THE SECOND ATTACK
Why it was that my thoughts should go back to Elias Shendle at this
moment when we were in the greatest peril, I am unable to say. Even as
we waited for the first report of a musket, betokening that the savages
were bent on taking revenge, the question as to where the lad might be
came to me, and straightway I, who had felt that he of all our company
was the most secure, began to be anxious concerning him.
If the lad had gone to Forty Fort without hindrance, unfolded his
budget of information there, and returned immediately, he would barely
have time to arrive at Fort Jenkins, and it was reasonable to suppose
he would spend at least four and twenty hours among his friends, not
thinking it might be absolutely necessary for him to hasten back.
Then, arriving on the morrow, mayhap he would find the stockade so
invested as to render it impossible for him to enter, and thus be
forced to return again; at least, so I figured it in my mind, until
coming to believe that I might have seen the last of my comrade in this
world.
Regarding the fate of the hunters who as yet were unaccounted for, I
had no great fear, because of the fact that their comrades reported
them as having fled toward the river, and, once on the other side
of the stream, I believed they would seek safety at the Pittstown
stockades, which, as I have already said, were directly opposite Fort
Jenkins.
“There is little use in trying to form plans for defence when we have
no fair idea as to how the attack may be begun,” Master Bartlett said,
seeing that I was in a brown study.
“It was of Elias Shendle I was thinking, sir, and for the moment had
forgotten we were here to defend the stockade against overwhelming
odds.”
“Elias may thank his lucky stars you believed it necessary to send word
to Forty Fort as to what had been learned,” Master Bartlett replied,
gravely. “With such a force of savages as we know are hereabouts, or at
Wintermoot’s, there will be no child’s play when the business is once
begun, for, if we tire one gang, as you did those who made the first
attack, there are others in plenty to take their places.”
“That has the sound of croaking, Master Bartlett,” I said, with a
mirthless laugh, “and it seems to me just now what we most need is
something to raise our courage.”
“After what you three lads have done this night, Jonathan Ogden, I’m
thinking that you are not in sore need of being bolstered up lest you
show the white feather, and, because you have proven yourself a lad of
spirit, would I have you look upon the situation exactly as it is.”
“And what may it be, Master Bartlett, from your standpoint?”
“Defeat for us, as a matter of course; but, please God, we’ll hold out
long enough for our friends and neighbors to know of what is being
done, and thereby understand the better their own situation.”
I was surprised that the old man should speak so positively of our
being whipped, although such must be the natural conclusion by one who
knew the strength of both parties, and I said as much to him, whereupon
he replied, gravely:
“To my mind, lad, a man can fight better having confessed his own
weakness, for he who anticipates the worst is not so easily discouraged
as the one who, believing he will be victorious, suddenly finds the
tide of battle turning against him.”
It had been agreed that all within the stockade, save the women, should
take their places on the platform as watchers, while Masters Bartlett
and Morley kept an eye out to make certain no one was shirking his
duty, and at this point in the gloomy conversation I bethought myself
it was time to take station, therefore climbed up just over the small
gate, with Daniel Hinchman a dozen paces to my left, and Giles March
about the same distance on my right.
I saw Master Bartlett walking across the enclosure, as if to begin his
rounds, while Stephen Morley was on the eastern side talking with some
of those on duty there.
“Have you and Master Bartlett settled what is to be done?” Giles March
asked, in a low tone, as he stepped nearer to me, both of us crouching
where we could gaze out through the apertures between the logs, rather
than expose ourselves uselessly as targets.
Knowing that there was little danger of disheartening a lad like Giles
by giving words to gloomy forebodings, I repeated to him that which the
old man had said, and, greatly to my surprise, he replied:
“I believe he is in the right of it, Jonathan Ogden. It isn’t
reasonable to suppose we could stand off very long such a force as John
Butler has brought into the valley, even though we had ammunition in
plenty, which is far from being the case. Sooner or later, unless help
comes to us from the army, we must be whipped.”
“Why?” I asked, hotly.
“Because John Butler has brought here an army to take possession of
the valley, and has with him white men enough to keep the savages at
their work, however little stomach they may have for it. Therefore do I
say again that, before this business is ended, I am looking to see the
settlements in Wyoming wiped out. But they shall pay a goodly price
for victory, Jonathan, even in the capture of this--”
He ceased speaking suddenly to raise his head above the tops of the
logs, with his musket ready for instant use, and, following his
example, I saw far away, even amid the gloom, a certain movement of the
foliage which told that some heavy body was trying to force a passage
through the bushes.
“If that fellow will keep on a minute longer, so that I may get a fair
idea of where his carcass is, I’ll guarantee he comes no nearer,” Giles
said, grimly, and then it was that there came into my mind once more
the thought of Elias Shendle.
Laying my hand on his shoulder to prevent him from firing, I whispered:
“Make certain, Giles, who you shoot at, for it isn’t impossible that
Elias may have returned.”
“Even if such was the case, he couldn’t have made his way up past
Wintermoot’s while there are so many of the enemy hereabout,” the lad
replied, but at the same time he lowered his weapon.
“You might have said an hour ago that we couldn’t have released the
two lads who were being made ready for the torture, and yet we did
it, Giles,” but, even while speaking, I said to myself that it wasn’t
within the range of probability that he who was causing the movement
among the branches could be our absent comrade.
Then it was that Daniel Hinchman caught sight of the disturbance
amid the foliage, and, seeing him raise his musket, I crept over
to give warning; but before many minutes had passed, we knew beyond
a peradventure that it must be a friend instead of an enemy who was
thus coming up. No single Indian could have effected anything to his
advantage by creeping so close to the stockade that it would have been
impossible to shoot us down save by thrusting the muzzle of his musket
between the logs.
“Keep your wits about you,” I whispered to Daniel and Giles, “watching
lest the savages make a dash, and I’ll open the gate for whoever has
been so fortunate, or so skilful, as to come alive through the forest
wherein are lurking so many of the enemy.”
Master Bartlett came up while I was unbarring the gate, and, when I
told him of what we had seen, he stood by in readiness to defend the
entrance if by any chance we had been mistaken.
Then, five minutes later, came a scratching upon the logs outside, and
cautiously I swung the narrow gate open sufficiently wide to admit of
one person entering at a time, when in crawled Elias Shendle.
Not until the gate was barred again securely did I turn to greet the
lad who had joined us at such great risk of his life, and, instead of
welcoming him, I said that which first came to my mind:
“Why did you come back, once having gained the security of Forty Fort?”
“Because this is my place, Jonathan Ogden,” was the quiet reply, “and
from what I have seen since noon, it strikes me that you need every
musket here which can be mustered.”
“What have you seen, lad?” Master Bartlett asked, anxiously.
“Savages and Tories enough to make a full army, and all of them with
their faces turned this way. It was near to noon when I came up within
half a mile of Wintermoot’s, and since then have I made the best speed
possible under the circumstances. Twenty times was I like to have run
into a white cur or a red villain, and twenty times did I get off by
the skin of my teeth.”
“You succeeded in reaching Forty Fort?” I interrupted, not minded to
hear more of information which was disheartening.
“Ay, and found there that I might as well have stayed here, for it’s
a question if they are not better informed as to the situation than
are we. Two days before I arrived there, Colonel Zebulon Butler came
from the army on a five days’ furlough, and, learning of the danger
which menaces, declares that he will allow the word ‘deserter’ written
against his name rather than leave this valley while the enemy are so
strong against us. The people have made him their commander, and it
is agreed that Forty Fort shall be the general rendezvous. Before I
got there, nearly all the women and children from roundabout had come
up for safety. Runners have been sent to General Washington’s camp,
which is now near New Brunswick, begging that troops be sent at least
sufficiently long for us to make an attack upon John Butler’s force;
Colonel Zebulon Butler himself writing to the general that it is
impossible for our people to retreat to a place of safety, and unless
succor be sent at once we must all perish.”
Elias ceased speaking as if his story was told, and Master Bartlett
said, in a tone of satisfaction:
“It is well that they are alive to the danger which menaces. Does
Colonel Zebulon believe Forty Fort will be attacked?”
“Indeed he does,” Elias replied, “and with good reason. Yesterday
did John Butler send a demand for surrender, not only of the fort,
but of the entire valley, threatening that unless we throw ourselves
on his mercy the savages shall be let loose upon us. It was when his
messengers returned to Wintermoot’s that I followed not above three
hundred paces in their rear, believing safety lay in keeping as near to
them as might be possible with secrecy, and thus did I come up as far
as that nest of Tories without fear.”
Even though Elias’s journey had proved unnecessary, so far as warning
our friends in the valley was concerned, it seemed to me of great
benefit, since we had gained information of the general situation, and
knew it was not necessary we absolutely sacrifice our lives in order to
give them tidings of what might be expected. Yet with such assurance
it must not be supposed that the thought of surrendering the fort came
into my mind, save as a last dread resort.
“How many men, think you, are in the Pittstown stockades?” Master
Bartlett inquired, of no one in particular.
“Surely not more than a corporal’s guard,” I replied. “Why did you ask?”
“There was in my mind the thought as to whether we might not persuade
them to come over to us,” the old man replied, slowly, as if to weigh
his own words, and Giles March said, sharply:
“If, as we believe, the two lads who are yet missing succeeded in
reaching those stockades, then do the men of Pittstown know by this
time all our needs, and would make effort to reinforce us if they were
minded to do so.”
Master Bartlett did not continue the conversation after this
interruption; but a few moments later I noticed that he was holding
earnest converse with Stephen Morley, and believed it had reference to
sending some one across the river with an appeal for help.
It is not well that I should set down what we said and did during this
time while waiting for the attack to be made, because it would not make
pleasing reading. With the knowledge in the minds of all that we were
heavily overmatched, there was little of cheer in our words; but no
thought in our hearts of yielding simply because the odds were heavy
against us.
Every lad did his duty as sentinel, but never a sign of the foe was
seen or heard until perhaps half an hour before midnight, and then the
battle was begun upon that side of the stockade nearest the river, the
savages suddenly bursting out from the thicket with whoops and yells,
at the same time that a discharge of musketry came from every quarter.
This was no more than we anticipated. In fact, it was the kind of
an assault we had reason to believe would be made, and were holding
ourselves in readiness for it.
Four of the lads had been instructed by Master Bartlett that, when such
assault began, they were to take stations on the side of the stockade
opposite where the attack was being made, in order to give an alarm in
case the enemy attempted to rush us from any other quarter at the same
time.
This first assault would not have been anything very serious, as I
viewed it, except for the fact that John Coburn, he who had been
rescued from the stake, was quite painfully, though not dangerously,
wounded, therefore was our force reduced by one, since he would be
unable to do duty again for several days.
The savages had come on with a rush, firing at random, each bringing
with him a log of wood to pile up at the foot of the stockade, with the
idea that they might scale the walls; but we poured in such a heavy
dose of lead that within fifteen minutes they had had all that was
needed, and to spare.
When they sneaked back under cover again, it was as if the battle had
come to an end; but Master Bartlett said, grimly, to some of those lads
who were congratulating themselves that we had won a victory:
“Don’t deceive yourselves, lads; they were but just feeling of us,
and the next time they try it, which will be before daylight, unless
I am mistaken, their work won’t be so difficult, for you will take
notice that the logs they brought are yet piled up at the foot of the
stockade. Now they may come with no burden, and it will be strange if
some don’t succeed in getting over.”
“If they do, we’ll make short work of them,” Oscar Stephenson said,
boldly, and Master Bartlett turned away, as if to say that it was a
waste of time to argue the question with a lad who could not look
further into the future.
In case only a certain few succeeded in scaling the stockade we might
overcome them, but at some expense to ourselves, and in time, if the
red demons could be kept at their work, we would have beaten ourselves,
so to speak.
However, Master Bartlett was so convinced that there remained a
breathing spell for us that he suggested to me the idea of allowing
at least half the force to lie down and sleep, if that should be
possible, and so I directed, but as for myself and Giles March, there
was no desire for slumber--death seemed too near at hand.
We were left unmolested perhaps an hour, and then the silence was
broken as the sentinels on the eastern side discharged their muskets,
when Elias Shendle, who was standing by my side, exclaimed, as we
started forward:
“They count on hammering at the same place until the stockade can be
scaled.”
Within ten minutes I had good reason for believing that Elias had
spoken no more than the truth.
Fully an hundred Indians suddenly burst out from the thicket, each
carrying over his shoulder a log, and running at full speed, regardless
of the fire which we poured in upon them. Throwing their burdens upon
those which had previously been brought, they immediately retreated,
strange to say, with a loss of only two of their number. Why our
lads did not fire with greater accuracy of aim I fail even now to
understand, and was not then minded to speculate upon it, because I saw
plainly the plan which the enemy had in view for the capture of the
fort.
On that side nearest the river was a pile of logs extending nearly
to the top of the stockade, and Master Bartlett said, as I leaned
cautiously over to see what had been done:
“They have made their preparations, lad, and I am of the mind that at
the next assault we shall find ourselves overrun.”
He had said only that which I already realized; but it irritated me
that the fact should thus be put in words, and I said sharply, not
with any intent to show disrespect to one of his age, but owing to my
nervousness:
“Of what avail is it that we continually speculate upon the time when
the end shall come? If they succeed in gaining an entrance, it only
remains for us to fight so long as we can hold our muskets.”
“True, lad,” the old man said, thoughtfully; “but it strikes me that we
have a duty to perform before that moment shall come.”
“And what may it be?” I asked, in surprise.
“If we fight until the last, refusing to surrender because of such
mercy as those demons will show, _our_ end has come with but little
pain; but how about those women and the children fastened in yonder
blockhouse?”
It was as if my heart ceased beating, for until that moment I had
thought only of meeting death as a lad who was defending his home
should meet it; but now I understood all too well that there was
something more,--something of horror in which I would have no part,
because of selfishly allowing myself to be put out of the world.
“But how can we provide for their safety?” I cried, passionately. “If
we fight to the last, more cannot be demanded of us.”
“Stephen Morley and I have been talking together as to the possibility
of giving those poor creatures one little chance of escape, while we
make our last stand, so that our lives may not be given up simply to
save ourselves from the pain of torture.”
“Explain yourself, Master Bartlett. We may not have many moments in
which to talk, and if there is work to be done, it is necessary that we
set about it quickly.”
“Even now Stephen Morley is explaining to the women what we hope even
against hope that it may be possible for them to do. So far as we know,
the Pittstown stockades are in no immediate danger; why can’t these
women and children, during the heat of the battle, contrive to get
themselves across the river, or, failing in stemming the current, drift
so far down-stream as to be beyond reach of the fiends?”
“If they can leave the fort, then why not we?” I asked, and he replied
in a tone which made me ashamed of having used the words:
“Because it is not for us to turn our backs upon the foe until the
moment has come when we know, beyond a peradventure, that nothing can
be gained by continuing the battle.”
In order that no more words may be used than is absolutely necessary
for the telling of the story, let me say that Masters Bartlett and
Morley had hatched up what seemed like a poor plan, but yet better
than nothing.
Their idea was that, when the savages made the next assault, if they
succeeded in throwing into the enclosure an overwhelming number, we
should make our last stand near by the blockhouse, or inside, as the
case might be. Before this could happen, the women, each taking from
the building itself such timbers as could be readily carried, should be
allowed to go out through the small gate, with the chance of gaining
the river, and there, trusting to the logs or splints which they
carried, gain the opposite side, or, as Master Bartlett had said, float
down to some place of safety.
It was a poor plan at the best, but yet the only one that could be
formed. As a matter of course, I agreed to it; but my agreement was
no more than a form, for, on approaching the blockhouse, I saw that
already were the women at work tearing out the inside in such fashion
that each procured a plank or log which would serve to keep herself and
little ones above the surface of the water.
I had no hope that it would succeed. With all these preparations for
the final moment, and the knowledge that when the Indians had made up
their minds to come in there was nothing to prevent them, death seemed
so very near that it shut out every thought of life beyond the next
assault.
And that came even before we had anticipated.
Giles had proposed that we divide the ammunition equally, and this was
being done when the sentinels on the eastern wall gave the alarm. It
seemed to me as if the words had no more than been spoken when, looking
in that direction, I saw, coming over the stockade like a black cloud,
hundreds upon hundreds of the naked foe, whooping and yelling, as they
struck here and there at our fellows with their hatchets.
Three of the Minute Boys fell at the first rush, even before I had time
to summon the others to the blockhouse.
Amid the howls and exulting cries of the savages, I heard Stephen
Morley ordering the women to put into execution the plan which had been
agreed upon, and as we lads and men ran into or behind the blockhouse,
I knew, without seeing, that the helpless members of our little company
were streaming out through the narrow gate, but believed that, once on
the plain, they would be met by those whose chief delight is to butcher
the helpless.
Then came that which you may call a battle, if such a name can be given
to an encounter where less than twenty were opposed to three or four
hundred.
We stood our ground, firing as rapidly as it was possible to recharge
our weapons, and kept up such a shower of lead that, strange as it may
seem, the savages wavered and hung back, when, by coming forward at
full speed, they could have trampled us under foot. There we held them
in check,--how long I know not; but it seemed to me that half the night
was gone before the foremost of the curs gathered courage enough to
make the dash.
At that instant I felt a grip upon my shoulder, and Master Bartlett was
shouting in my ear:
“We have done all that men can, and more than many would. Now let us
take such chance for our lives as remains.”
It seems pitiful a lad should be forced to set down the fact that,
after having brought himself to the point where he believed it his
duty to stand up fighting until death overtook him, he should beat a
retreat, and yet that was what we did.
Now, looking back, when it is possible to view the matter calmly,
my wonder is that we had not done the same thing before the second
assault, knowing as we did what the end must be. At that time it would
have been more than an even chance we might succeed in the escape by
marching in a solid body to the river, where, plunging into the stream,
we could take our chances of swimming to the opposite shore or of
drifting down. Then there would have been a possibility of retreating
without such loss as we afterward suffered, and without benefiting
those whom we were bound to protect.
[Illustration: “GILES MARCH AND I EACH TOOK HIM BY THE HAND.”]
Of all that dreadful story of Wyoming, the only bright spot in it, if
there can be anything bright amid so much of horror, was that out
of Fort Jenkins went all those women and children in safety, while our
little force of twenty-three or four got away with a loss of seven,
three of whom were killed at the first rush, one stricken down by
a hatchet hurled at him as we stood near the blockhouse, and three
captured when we began the retreat.
From the small gate to the river bank was not above eighty paces, and,
knowing that Master Bartlett could not run as swiftly as either of us,
because of his infirmities, Giles March and I each took him by the
hand, literally dragging the old man along with us, and into the river
we three went.
Elias Shendle I had not seen since the fight began; but it seemed to me
probable that he was among those who had first been killed.
I believe it was fully three minutes after we, who were the hindermost
of that retreating company, leaped into the water before our pursuers
opened fire, and then the chances of their doing any execution were
exceeding small, for we had but to keep within the shadows of the
western bank to be entirely hidden from view.
“Better leave me, lads, for I can’t swim,” Master Bartlett said when
Giles and I had forced him into the stream, and were striking out
lustily that we might get into the line of shadow where we would be
hidden, and I, burning to do something which would lessen the shame
of having retreated when I should have remained to be killed, said,
sharply:
“It shall be all three of us, Master Bartlett, or none. Do you take
hold of Giles’s collar and mine, and it will go hard if we can’t
succeed in carrying you along with us.”
“It is best to leave me, lads; I am grown too old to be of much
service, and a matter of a few days more or less will make no
difference either to me or the people of the valley.”
“You go with us, Master Bartlett, whether you will or no,” Giles said,
sharply, and then we held our peace, fearing to speak again lest we
give the savage foe good warning of where a target might be found.
And the waters of the Susquehanna carried us swiftly and silently away,
as they carried that night the women and children who were battling for
life, down past Wintermoot’s, past this bend and that cove, until the
shrieks and yells of triumph raised by John Butler’s wolves, as they
exulted in their victory, were lost to our ears in the distance.