David Morgan had settled upon the Monongahela during the early part of
the revolutionary war, and at this time had ventured to occupy a cabin
at the distance of several miles from any settlement.
One morning, having sent his younger children out to a field at a
considerable distance from the house, he became uneasy about them, and
repaired to the spot where they were working. He was armed, as usual,
with a good rifle. While sitting upon the fence and giving some
directions as to their work, he observed two Indians upon the other side
of the field gazing earnestly upon the party. He instantly called to the
children to make their escape, while he should attempt to cover
their retreat.
The odds were greatly against him, as in addition to other
circumstances, he was nearly seventy years of age, and, of course,
unable to contend with his enemies in running. The house was more than a
mile distant, but the children, having two hundred yards the start, and
being effectually covered by their father, were soon so far in front,
that the Indians turned their attention entirely to the old man. He ran
for several hundred yards with an activity which astonished himself, but
perceiving that he would be overtaken, long before he could reach his
home, he fairly turned at bay, and prepared for a strenuous resistance.
The woods through which they were running were very thin, and consisted
almost entirely of small trees, behind which, it was difficult to obtain
proper shelter.
Morgan had just passed a large walnut, and, in order to resist with
advantage, it became necessary to run back about ten steps in order to
regain it. The Indians were startled at the sudden advance of the
fugitive, and halted among a cluster of saplings, where they anxiously
strove to shelter themselves. This, however, was impossible; and Morgan,
who was an excellent marksman, saw enough of the person of one of them
to justify him in risking a shot. His enemy instantly fell,
mortally wounded.
The other Indian, taking advantage of Morgan's empty gun, sprung from
the shelter, and advanced rapidly upon him. The old man, having no time
to reload, was compelled to fly a second time. The Indian gained rapidly
upon him, and, when within twenty steps, fired, but with so unsteady an
aim, that Morgan was wholly unhurt, the ball having passed over
his shoulder.
He now again stood at bay, clubbing his rifle for a blow, while the
Indian, dropping his empty gun, brandished his tomahawk and prepared to
throw it at his enemy. Morgan struck with the butt of his gun, and the
Indian hurled his tomahawk at one and the same moment. Both blows took
effect; and both of the combatants were at once wounded and disarmed.
The breech of the rifle was broken against the Indian's skull, and the
edge of the tomahawk was shattered against the barrel of the rifle,
having first cut off two of the fingers of Morgan's left hand. The
Indian then attempting to draw his knife, Morgan grappled him, and bore
him to the ground. A furious struggle ensued, in which the old man's
strength failed, and the Indian succeeded in turning him.
Planting his knee on the breast of his enemy, and yelling loudly, as is
usual with the barbarians upon any turn of fortune, he again felt for
his knife, in order to terminate the struggle at once; but having lately
stolen a woman's apron, and tied it around his waist, his knife was so
much confined, that he had great difficulty in finding the handle.
Morgan, in the meantime, being an accomplished pugilist, and perfectly
at home in a ground struggle, took advantage of the awkwardness of the
Indian, and got one of the fingers of his right hand between his teeth.
The Indian tugged and roared in vain, struggling to extricate it. Morgan
held him fast, and began to assist him in hunting for the knife. Each
seized it at the same moment, the Indian by the blade, and Morgan by the
handle, but with a very slight hold.
[Illustration: THE LAST SHOT.]
The Indian, having the firmest hold, began to draw the knife further out
of its sheath, when Morgan, suddenly giving his finger a furious bite,
twitched the knife dexterously through his hand, cutting it severely.
Both now sprung to their feet, Morgan brandishing his adversary's knife,
and still holding his finger between his teeth. In vain the poor Indian
struggled to get away, rearing, plunging, and bolting, like an unbroken
colt. The teeth of the white man were like a vice, and he at length
succeeded in giving his savage foe a stab in the side. The Indian
received it without falling, the knife having struck his ribs; but a
second blow, aimed at the stomach, proved more effectual, and the savage
fell. Morgan thrust the knife, handle and all, into the body, directed
it upward, and, starting to his feet, made the best of his way home.