THE NIGHT ATTACK.
Kingman and Moffat remained on watch the whole night, but the Shawnees
did not again make their appearance. There was evidently some deep laid
plan upon their part, which they were prosecuting with unusual caution.
Although there had been suspicion awakened with the settlers, and their
most careful and experienced men were deputed as sentinels, yet nothing
thus far had been discovered during the day-time to awaken apprehension.
Several times before, in the history of this settlement, the first
intimation the settlers had of danger was by detecting savages lurking
in the woods during the day.
In the morning, after the event alluded to, the men were made aware of
the danger which threatened them, and a consultation was held as to what
steps should be taken. The general belief was that a large Indian force
was scattered through the woods, and were making preparations for an
attack. Under these circumstances the advice of the minister, Edwards,
was taken; viz:—to dispatch several scouts to ascertain if possible the
strength of their enemies, and the probable manner in which they would
attempt the assault, and also for each settler to fortify his own house,
in case they should get within the enclosure.
Several old Indian fighters, including Moffat, crept carefully into the
woods, and reconnoitered for over an hour. The result was what was
anticipated. There were unmistakable signs of a large Indian force. In
addition to this, Moffat examined the outside row of pickets, and found
there were several which had been nearly severed by some keen instrument
in the hands of the Indians. No other part of the enclosure had been
touched.
Late in the afternoon, a scout from Boonesborough made his appearance,
and was admitted. He reported that there was a pretty general uprising
among the savages, and Colonel Boone was daily expecting an attack.
Kenton was at one of the weaker settlements, as there were alarming
signs of war along the whole frontier, and there was no certainty who
would suffer first.
As the night slowly settled over the wilderness, the pioneers collected
in their homes to spend an hour or so with their families. The evening
meal was scantily partaken of, at the close of which all knelt and sent
up a fervent supplication for protection by the Great Being above. Then,
after a few more words, the females and children retired, and the men
rose and sallied forth to the block-houses.
Kingman, after leaving his mother, proceeded to the house of Stuart.
Stuart himself was gone, but Irene was still watching for him.
“Ah! up yet?” he laughed. “You ought to be abed.”
“I have no desire to sleep, and do not intend to, until the danger is
over.”
“Why, what help do you suppose you can offer?”
“Perhaps none, but when our friends are in such danger, little sleep, it
seems, should come to the others.”
“I trust we shall escape without much trouble,” said Kingman, hopefully.
“There may be no attack, after all is said and done.”
“Oh, I hope not! There is war all the time. It is dreadful. I pray it
may soon end.”
“Keep up a good heart, Irene. So, good by, now.”
“Good by, dear; may heaven protect you.”
He hastily embraced her, and then turned and joined the rest.
The men congregated, as said, in the different block-houses, which were
so built as to protect the four sides of the town, while several of
their scouts entered the space between the two picket rows to guard
against any artifice or stratagem. The Indians were probably aware that
the settlers had made preparations, for they deferred the attack until a
late hour.
Although the settlers’ families retired to rest, there were few indeed
who closed their eyes upon that night. Irene stood in the same spot she
had bidden adieu to Kingman, waiting and watching with a beating heart
the men as they passed to and fro, or stood motionless at their posts.
The sky was full of tumultuously flying clouds, which obscured the light
of the moon, and sometimes threw an inky darkness over the town and
forest. Then, again, it would shine out full and clear, and the dark
forms of the watchers and scouts could be seen as they passed out from
the block-houses and communicated with each other.
Then, as a straggling cloud passed over the face of the moon, its
shadows glided noiselessly and swiftly over the village, like a great
phantom, shrouding everything in its ghastly light.
Gradually the night wore on. Irene and her mother stood side by side,
and when the moonlight streamed down upon the village, they could see
that in every cabin door there were others standing the same as
themselves.
Not a word was spoken by any one, for there was something in the hour,
the occasion, and surrounding circumstances that made every heart
silent. Irene had fallen into a sort of half-unconscious, dreamy
reverie, when she was startled by hearing her mother exclaim:
“In mercy’s name, what is that?”
The cause of Mrs. Stuart’s exclamation was what appeared to be a bright
stream of fire that shot from the northern block-house and ascended high
into the sky. A moment’s glance showed it to be a burning arrow cast by
their assailants. It arose in a fiery curve, and as it turned and fell
described a beautiful arch. Ere it had reached its destination another
shot upward, and another, and another, until the air was filled with the
hissing, burning missiles. They were flying in every direction, and
falling upon the cabins and block-houses. For a moment Irene was
bewildered by the scene, and scarcely comprehended it.
“Oh, we shall be burned alive!” exclaimed Mrs. Stuart.
The daughter saw that one of the burning arrows had struck the cabin
within a few feet of her. Here it stuck, while the small twist of flame
round the head crackled and snapped in the logs. Without a moment’s
hesitation, our heroine stepped forward, and seizing the arrow, drew it
forth and threw it upon the ground.
“Heaven save us! Ain’t you burnt?” asked her mother.
“But slightly; but look, they are falling all around us.”
It was true. Everywhere, like serpents of fire, they crossed in the air,
while some fell upon the ground, and others buried their keen points in
the cabins and block-houses. Little balls of fire were visible in
different places, and the air was filling with smoke. As may be
supposed, the females were greatly alarmed, and there seemed imminent
danger of all the cabins being ablaze in a short time. Women began
running to and fro, plucking the arrows and dashing water upon their
cabins, while the fiery missiles continued raining down upon them.
“Don’t be scart,” called out Moffat, as he rushed among them. “Don’t be
scart; these arrers can’t do no harm. The cabins are too green to burn,
and the Injins are too green to see it. Jerusalem!”
This last exclamation was caused by one of the flaming missiles dropping
so close to his person as to graze his coat or hunting-shirt, and set it
on fire. He slipped out of it in a twinkling, and dodged back to the
block-house as fast as possible. His words had allayed the panic and
reassured the females, for he had spoken the truth. The cabins were of
such construction that, with one exception, there was the least possible
danger of their taking fire, and it was the same with the block-houses
and pickets. The wood in them was still green, and full of sap, and the
flame borne by the Indian arrows had no effect upon them, except to
cause a slight smoke and a great panic.
This the Indians soon learned, and ceased their efforts in this
direction. A silence of perhaps a half hour followed—the deep, almost
audible silence which precedes the bursting of the storm. The savages,
up to this point, had given utterance to no yells, and had persisted to
a man in remaining invisible, so that not a shot had been exchanged upon
either side. Those in the block-houses had done their utmost to catch a
glimpse of their assailants, but thus far had not succeeded. When the
flying arrows made their appearance, they seemed as if shot from the
branches of the trees, and the wood was so dense that a most effectual
concealment was given all.
The clearing around the settlement, it will be remembered, extended
several hundred feet, so an enemy would be compelled to expose
themselves if they made a close attack. As the Shawnees ceased their
efforts for a while, every settler loaded his gun, for he well knew that
it would be needed in a short time.
“What’s the next thing on the programme?” asked Moffat, who was standing
beside the minister within the block-house.
“It is hard telling, I guess,” replied Edwards.
“Some trickery that we ain’t thinking about, I’ll be bound. Them
Shawnees won’t give up so easy as all that.”
“Moffat—see here, Moffat!” called a man at one of the loop-holes.
“What’s the trouble there?”
“Just take a peep through the loop-hole and see whether there is
anything to be seen.”
Moffat stepped forward as requested, and took a scrutinizing glance of
the clearing in front. His suspicions were aroused, for he gazed several
minutes without speaking a word.
“Do you make anything of it?” inquired his friend.
“Shawnees, as sure as thunder!”
“Pass the word to the others there, and blaze away.”
The pioneers were soon aware that the Shawnees were attempting to
approach them. As they looked forth, they could see upon the outer edge
of the clearing, their forms flat upon the ground, and creeping as
stealthily as shadows. At the distance, and among the stumps and logs,
it was hard to discover them, and none but a hunter’s eye would have
done it. Orders were given to withhold the fire until they were much
closer, and upon the point of rising for the result.
Steadily, but imperceptibly to the inexperienced eye, the Shawnees
approached the settlement. They could not be seen to move, and the way
in which Kingman judged of their approach was by comparing the position
of one of the dark forms with that of a stationary object. In a short
time a relative change of position would be seen which became more
perceptible each moment. Edwards, who was one of the leaders, seeing
that the savages would turn all their exertions toward scaling the
pickets or effecting an entrance through them, dispatched a large number
of men from the block-house to guard the block-houses, so that the
guards of the towns was not weak at any point.
Fortune favored the settlers. When the Shawnees were but comparatively a
few yards distant, the clouds cleared from the face of the moon, and as
the moonlight streamed down once more, the gleaming, expectant, upturned
faces of the Indians could be seen. All understood that this was the
moment to fire, and simultaneously nearly a hundred rifles in the
different block-houses broke upon the air. As many infuriated yells
broke forth, and seemingly from the very ground, scores of savages
sprang to their feet and rushed toward the pickets. Here the cool and
steady conduct of the settlers availed them. It was impossible to scale
the guard, or either to burn or batter it down, except by vigorous,
prolonged labor.
The Indians set desperately at work, not heeding the murderous fire
which was poured upon them. But it soon told too fearfully, for every
shot was well aimed; and when a hunter’s rifle belched its contents a
Shawnee was sure to bite the dust. The block-houses were unrelentless in
their fire, and continued to pour their shots in upon the dark, dancing
bodies without, who still kept madly at work, howling and yelling like
so many demons.
And all this time numbers kept pouring from the woods, until there were
several hundred assaulting the settlement. The attack was made from all
sides, at the same moment and by equally formidable numbers, so that
each block-house had its due share of work. To add to the confusion, the
horses and cattle within the enclosure became panic-struck, and their
affrighted snorts and bellowing could be heard among the din of
conflict. The discharge of the rifles was so continued and regular that
it sounded like the firing of a well-drilled army—platoon at a time; and
though it could not help telling fearfully upon the Shawnees, it seemed
in reality to have no effect.
“Fire quicker, boys, and with a sure aim,” commanded Edwards, in a low
tone. “The pickets will be down, if they keep on in that way.”
“Well, here’s a try,” said a man beside him, as he placed his rifle
through a loop-hole. “I wonder what execution this bullet will do?”
As he fired it, Edwards heard a groan, and turning hastily around, saw
the man was dying. An Indian bullet had entered the orifice directly
beside the muzzle of his rifle, and flashing along the barrel, had
struck him in the face, shattering his forehead and killing him almost
instantly.
“Take him out of the way; there’s no help for him,” commanded Edwards.
Moffat and Captain Parks (who was also a leader upon this occasion,)
seized the poor fellow and quickly drew him outside the block-house.
“Umph! his shot had a different effect from what he thought,” remarked
the captain, as he deposited him on the ground and hastened within
again.
The Shawnees, with unusual bravery, maintained their efforts, fired to
desperation at the resistance encountered, and seemingly determined to
force the pickets at all risks. It was no longer necessary for the
hunters to take aim—in fact, it was impossible to miss hitting the
Indians, they were everywhere—and Captain Parks finally ordered his men
to load and fire as fast as possible, without taking time to aim.
In the height of the conflict the pickets, which had been weakened the
previous night, yielded to the tremendous pressure, and the Shawnees
commenced pouring in the breach.
And now came the struggle for life. Once within the village, and its
doom would be fixed forever. At sight of the dark forms of the Shawnees
struggling through the opening, a perfect fury took possession of the
settlers. The good minister, Edwards, understood in an instant the cause
of the increased tumult, and with a yell that might and would have done
honor to a Shawnee chief, leaped from the block-house, and flew to the
defence. His ready, powerful arm was needed, for the exultant savages
were pressing almost irresistibly forward.
But the impetuosity of the Indians was their own destruction and defeat.
They pressed and struggled so desperately among each other that their
actions were cramped and rendered of little avail. The pioneers, fired
with fury of desperation, cut and shot and battered and knifed them like
so many animals, until, in a short time, the further entrance of the
assailants was prevented by the dead bodies of their own comrades
blocking up the breach!
The crisis of the battle had now passed. There was no prevailing against
the defense of the settlers, and the Shawnees made as disorderly and
turbulent a retreat as they had an assault. Without stopping to carry
the dead or the wounded, they plunged headlong into the corner of the
wood.
The dead bodies of the savages were instantly thrust through the breach,
which was closed up and barricaded as firmly as circumstances would
allow. This done, Edwards and Captain Parks returned to their
block-house, leaving a sufficient number to still guard the pickets,
should the assault be repeated. But those skilled in Indian warfare knew
that for an hour at least they were safe, as their enemies would spend
that time in consulting upon the next step to be taken. The wives and
children of the hardy pioneers, as soon as they saw that hostilities
were suspended, hastened forward to see who had fallen in the conflict.
The deep sigh of relief which they drew, when Edwards communicated the
strange fact that, beside the man shot at the commencement of the
skirmish, not one of the number was killed, showed the deep, heartfelt
interest they felt for all.
Many of the hunters took the occasion to clean their guns and refresh
themselves, while others more cautious, continued their ever vigilant
watch. As the moon permitted, they could sometimes distinguish among the
prone bodies before them the writhing form of some poor savage in his
death agonies, and the glazed stare of the others, stark and stiff,
their features distorted and their hands closed with a rigid, deathly
clutch upon their body or upon the ground. It was a sad, soul-sickening
sight, but a sight which would pale before the horrors that were yet to
be enacted along the frontier.
As the night wore on, the Shawnees from time to time fired their random
shots from their concealment, but no general demonstration was made.
Their repulse had been a most complete and decided one. At intervals a
burning arrow whizzed over the pickets and buried itself in the cabins
beyond, as if they still had hope of accomplishing the destruction of
the settlement, and now and then a venturesome savage crawled as close
to the block-house as possible and fired his rifle at the loop-holes
alone; but such a daring attempt was pretty sure to cost him his own
life, as the flash of his gun would discover him to the watchful
hunters, who sent a volley at him.
Then many attempts were made to approach the settlement by stratagem.
The inexperienced settler would be struck at seeing a bush upon the
outer edge of the clearing, and he would wonder with himself that it
never attracted his notice before; after which he would be surprised at
seeing it much nearer than at first; and while at a loss to explain the
curious circumstance, which no extra rubbing of the eyes could do, he
would perhaps be startled by the flash and report from out the very
centre of it, and then immediately the death yell of the assailant as he
attempted to make his retreat to safer concealment. Then, again, objects
so like logs as to deceive the eye of all but the most suspicious, would
make their appearance, and seemingly rolled by invisible hands, continue
to approach slowly and surely the settlement, until their sudden change
of form showed their true character.
In many cases the Indians did conceal themselves behind the logs which
still lay upon the outer edge of the clearing, and by cautiously rolling
them forward as they lay extended upon the ground, succeeded in
approaching within a few yards of the block-house without the least
personal danger to themselves. They would then make several shots over
the top of the log and dodge down to avoid. But they accomplished
nothing at all, and ran such imminent risk themselves of being shot
during their retreat, that these and similar attempts were finally
abandoned.
All such artifices were but artifices indeed, which the prisoners had
learned long before, and which could not take them by surprise. The
Shawnees had learned much from the Mingo Logan, as their attempts of
conducting the attack were similar in several cases; but, as we have
shown, they met with such poor success that they finally ceased, and for
a long time not a shot was exchanged between the two parties. The whites
believed that their silence was a ruse to give the impression that they
had withdrawn, and thus threw them off their guard. For over an hour,
not the slightest sound or movement betrayed the presence of the
Shawnees.
Suddenly the combined yell of over a hundred throats rent the air, with
such horrid force as to make the blood of every one tingle, and as many
bullets rattled against the pickets and block-houses. But the settlers
were not thrown off their guard; they cocked their rifles and held them
pointed toward the wood. But no Indians made their appearance. This was
another stratagem, the meaning of which could hardly be divined, if it
had any meaning at all.
Finally the settlers saw with glad hearts that the day was at hand. The
east was fast becoming gray and light and there would soon be an
opportunity of resting their harassed and weary frames. Edwards and
Captain Parks would not suffer one of the men to withdraw until the sun
had risen above the wilderness, and its broad dazzling light showed the
perfect day. Then, as nothing could be seen of their vindictive enemies,
and it was pretty certain they had returned to a man, the majority of
the settlers left the block-houses and their stations for refreshment
and rest. It was found that three of the whites had been killed, and
some half dozen slightly wounded. During the day the former were buried
with appropriate and solemn ceremony. Several were so disfigured and
mangled that the white sheet which had been thrown over them was not
removed when they were placed within the ground.
It was in the afternoon that most of the settlers gathered in the corner
of the settlement which had been set apart for the resting-place of the
dead, to witness and participate in the ceremonies. The minister read,
in a subdued and feeling voice, a short hymn, which was sung in low and
mournful tones, and then all knelt upon the earth, and his clear, rich
voice ascended to heaven. As they rose to their feet, he made a few
remarks upon the solemn scene, and then the three bodies, one by one,
were lowered into separate graves. In a short time they were covered
with the sod, and their forms blotted forever from the face of the
earth.
The scene in front of the settlement was horrid and soul-sickening in
the extreme. The Shawnees during the preceding night had succeeded in
removing a number of their dead companions, but over a dozen still
remained scattered over the clearing and around the closed breach. In
front could be seen three Indians stretched upon the earth, stark and
stiff, their hands closed with a deadly clutch around their rifles, and
their fixed glazing eyes staring at the blue sky above them. The
disfigurement of their faces was rendered more ghastly by war paint
daubed upon them. The blood had mixed with this until it was impossible
to distinguish them, and, as the wound of each was in the face, some
idea may perhaps be formed of their appearance. Others lay doubled and
knotted in heaps just as when they died, and a couple were stretched
face downward upon a stump, their arms dangling over. The greatest
number were stretched before the breach. There they lay in every
imaginable position; some as if quietly sleeping and others twisted and
bent into inconceivable distortions, and scattered over the clearing
were coagulated pools of blood, dark and murky on the hard earth, and
bright and glistening on the logs where the sun could reach it.
It was near the middle of the afternoon, when most of the men were
engaged in the funeral ceremonies of the dead, and while Kingman and
Moffat were keeping watch in the northern block-house that a curious,
yet characteristic circumstance took place. Moffat had seated himself
for a time, while Kingman was still gazing intently through one of the
loop-holes. The hunter watched him a few moments and then remarked,
“It seems to me, George, that something has taken your eye out there.
What is it? Does one of the Shawnee’s top knots strike your fancy?”
“No; but I tell you, I ain’t satisfied yet by any means that the Injins
are out of the wood.”
“What’s up? Seen one? Shouldn’t wonder if there was two or three there;
but I’ll bet my life that there ain’t no more.”
“There is something moving in the bushes yonder, certain. Just take a
look. It is close to that tree where you shot your first Shawnee.”
Moffat arose and did as requested. He answered in a moment.
“There is somebody there, sure enough, but I can’t make him out.”
“Shall I not fire, and teach him better manners?”
“No. You would only scare the women, and it ain’t certain by no means
that there’s an Injin there, and I make it a point never fire at a
venture.”
“Indian it isn’t, sure enough,” replied Kingman, excitedly.
As they both looked, they saw a white man dressed in the costume of a
hunter step cautiously forth and approach one of the bodies. He stooped
and looked at it a moment, and then catching the head in his left hand,
jerked out his knife and had the scalp off in a moment. This he repeated
until there were several bleeding trophies suspended at the girdle
around his waist.
“That is cool,” remarked Kingman. “What business has he to do that?”
“Settling some old grudge, perhaps, against the varmint.”
“A cowardly way of settling it, at any rate. Why doesn’t he take the
live savages instead of the dead ones.”
“’Cause there are none to take. He ain’t one of the chaps as is
_afraid_. No, sir, he’d raise the top-knot of any Shawnee, dead or
kicking.”
“But this is not the place to commit such barbarities as that, and I’ll
stop him before any of the others see him.”
Kingman applied his mouth to the loop-holes, and shrieked.
“Helloa there! What are you at?”
The backwoodsman raised his eyes and looked up at the block-house, but
made no reply. He then stooped, and seizing another Indian committed the
same disgusting outrage upon him. His coolness and unconcern touched
Kingman, and he called out.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“None your business,” retorted the hunter, continuing his operations as
before.
“Confound him!” muttered Kingman to Moffat. “I have a great notion to
give him a taste of cold lead for his imprudence.”
“You try it, and you will never pull another trigger,” replied Moffat in
his tone of deadly meaning.
“Why, what has got into you so suddenly?”
“Do you know who that man is?”
“I known he is as much savage as any Shawnee I have ever yet seen.”
“Wal, sir, that chap is my brother, and if you’ve got any differences to
settle he’ll give you the chance, but if you undertake any trick, here’s
his brother, and there’ll be a dead man in your tracks in two minutes
and a half.”
“I beg your pardon, Abe; I had no idea who the man was. A friend of
yours is a friend of mine, no matter who or what he is. Forgive me, will
you? Your hand on it?”
With true backwoodsman frankness and good nature, Abe Moffat extended
his bony palm, and a genial smile lit up his countenance.