“The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries, hark! the foes come:
Charge, charge!—'tis too late to retreat.”
DRYDEN.
The spot where Oloompa left Rolfe and his party, and which they still
occupied, was a small glade or opening in the forest about half a mile
from Tippecanoe, and nearly the same distance from the American camp.
It commanded a tolerable view of each, yet they were now rendered
rather indistinct by the continual passing of dense heavy clouds over
the face of the moon, and by a thin mist which also seemed settling
over the land. For some time after he left them, they gazed in silence
on the scene. In one direction, lay the Indian town, faintly
discernible through the “struggling moon beams' misty light,” and
apparently as quiet as though it were the abode of peace and
contentment; for from it there came not a sound, and nothing indicated
life therein, save the occasional gleam of a torch which suddenly
burst upon the view, and then flitted away before you could mark its
place. In another, lay the camp of the whites, equally quiet, yet
wearing a less gloomy appearance, for their fires burned brightly, and
imparted a degree of cheerfulness to the scene.
When the flow of feeling consequent upon Oloompa's departure had
somewhat subsided, “Come, Rolfe,” said Earth, “let us do something;
and first let me advise that we go a little within the forest, for
were any one now to pass here, we should be discovered.”
“For Heaven's sake then, let us go;” said Gay, “and oh! Richard, let
us escape quickly, for should they find that I have left the camp,
they will come in pursuit.”
“Fear not, lady,” said Earth, “they are now thinking of other
things;—you will not be pursued to-night.”
“Then say, Earth,” said Rolfe, “what shall we do? shall we take
Oloompa's advice, and hurry away, or seek safety within the American
camp.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “I can't hurry away, that is out of the question;
I don't believe I could leave a chance like this, to save my life; and
yet I hardly know what to do. Oloompa has behaved nobly; I didn't
think it was in a red skin.”
“Oh! that he has,” cried Gay, “and so has Miskwa and Netnokwa; who
could have been kinder?”
“Well,” continued Earth, “as I was going to say, he has told us what
he thinks best, and he has his reasons for telling us what he did.
Now, you can see from the fact that the whites are encamped so near to
their town, that the Prophet is amusing them with professions of
peace. If that was not the case, you know, that as they came all the
way here to punish the Ingens for their late doings, they would have
attacked them at once. From Oloompa's hint, the Ingens may intend to
strike a blow to-night, but they can't do any thing; the whites must
beat 'em if they have a fight, for, you may be certain, General
Harrison would never have come so far upon their lands without men
enough to answer his purpose. My notion, therefore, is, that if we
could once get within the camp, we should be safe. But, Rolfe, I don't
like their large fires, we can see every thing that's going on in the
camp. Look in the Ingen town; they are too keen for that.”
“Then, Earth,” said Rolfe, “if there is a doubt, had we not better
seek safety in flight?”
“Rolfe,” answered Earth, “that will not do. If I was to run off now,
and the Ingens and whites were to take a brush, I don't think I should
ever git over it, as long as I lived.”
“Well, Earth, you may take a brush or not, as you please, but I am
determined to adopt some plan for our safety.”
“Rolfe,” replied Earth, “you are getting mighty independent all at
once; I didn't say that I was so run mad for a fight, as you seem to
think, that I would take a brush whether any body else did or not. I
merely meant that if they went at it, I should like to go snacks;—and,
I say agin, if they were to do it, and I didn't have a hand, it would
go with me to my grave. I don't believe I should ever hold my head up
agin as long as I lived. But I am just as much determined to see this
lady safe as you are.”
“Then, good sir,” said Gay, addressing Earth, “please let us fly, and
you go with us; then we shall all be safe.”
“Lady,” answered Earth, “we cannot fly, for old Juno is as stiff as if
he had the rheumatics, and all we could do, would be to move on in a
short trot.”
His remark was perfectly unintelligible to Gay, and turning to Rolfe,
she said, “tell me, what does he mean, Richard?”
Rolfe smiled at the artless manner in which she asked it, and replied,
“He means, my love, that his horse is foundered from pursuing the
party who brought you here captive;” then turning to Earth, said, “I
did not think of that, Earth; our horses are surely in no condition to
travel.”
“No,” answered Earth, “I said old Juno might move in a short trot, but
I don't believe one of 'em could move a peg, if you were to place a
dozen ears of corn in their sight, and just so far that they couldn't
reach it; and you know, if any thing could jerk 'em out of their
places, that would be the thing to do it. They were stiff when we got
off of them, and the thing is worse now; for they have been standing
some six or eight hours, or perhaps longer,—for it is so cloudy that I
can't exactly see what is the hour. No, Rolfe, 'taint worth while to
talk about running away; as I said before, the best thing we can do,
is to enter the camp. Let us get as near to it as we can to-night, and
when morning comes, go in;—we shall then be safe.”
“Would it not be better for us to go in to-night?” inquired Rolfe.
“No,” answered Earth, “that would be rather dangerous; you can see
from here, that in the camp they all seem to be asleep; the sentries
are, no doubt, keeping a bright watch, and if we were to go poking
about there to-night, we might be used up as so many Ingens, before we
could make them know who we were.”
“That we should,” said Gay; “Richard, you know they would take me for
an Indian; and indeed, I should feel ashamed to go into the camp in
the morning disguised as I am. Will you not let me try and get off
some of the paint first?”
“My love,” answered Rolfe, “that is a matter of no moment, they will
only compliment you for your heroism, and respect you the more for the
dangers you have escaped.”
“A woman will be a woman,” said Earth; “she cares more now about the
paint on her face, than she does about the fear of being scalped.”
“Oh! how can you say so,” said Gay.
“Come, Rolfe,” said Earth, “I think we had better be moving; it must
be getting towards day, and every thing is so quiet now, that we
cannot have a better time. We must leave the horses to take their
chance, and I will return and see about them to-morrow.”
“Then move on,” said Rolfe, “we will follow,” and starting off, Earth
led the way, saying, “step lightly, and let no one speak until we
stop.”
The ground over which they were now to pass, was somewhat broken, and
covered in many places with thick dwarf bushes; through these, they
had with the utmost caution made their way, and were now nearing an
open prairie, covered with tall grass, which lay immediately in front
of the camp, and between it and the Indian town. Earth halted a moment
when he beheld it, and seemed to hesitate as if doubting whether it
were prudent to proceed or not. But gazing around, and seeing nothing
to excite his fears, he whispered to his companions, “stoop low, and
move on.” He had now continued his way some short distance further,
and until a small cluster of bushes indicated that there the land was
rather drier than that over which they had just been passing, and
thither he bent his steps. But no sooner had he reached the little
knoll upon which they grew, than stopping suddenly, he beckoned to his
companions, and when they had approached him, crouched down and
motioned to them to do the same.
“What see you?” said Rolfe.
Earth made no reply, but pressed his finger to his lips, and then
raised his hand to his ear, as if endeavouring to catch some passing
sound. Not a moment elapsed, before there was heard the light step of
coming feet. “Lay closer down,” said Earth. The sound increased, and
then died away, as though it proceeded from persons who were passing.
When all seemed quiet, Earth gently raised his head, and scarcely did
he do so, before he heard persons moving in another direction, and
through the dim moonlight, saw a party of Indian warriors treading
their way with hurried, though cautious steps, toward the camp of the
whites. Then listening a moment,—“by gum, Rolfe, the prairie is
nat'ally alive with them; I can hear them in every direction; we did
run a great risk; they must have seen us when we crossed that piece of
grass, and taken us for Ingens, I reckon.”
“Oh! then I fear we shall yet be discovered,” cried Gay.
“Oh, hush! Rolfe, I wish you would make her be quiet. There will be
all sorts of work presently; the Ingens are moving on to attack the
whites.”
“Oh, God!” said Rolfe, “is it possible? may they not be
reconnoitring?”
“No,” answered Earth; “in a night attack they generally go off in
small parties; hardly ever more than three or four at a time.”
“Oh!” cried Gay, “is there no way in which we can give our friends
notice? Should the Indians enter the camp while they sleep, they will
all be massacred.”
“This is what Oloompa meant,” said Rolfe, “when he told us to hurry
away.”
“Yes,” said Earth, “and we may wish we had taken his advice. I do wish
those fires were out,—hush!” and at that moment, two Indians were seen
to glide by, within rifle shot:—“Look at them,” continued Earth,
“there can be no mistake, and I am not sure but that the camp is
surrounded before this.”
“Is there no way,” repeated Gay, “in which we can warn the whites of
their danger?”
“Lady, you are the real genuine,” said Earth; “most people would think
of themselves first; but you are right; if the Ingens get into the
camp before the whites have notice, they will use 'em all up. I think
a single life is nobly disposed of, when given for the preservation of
many, so I will slip away and risk it;—hush!”—then listening,—“I hear
some more passing along on the edge of the prairie. I will try and get
into the camp if I can; if not, I will fire my gun and give the alarm.
But oh! Rolfe, if I can only get inside, and tell them what the Ingens
are about, we will have as much fun as if we were shooting turkies at
a bait.” Then rising,—“good bye, may God bless you both.”
“Stop, stop!” said Gay, addressing him, “I did not mean that you
should go.”
“Lady, I intended it from the first minute;—I was only waiting for
them to stop passing a little, that I might at least have a chance to
do some good.”
“Earth,” said Rolfe, quickly, “what is to become of us, if you leave?”
“Oh! I can do no good by remaining now,” said Earth; “you had better
conceal yourselves as well as you can, and remain where you are;—keep
a sharp look out, and if an Ingen comes near you, shoot him down. You
will hardly be in danger, unless they stumble over you, for you see
they have something else to think of. Watch how the battle goes, and
if you find it going against us, why do the best you can; take the
woods, and try and reach the settlements. The Ingens are now passing
in every direction:—it will not do for you to stir yet; so, hide
awhile longer; keep close, until the rifles begin to talk pretty pert,
then, if you choose, get as far as you can from the town, and wait the
result. If the Ingens are beaten, come to the camp, and if every thing
goes well, we shall again meet; if not, why, as I said before, do the
best you can; and as in that event, I shall probably be used up, we
had as well, before we part, shake hands; for it may be for the last
time.” Taking Gay's hand, he grasped it cordially, saying,—“lady,
these little fingers tell that the forest should not have been thy
home.—Good bye! may heaven bless you.”—then, turning to Rolfe,—“well,
Rolfe, we have seen some strange things in our time. I wish I had told
you, before we parted, of the last fight that old Jupe had; but I
hav'nt time now. If I should happen to quit to night, why sometimes
think of Earth when you take a glass, and recollect, that though a
rough fellow, his intentions were always to do what he believed right.
Farewell!”
Gay and Rolfe made no reply, but were much affected, and moving off,
Earth turned and said,—“there is one thing I forgot, which I had as
well tell you: you are both young, and likely to travel the same path;
so, try and go along in a spirit of compromise; we all have our
quirks, and it is no use to get cross about small things;” and still
talking, he glided away through the grass, and his last words which
were heard by Rolfe, were,—“take a brush.”
Continuing to approach the camp, Earth moved on as cautiously as
though he were one of the party of Indians now attempting to surprise
it; thinking that, even should he be seen, he would not be recognized,
but regarded merely as one of the assailing band. Leaving him to
continue his exertions to enter the camp, we must return for a moment
to the Prophet.
As Oloompa expected when he left Tippecanoe, the warriors succeeded in
forcing the Prophet to give them immediate battle, and in accordance
with that resolve, they all left the town, and at the moment that
Earth was endeavouring to enter the American camp, they were creeping
stealthily around it, or rather, lying down, were cautiously drawing
their bodies through the grass and bushes. When Elkswatawa determined
to fight, he again resumed the character of Prophet, which for a few
moments he had laid aside, in his great anxiety to preserve peace, and
calling his warriors around him previous to their setting out, he
reiterated to them his predictions of success beyond a doubt, and
renewed the promise of the Great Spirit, that the balls of the whites
should fall harmless among them, and that they should have light,
while their enemies would be involved in darkness. The fiat of Heaven
itself could not have inspired them with more confidence, and scarcely
were the words uttered, before stealing away in small parties, they
began to surround the American camp, with a hope of realizing its
truth.
When the plan of attack was determined on, at the Prophet's suggestion
it was also agreed, that he himself was not to mingle in the fight;
his person was too sacred; but, remaining in the rear, he was to
direct by his counsel, and hold intercourse with the Great Spirit. The
object of the Indians in surrounding the camp, and approaching it so
cautiously, was at a given signal to despatch all the sentries, and
rushing forward before the whites could be organized, commence the
massacre. At the time that Earth left Rolfe, they had already
approached so near to the American lines, that even the guards as they
moved on their posts were heard by them, and still all went well. Not
a whisper, not a sound, save the heavy tread of the sentinel as he
walked his path, broke upon the ear. Leaving them for a moment, let us
enter within the camp of the whites.
It now wanted a quarter of four o'clock, and General Harrison had
already risen, and was conversing with his aids, who, wrapped in their
blankets, were reclining around him.
“How long before we shall turn out, general?” was asked by one of
them.
“Ten minutes;”—was the reply.
The mist, which for some hours had been gathering over the land, was
now condensed into a cold drizzling rain; thick clouds swept by ever
and anon, obscuring the moon, and all was hushed in silence, when the
report of a gun rang through the camp, and with it came the war-whoop
of five or six hundred Indians. Then, in an instant, was heard the
long roll of the drum, and there was hurrying to and fro, “and
mounting in hot haste,” and swift winged messengers of death were
flying in every direction. From one end of the camp to the other,
there was heard the crash of arms, and the whites fired against an
unseen enemy, and yet they saw themselves falling, fast and thick. It
was now discovered that their camp fires only served to render them
visible, while they tended more effectually to conceal the Indians.
They were, therefore, hurriedly covered over, and then the doings of
death were done in darkness, or by faint glimpses caught from the red
glare of the discharging guns. On each side might be seen the
impetuous onset, and the deadly struggle; and men fell grappling hand
to hand, yet saw not the face of him who dealt the blow.
While thus the battle raged, the Prophet was stationed on an eminence
at a comfortable distance, and though he fought not, he sang loud and
long, and howled his war song until it reached the ears of his
warriors. But now a messenger came from them with the tidings that,
counter to his predictions, the balls of the whites came straight, and
that his men were falling. “Fight on! fight on!” cried the Prophet,
“it will soon be as I said;” and when his answer was borne to his
warriors, they again rushed upon their enemies, and the tomahawk
struggled for life or death with the musket. The bayonet was pushed
aside and the soldier brained with the war-club, and hand to hand they
fought, and yielded not. On each side would the combatants, with a
recklessness of life scarcely ever before witnessed, approach the
fires and mend them up, for the purpose of adjusting their firelocks.
They then afforded a fair mark, and rarely, if ever, returned to their
ranks. Thus they fought until morning dawned; but now that discipline
and tactics were brought into play, valour could do no more. The
half-armed Indians could no longer contend with deep lines of well
armed soldiery. There was no longer hope, and they left the field, and
were beaten; yet for the red men who had fallen many times their
number of whites had found a sad and speedy death; and among them were
several officers—noble spirits—who embodied in their own characters
all that was ennobling in human nature, and during the short time of
that struggle, won for themselves fame, which will perish only when
the battle itself shall be forgotten.
The details of this battle prove it, on the part of the Indians, to
have been the best contested engagement ever fought by them; and when
we take into consideration the many disadvantages under which they
laboured, when we reflect that they were fewer in number than their
opponents, that they were badly armed, and not knowing the use of
cartridges, were obliged to load by guess in the dark, while the
whites possessed all the advantages belonging to a well disciplined
and well equipped corps, we cannot but commend the bravery with which
they commenced and sustained the attack. They fought with a
desperation never before witnessed, and yielded only, when farther
resistance was absolute madness. This was no doubt owing to the faith
which they had in the declarations of the Prophet, who had often told
them that success was certain; and likewise to the high state of
excitement generated by the continual performance of his mysterious
rites. When the Indians retreated, they re-entered their town, and the
whites, content with their advantage, did not pursue them, but passed
the day in burying their dead, taking care of the wounded, and
fortifying their camp, lest the attack should be renewed. To them, the
seventh of November was a sad day, for very many of their companions
who had arrived the evening before, flushed with hope, were numbered
among the slain.
The firing had long ceased, and morning was several hours advanced,
when two persons were seen to emerge from the forest, and approach the
American lines. Earthquake, who had reached the camp too late to warn
the whites of their danger, but who had nevertheless succeeded in
entering it and had borne himself gallantly in the conflict, was the
first to discover them, and rushing forward he heartily congratulated
them upon their safety.
“Well, Rolfe, what became of you?”
“Why, we took your advice, Earth; escaped to the woods and concealed
ourselves until we discovered that the Indians were beaten. And pray
what became of you after leaving us?”
“Ah! that will make half a dozen good yarns,” said Earth, “I'll spin
'em some of these times, when we have less to do. I had right smart
fun, though I didn't get there quite soon enough. One of the sentinels
saw an Ingen in the grass, crawling along, and cracked it into him,
just as I was looking about to see where I could best get into the
camp. Rolfe, I thought of you both when they all whooped. I tell you
what, it was almost enough to turn a man gray:”—then, turning to Gay,
“I suppose you were badly frightened.”
“Not so much at the whooping as I was at the firing,” she replied. “I
have been so long with the Indians, that I have become familiarized to
all their customs. They often whoop in their games and amusements, and
therefore, to me it was not so startling as it was to Richard. He was
most frightened, and wished often for you. But tell me, and I almost
fear to ask, how many have fallen?”
“Ah!” said Earth, “we had better not talk about that; it is mighty
bad; we can't yet tell how many?”
“How many Indians?” said Rolfe.
“That we can't tell either,” said Earth.
“Did Oloompa fall?” inquired Gay.
“I don't know,” said Earth, “I saw him last night, after I left you;
but we will talk of that another time. We are now just going within
the camp.”
“Earth, I wish you would try and get permission for us to enter a
tent; for Gay is tired to death, and would not like to be gazed at and
harassed with questions now.”
“Do, for Heaven's sake,” she added, “for, indeed, I am worn with
fatigue, and now, if I only knew that Miskwa and her mother were safe,
I should be happy.”
“Happy! Gay;”—said Rolfe, “see there, they are burying the dead.”
“Richard, I only mean as happy as one can be, situated as I am,” she
replied.
While thus conversing, Earth had hurried away to obtain the use of a
tent, and Rolfe and Gay, having entered the camp, their appearance was
hailed with much pleasure, and every comfort which it afforded was
readily extended to them. Her story was soon known, and even there
excited much attention. Her escape was regarded as little less than
miraculous, and the many difficulties which she had already
encountered won for her the regard of many who cheered her with the
hope that all dangers were now passed, and that she would soon reach
the settlements in safety. At this time Earthquake rejoined them,
saying that one of the officers had kindly begged that the lady would
occupy his tent, and Gay complaining much of fatigue, was by Rolfe
conducted thither, and left to repose.
Throughout the whole of the day, the army lay within their
entrenchments, fearing to venture out; for they had suffered very
heavy loss, and now knew neither the number of the Indians, nor
whither they had gone. Night came, and still no enemy appeared. Every
precaution was taken to prevent another surprise, and they awaited the
return of morning with the most anxious solicitude. It came:—beautiful
and cheering was the breaking day, and with its first light, was heard
the morning drum, calling the soldiers to arms; and, soon after, the
whole army was in motion, and on parade.—The dragoons and mounted
riflemen were then detailed,—ordered to reconnoitre the town, and
report the number and position of the Indians. They performed their
task, and returned quickly, saying, that the town was deserted,—not an
Indian to be seen.
Orders were then given that the town should be burned, and the
soldiers set out for that purpose. Rolfe and Earth, leaving Gay
protected by the detachment stationed at the camp, proceeded with
them. Moving forward, they had, at every step, examined the features
of the Indians who were slain, fearing lest they should find Oloompa
among the number. He was not with those who lay around the camp, where
only the battle had raged; and now they continued on to the deserted
town, for the purpose of prosecuting their search, knowing that
thither had been carried the wounded.
“Earth,” said Rolfe, “you told us when we met you yesterday, that you
saw him during the action:—tell me where?”
“It was not long,” said Earth, “after I got into the camp. I'll tell
you all about it some of these times. It was a mighty nice thing,
that, before;—I think I had just used up a fellow, who slipped in and
squatted by the fire to fix his flint;—well, as I was saying, it was
at that time; I was loading, and mighty fast too, about as fast as if
a neighbour had had his fingers in my eyes, and I was anxious to shoot
him, when I saw a fellow with his rifle up, taking deliberate sight at
me. It was too late to get out of the way, and I made up my mind to
give up the ghost, when I saw his rifle drop. As he put it down, he
cried, ‘hah!’ and instantly disappeared in the darkness. It was just
before we covered up the fires, and I only got a glimpse of his face
as he turned off; but, Rolfe, I never saw him look as he did then.”
“Then, Earth, he spared you even in battle.”
“He did so, Rolfe, and I don't believe he would have raised his rifle
agin me at first, if he had known me.”
“Earth,” said Rolfe, “if he is wounded, I hope we shall find him, for
he behaved so nobly I should be pleased to have it in my power to
extend to him any assistance.”
“So would I,” answered Earth, “for I set him down as an exception to
all I ever knowed. I wonder what has become of the old woman, and the
Ingen gal; he had a mighty strong liking for her.”
“Oh! I trust,” said Rolfe, “that they escaped, and are safe. Gay told
me last night how kind they had been to her. Earth, no mother or
sister could have been more so, and then, in conniving at her escape,
they risked their lives, and may for ought we know, have already
suffered death on that account.”
“I reckon the Prophet's hands were too full for any thing of that
sort,” answered Earth.
Thus conversing, they entered the Indian town. It bore marks of having
been deserted in great haste, for large quantities of corn and other
provisions were left, together with all their household utensils. Some
guns, which had not as yet been divested of the coverings in which
they were imported, with a small quantity of the best double glazed
rifle powder, were also found, affording convincing proof, if proof
were wanting, that the Indians were aided and abetted by the English,
before hostilities were declared between them and the Americans.
While the soldiers, in pursuance of orders, were burning the town,
Rolfe and Earth continued their search, with the hope of finding some
trace by which they might satisfy themselves of the safety of those in
whose fate they were interested. They discovered in the town several
warriors, who, brought from the scene of battle, had there died of
their wounds; but they could recognise in neither the ill-fated
Oloompa. Proceeding on, and searching cabin after cabin, they reached
the one in which had been confined Netnokwa and her daughter.—Upon
entering it, Rolfe started back, and cried out, “Oh! God! Earth,
look!”—
Would that we could, in the due course of our narrative, draw a veil
over that which follows:—Netnokwa and her lovely daughter had fallen
victims to the Prophet's cruelty. Irritated by the failure in his
attempt upon the American camp, he had, upon his return, discovered
the escape of the white maiden, which he could account for only
through their agency, and attributing to it his defeat, he harked on
against them, his infuriated followers.—The ‘old oak of the forest’
was laid low, and the ‘loveliest flower which ever had its birth on
the prairie,’ was cut down in its bloom! They lay in death as they had
lived in life,—together.
A crowd soon collected to view the spectacle.—Rolfe told their story,
and dwelt upon the kindness they had shown to the maiden now in the
American camp, and their agency in her escape. Their characters won
the respect, and their fate excited the sympathy of all. There now
only remained the sad duty of interring their remains. Rolfe told
Earth, that it was better not to tell Gay, until the last offices were
over;—that she was now worn down with fatigue, and to witness them
would only add to her distress, without imparting any consolation.
Earth accorded with him in opinion, and making such preparations as
circumstances permitted, they, assisted by a few friends, bore them
away to a quiet part of the town, and deeply deploring their sad fate,
consigned them in silence to the grave. The ceremony was sadly
contrasted with the scene around it. Rolfe saw the soldiers setting
fire to the houses, and eagerly bent on destroying what remained of
Indian property. He thought of the fortune which had made him
acquainted with several members of that ill-starred race; he reflected
upon the many fruitless attempts they had so often made to stay the
advance of the whites;—then passed before him the conduct of those who
had so nobly served him, and leaving Earth to mingle with the crowd,
he returned to the American camp, and seeking her for whose sake he
had encountered so many dangers, he said:—“Gay, my love! I must still
add another pang to your misfortunes.”
“Oh! what! what!” she cried, “does danger threaten you?”
“No;—Netnokwa and her daughter”——
“Are killed?”
“Yes,” said Rolfe.
“Oh! Richard!”—and covering her face, she was silent for a few
moments,—“what have I done! all who love me, seem fated to death! Oh!
Miskwa; Miskwa! could not all thy virtues save thee!”
“Come, love,” said Rolfe, “rather rejoice that you escaped; for the
same fate awaited you.”
“Oh! Richard! rejoice in the death of one who knew not wrong, and who
ever loved her friends more dearly than herself! but for you, I had
rather have suffered with her than live and know that I may have
brought misfortune on herself and mother. Oh! kind, dear Miskwa!”
Rolfe used all his exertions to console her,—assured her that the
death of Miskwa and her mother had been caused solely by the cruel
orders of the Prophet; and saying every thing that he could to sooth
her, left her for a time to her own meditations.
The town had been burned, the smoke was still rising from its ruins,
the soldiers had all returned to their camp, and it was evening when
Rolfe and Gay stood alone over the fresh grave of Netnokwa and her
daughter. Upon arriving there, Gay wept bitterly, and vented her grief
in passionate exclamations. “Oh! Richard!” she cried, “only a short
time since, and she was planning my safety, regardless of her own! and
now”—her utterance was choked with grief.
“Come, Gay,” said Rolfe, “let us return.”
She spoke not, but continued moistening the earth with her tears.
Rolfe then entreated her to leave, saying, that the army would set out
on the next morning, for the settlements, and that it was necessary
that they should at once return to the camp. Twilight was shedding its
influence over the scene, when bidding a long, last farewell to the
spot where now remained those who had so nobly served her, she
permitted him to lead her away.
On the morning of the 9th the troops were early in motion. The Indians
were no where to be seen, and fearing lest they should get
reinforcements, and return to the attack, they determined to move
forward on their march to Vincennes. Forming in the same order in
which they had arrived, their loss was more apparent than it had been;
and served to shed a gloom over the whole army. All the wagons, with
the exception of one, were filled with the wounded, and in that were
carried the arms of those who had fallen. There being now no means of
transporting their baggage, they resolved to destroy it, and General
Harrison setting the example, it was cheerfully followed.
The army then took up its line of march, and Gay, mounted on
horseback, and escorted by Rolfe and Earth, proceeded under its
protection as far as Vincennes, where they rested a few days, and then
continued their journey to Kentucky.