartle and Gideon shot down with their pistols two of our assailants; and I cut down a third, who had sprung before us to stop our progress. Others soon came on, but we managed to keep them at bay, although it was too probable that ere long we should be overwhelmed, as others were coming up from all directions to join the fight. But so well did my companions wield their swords, that they for some time kept the enemy back.
“Now, lad,” cried Bartle to me, “now is your time; run for it, and you will get off free! Gideon and I will manage these fellows; never fear, we will look after ourselves.”
I hesitated to desert my faithful friends.
“Go, I say—go, Ralph!” again cried Bartle. “It will make it more difficult for us to escape if you remain.”
It was probable, I saw, that Bartle and Gideon, with their great strength and activity, might by themselves be able to cut their way through a host of foes, although with me to protect they might find the task too great even for them.
“Good-bye, then; I hope we shall meet all right before long,” I exclaimed.
“Never fear, lad,” cried Bartle, as I bounded off up the cañon, my rifle at my back, with three spare cartridges, and my pistol in my belt.
For some seconds the Indians did not observe what I was about, and I soon had a good start of them. When at length they did catch sight of my figure, dimly seen in the gloom of early morning, for it was scarcely yet daylight, several started off in chase. I saw that they were coming, but I did not stop to count their number. I was well acquainted with every inch of the ground, which it was not likely that they were, and I knew I should have abundance of hiding-places between the rocks and crags, among which I might baffle pursuit. My purpose then was to cross the torrent at a narrow part where a tree hung over it, and to make to the northward, where I hoped to join Uncle Jeff and Clarice at Winnemak’s camp.
The Indians, however, had no intention of allowing me to escape. On they came, uttering loud shrieks and shouts, expecting to strike terror into my heart, and make me yield. Two or three were in advance of the rest, and one especially seemed to be gaining on me. I would not willingly have taken his life, but too probably, should I not stop his progress, he would take mine. Having reached a rock, I sprang behind it; then unslinging my rifle, I stepped out and took steady aim at the advancing foe, who fell back shot through the body. His fall had the effect of stopping the others, who lifted him up to ascertain if he were dead, thus affording me time to reload my rifle, and gain several more yards in advance. I could thus bring down another enemy, if necessary, at a distance, and still have my pistol and sword to defend myself in a closer encounter.
I had not forgotten my two brave friends. I only wished that they had accompanied me, for we might, on the ground I had now reached, have set a whole host of our enemies at defiance.
I sprang on among the rocks, almost entirely concealed from the view of my pursuers. Few of them, fortunately, had firearms, although an occasional ill-aimed bullet whistled over my head, but I had very little fear of being struck while among the rocks. My great object was to reach the tree over the torrent before the Indians came up, because I should be exposed to view when climbing along the trunk.
I dashed on, and mounting the rock still unobserved, reached the root of the tree. It would be necessary to use great caution as I approached the further end, as only the more delicate branches hung over the stream, and should I venture on one incapable of bearing my weight I should fall into the torrent, which there went roaring by at a fearful rate. This very circumstance, however, should I succeed, would secure my safety, as, even should the Indians discover by what means I had crossed, they would not venture to follow; or if they did, would most probably fall into the current and be swept away.
I did not stop to ascertain how far off my pursuers were, but, climbing up on the trunk, I made my way along it—trusting to the uncertainty of their aim, should any with muskets see me and fire. My great object was now to discover a bough on which I could depend. I cast my eye along one, as far as the light would allow, and selected it; then, like a wild cat about to spring on its prey, I crawled quickly on. There were several branches below me, which, should the one I was on give way, would still afford me support, and there were many on either side. The bough bent with my weight, and as I reached the further end I every moment expected that it would break. I felt it giving way, cracking horribly. It broke! I endeavoured to seize another bough—in vain. With a crash, down I came, but it was to find myself on the opposite bank, and by making a few springs I reached the upper ground.
On looking back to ascertain if the Indians had found out the way by which I had crossed, I could see no one, but I caught sight in the distance of a bright glare, which I was too certain was caused by our burning house, every part of which by this time must have been in flames. I did not stop, however, to contemplate the sad scene, but pushed on as fast as I was able. I could not trust to the Indians not pursuing me, for I knew, when intent on an object, that they will run every danger rather than abandon it, and the death of their companion would make them still more eager to kill me than might otherwise have been the case. On, therefore, I sprang. I could still hear them, although I believed they had not seen me cross by the tree, or perhaps even had not discovered the tree itself, as it was concealed by an intervening rock. I hoped that they would fancy I had taken the way further up the cañon, and would pursue in that direction. I might therefore proceed at a less furious pace than I had hitherto been going. Still, I resolved to leave nothing to chance, but to follow my course until the Indians had given up the pursuit.
Stopping to listen a moment, I could hear their voices. Again I went on as fast as before. Now I had a mountain to scale; now to make my way along its steep side; now to descend into a valley; now to wade across a stream which threatened to carry me off my legs; now to climb another height: and so on I went, until I was conscious that my strength was failing me. At length, completely exhausted, I sank down beneath an overhanging rock. It afforded me some shelter from the fiery rays of the sun, which had now risen high in the sky.
I had drunk at a spring on my way, but I again felt painfully thirsty. Could I obtain some water, I should be greatly relieved; but I was not likely to find it without further exertion, and of that I was incapable. I had brought a little food in my wallet, according to Uncle Jeff’s advice before we left the house, and this I believe was the means of saving my life. Although it was dry, it gave me some strength.
I remained in a sort of stupor, scarcely conscious of what had occurred; and some hours, I suspect, went by, before I attempted to resume my journey. I had no desire to spend the night in this exposed part of the mountains. The scenery around Roaring Water was wild enough, but this appeared to me wilder still. Lofty broken cliffs rose on either side of me. So broken and irregular were their fantastic forms, that I could fancy myself amid the ruins of some Egyptian temple. It seemed to be a gateway, as it were, to some still wilder or more wonderful region, as yet unexplored by the foot of man. I had never been thus far before, and had very just fears, should darkness come on, of losing my way. I therefore pushed forward as fast as my strength would allow, in the hope of coming upon water, and kept a sharp look-out in every direction to find indication of it.
The sun had crossed the mountains, and was sinking towards the west; in a short time the shadows of their peaks would be thrown over the ground upon which I was travelling. Stopping for a moment, I heard the sound of water rushing over a rocky bed, and hurrying forward I found myself beside a foaming stream. I had, however, to seek for a path by which I could descend, before I could slake my thirst. At last I got to a place where, lying at full length, and holding on with one hand by the branch of a bush, I could lift the water with the other to my mouth. It seemed impossible to get enough; but at last I felt that I ought to take no more.
The ground being tolerably practicable along the bank of the stream, I proceeded in that direction, desirous of reaching a lower region before nightfall; and as I went along I resolved to seek for some bushes or an overhanging rock, under which to take shelter for the night.
I had now very little fear of being overtaken; indeed, the Indians would probably have lost my trail in the streams I had crossed, while the rocky nature of the ground would scarcely bear marks sufficient for even their acute eyes to discover. I knew that as yet I could not be abreast of Winnemak’s camp, and, indeed, that across the mountains it would probably take me two or three days to reach it. Still I felt that it would be prudent, in case the Indians should be scouring the country in the plains, to keep to the mountains for another whole day or so.
Just at dusk I saw a spot at which, from the appearance of the water, I judged that I could cross the torrent. “I will put that, at all events, between myself and my enemies, should they be pursuing me,” I thought, and without further hesitation I waded towards the opposite shore. The water rose higher and higher. I had, I feared, been deceived by the light, and might have to swim for it. The danger of this was, that I might lose my rifle, and wet my pistol and ammunition. Very thankful, therefore, was I when the water again shallowed; and, keeping my feet in spite of the rush against my legs, I at last got to the bank to which I was directing my course.
I now continued down the stream until I reached a rock which almost overhung it, with bushes on either side. This, I saw, would afford me as secure a resting-place as I could expect to find. I accordingly resolved to stop; and having examined the locality on the further side, in case I should have to beat a retreat, I sat down and took some food, of which I still had a small portion left. The air was tolerably warm, and, fatigued as I was, I should under ordinary circumstances have slumbered soundly; but as it was I felt very little inclination to sleep. I was too anxious about Uncle Jeff, and Bartle, and Gideon. Had Uncle Jeff escaped the bullets of the enemy; and had the others managed to cut their way through the horde of savages? The white men in company with the Redskins, I looked upon as no better than they were. What, too, had become of the German and the Irishman? Had they, afraid of fighting in the open, remained in the house, and fallen victims to the flames? Such, indeed, must have been the fate of the poor wounded fellows left in the house. My only satisfaction was, that we had done all that men could do, and that we could not have saved their lives, although we should, to a certainty, have sacrificed our own had we made the attempt. Still I had an idea that Barney and Klitz had some plan of their own for escaping, and that they might turn up some day or other. I half expected to find that Bartle and Gideon had followed me, and I looked out eagerly, hoping to see them. How far I had come I could not exactly calculate, but I knew that, at the rate I had been moving, it must be a considerable distance.
At length, overcome by fatigue, I fell asleep, trusting that He by whom I had been mercifully preserved would watch over me. When I at last awoke, daylight was glancing across the foaming waters, the only sound I heard being that of their roar as they rushed over their rocky bed towards the valley below. I knelt down and prayed, as I had been accustomed to do from my childhood; and then, before resuming my journey, I took some of the scanty remains of the food I had brought with me, which I washed down with a draught from the stream.
Finding a practicable path to the left over the mountains, I followed it, still resolved not to trust myself in the neighbourhood of our foes. They could not have travelled over the mountains by night, but they might take it into their heads to follow me by day, and it would be unwise to linger. I did not slacken my speed, either, for if they did come they would move as fast as I could, and I might be overtaken. I stopped only occasionally, to eat a little food and to take a draught of water, of which I now found abundance by the way.
I cannot fully describe the events of that day. On and on I went, like a deer chased by the hunters. Sometimes I would fancy that I heard the war-whoops of the Indians behind me; at others the sounds which I conjured up appeared to be uttered by Bartle or Gideon. I would stop to listen, but only the roar of some distant waterfall or the murmur of a nearer rapid struck my ear. Or now and again I heard the cry of some bird of prey, as it swooped down from its lofty eyrie towards the carcass which it had espied far off on the plain below.
Again I was becoming faint with my exertions, and my food was exhausted. Whenever I stopped to rest, too, my mind dwelt upon the fearful scenes I had witnessed, and the fate of my friends. I was not altogether free from anxiety about Clarice, either. Brave and trustworthy as was my friend Manley, his party might have been pursued and overpowered by the savages, and my fair young sister might have been carried away into captivity, to suffer worse than death. To succumb, however, would have been unmanly. Although fatigued in body and anxious in mind, I had still sufficient physical strength to pursue my way.
The day was advancing, and I determined to strike down into the plains, where, at all events, I could make more rapid progress than over the rough ground I had been traversing. I accordingly directed my course, as I believed, to the eastward; but still hill beyond hill appeared, and it seemed as if I should never reach the more level ground. Still up and on I went, until at length I gained a height from whence, looking down, I saw that the prairie stretched out in the far distance before me.
I was descending at as rapid a rate as the ground would allow, when I caught sight, in the approaching gloom of evening, of the figure of a man. The person, whoever he was, had seen me as I appeared on the top of a rock exposed against the sky, and was coming towards me. To avoid him was impossible, so I got my weapons ready for an encounter, should he prove to be an enemy. Although he must have seen I held my rifle in my hand, he advanced without hesitation.
“What! do you not know me?” he exclaimed, when he got nearer. “I am Winnemak, the friend of the Palefaces; although, alas! with but little power to assist them. You, however, I can aid, for I see you are weary and hungry. Come with me to where a few of my braves are encamped—but few, alas! the rest are killed or dispersed. We were on our way to the northward, where our squaws, children, and old men are encamped, when I caught sight of you as you came down the mountain, and I knew at once that you were flying from the Arrapahas.”
This information explained Winnemak’s unexpected appearance. Aided by him, I continued the descent of the mountain, although I believe without his support I could have gone no farther. He then told me all that had occurred.
Having visited Roaring Water and warned Uncle Jeff of the attack he knew would be made on the farm, he returned to where he had left his warriors, resolved to make a diversion in our favour, as he had promised. He had attacked the Arrapahas with much determination, but, overwhelmed by numbers, he had been driven back, with the loss of many of his followers. Having in vain attempted to reach the farm, he had stationed a band of his best warriors to afford us support should we have deserted the house, or attempted afterwards to cut our way out of it.
I was much disappointed to find that he could give me no information about Uncle Jeff, or about any of our friends; he was not even aware that Clarice had gone to join his daughter at the camp. He expressed his satisfaction at hearing that she had escaped the fate which had, he supposed, befallen all the inmates of the farm.
He now conducted me to his temporary camp, where we found a few of his warriors reclining on the ground. Several of them were wounded, and all looked weary and disheartened. They had, however, succeeded in killing a deer, and food was abundant. I was thankful to get a substantial meal, after which I lay down with the rest by the side of the stream, to obtain the sleep I so much needed.
A few skins had been stretched over some poles to afford shelter to the wounded, who required it more than the rest of us.
I had been asleep for several hours, when, suddenly awaking, I happened to turn my eyes across the stream, and saw, partly concealed by the brushwood, the figure of an Indian stooping down and apparently watching us. My first impulse was to jump up and present my rifle at him. I had, indeed, made some slight movement, when I felt a hand placed upon my arm. It was that of Winnemak.
“Hush!” he whispered. “I see the spy, and can kill him if I wish; but it is important to take him alive, to learn what he is about.”
I observed, as he spoke, that he was freeing himself of such parts of his dress as might impede his progress, and that he was gradually creeping nearer and nearer to the edge of the stream. Being in the shade, he could not be seen by the stranger. Presently Winnemak rose to his feet, and making a spring, almost cleared the stream. With a few bounds he was on the opposite bank.
The spy saw him coming, and finding that he was discovered, rose from his recumbent position. He, too, was fleet of foot, and lightly clad. Away he rushed towards the level prairie; perhaps he expected to find friends there, or had his horse staked in that direction, near some wood or copse.
As soon as I perceived what Winnemak was about, I too sprang up, as did several Indians, but as they were all worn out with fatigue they were soon left behind. Being a good runner, I kept pace with the chief, although still at a considerable distance behind him, as he had had the start of me.
Day was just breaking, and there being no objects to impede the rays of the sun as it approached the horizon, the light rapidly increased. Although I had, at first, lost sight of Winnemak, I soon again saw him, with the man he was pursuing at no great distance in front.
On the two went. Neither of them being armed, the fight was not likely to be a bloody one; still it was evident that Winnemak attached great importance to the capture of the spy. Perhaps he suspected who he was; and he evidently entertained a bitter animosity against him. I could not have supposed that he would have exhibited so much activity, judging from his appearance when clothed in his usual robes. Although he appeared to be a strong, muscular man, the other Indian, from his movements, was evidently young and active. How he had ventured to approach the camp without being armed, was a mystery. He could not, at all events, have intended to injure any one, or he would have come with his bow and arrows. As the light rapidly increased, and I saw him more clearly than at first, it struck me that he was the young brave, Piomingo, who had lately paid us a visit at the farm; but of this, seeing him at the distance he was from me, I could not be certain.
The chase promised to be a far longer one than I had expected. The stranger seemed as resolved to escape as Winnemak was to overtake him. Few people, Indians or whites, except after long training, could have continued running so fast and for so long a period as did the spy and Winnemak.
I had the greatest difficulty in keeping near them; and, indeed, I had begun to fall behind, when I saw in front of me a broad piece of water. The fugitive saw it too, but had he turned either to the right or to the left it would have given an advantage to his pursuer; he therefore kept straight on.
His efforts to escape were vain. As he approached the bank the ground became so soft that his feet sunk deep into it at every step. He discovered, too late, his mistake. Springing back, he attempted to make his way to the right; but in doing so he fell. Recovering himself, however, he sprang back on to the firm ground; but seeing that escape by flight was no longer possible, he turned round and boldly faced his pursuer. At the same instant a wild swan, rising from the water, flew off with a loud cry. It might have been taken for the death-wail of one of the combatants. Like a couple of wild beasts, the two Indians rushed at each other, and the next instant they were clasped in a deadly embrace. A desperate struggle ensued. It was youth and activity opposed to well-knit muscles and firm nerves.
Fierce was the contest. The young man attempted to free himself from the grasp of his opponent; now they strove to seize each other by the throat; now his antagonist bore back the chief by making a desperate spring as his feet for a moment touched the ground; but if the older man allowed himself to retreat, it was only for the purpose of wearing out the strength of the younger, which he knew would soon be exhausted.
Winnemak now seized one of his antagonist’s arms, and with a movement as quick as thought threw him on his back across his own knee; then pressing him down, it appeared to me that he intended to break his spine. A fearful shriek, wrung from him by the agony he was suffering, escaped the lips of the young brave; his eyes closed—the struggle was over. Still Winnemak did not let go his victim, but gazing fiercely down on his countenance until all appearance of life had ceased, he hurled the body to the ground. As he did so he exclaimed, “Stay there! You have betrayed me once; you would have stolen my daughter; you will no longer have the power to follow your evil practices.”
The combat was over as I reached the place.
“Is he dead?” I asked, as I gazed down on the face of the vanquished brave.
“He will die,” answered Winnemak; “but he still breathes.”
“But I thought you wished to gain information from him?” I observed, feeling anxious to preserve the life of the poor wretch.
“I did; but now I would rather enjoy the pleasure of seeing him die.”
“That is not the way we Palefaces treat a fallen enemy,” I remarked. “You must not be displeased at what I say,—I would ask you to allow me to have him brought into the camp. At all events, for the present he can do no further harm, and he may wish to show his gratitude to those who have preserved his life.”
“Do as you please,” said the chief, after a moment’s consideration.
I got some water from the lake,—finding a hard place by which I could approach it,—and threw it over the face of the fallen man, who had, I perceived, merely fainted from the excruciating pain he was suffering. He at length opened his eyes, and seemed to recognise me. It was Piomingo. The chief, I noticed, stood by, watching every movement of his late antagonist. I raised Piomingo’s head, and was thankful to find that he now began to breathe more freely.
“Take care,” said the chief. “He intends acting the part of the cunning fox, and will yet make an effort to escape.”
Piomingo turned his eyes towards the speaker, apparently understanding him.
I was still making every effort to restore him, when several of Winnemak’s followers came up.
“Then you grant my request?” I said, turning to the chief.
“I will not refuse you!” he answered; “but he will not thank you for the mercy you wish to show him.”
I begged the Indians to assist me in carrying the injured man back to the camp, and the chief bade them do as I desired. Obtaining some poles from a copse which grew near, they quickly formed a litter, upon which they bore him back to the spot from which we had started. Not a groan escaped him, although I suspected, from the expression of his countenance, that he was suffering greatly. On arriving at the camp, in spite of my representations the chief ordered that his legs should be bound together, and that one of his hands should be fastened to a tree, so that he would be unable to escape.
Those who had remained in camp had prepared breakfast, to which even the wounded did ample justice. I took some food to the prisoner, who in a short time was able to swallow a little.
After some persuasion from me, and the promise of a reward, four of the Indians undertook to carry their captive to the camp of Winnemak, to which we were bound; it was very evident that otherwise he must have been left to die miserably, as he was quite unable to walk. Three of the wounded men had also to be carried, so that we formed a mournful-looking party, as, shortly after our meal was finished, we commenced our march.