THE BLOCK-HOUSE.
The block-house, known near a century ago as Fort Bridgman, stood on
the right bank of the Licking river in Kentucky, and was some thirty
odd miles southwest of the present city of Maysville.
The block-house proper was a substantial structure of heavy logs, and
consisted of only two rooms--one above and below. The lower story was
a dozen yards square, and the upper was two feet greater in each
direction, for the builders followed the frontier fashion of
projecting the second story over the first. This projection being
pierced with portholes, gave opportunity to the garrison to fire down
on the heads of their assailants, who might attempt to batter down the
door, or make a rush for the interior.
The roof was so steeply shelving that the most agile Indian could not
sustain himself on it. On each side was a trap-door, intended for use
in emergency. The roof itself was composed of thick slabs of oak,
and, like the logs, doors, and every portion of the building, was
bullet-proof.
The structure stood at the angle of a square of one hundred feet,
which was inclosed by a strong stockade. This consisted of logs split
through the middle, one end sharpened and driven deep into the earth,
leaving the upper portions, which were of irregular height, nine or
ten feet above the ground.
Standing at the angle of this square, it will be seen that the
block-house formed a part of two sides. On that which faced the
Licking was a door and one window; on the opposite side, which opened
into the stockade or inclosure, were also a door and window. On the
other two sides were two windows, but no door; the former were so
narrow that no Indian warrior could force his way through them, while
the doors of puncheon slabs would have resisted for a long time the
pounding of a battering-ram. The windows were all on the ground floor.
The fort having been built expressly for defensive purposes, where the
peril was known to be great, it lacked nothing which the rude
frontier warfare could suggest. It was so abundantly pierced with
loop-holes that the garrison commanded every approach.
If the red men attempted to scale the stockade at any point, they had
to expose themselves to the bullets of the unerring Kentuckians behind
the logs; while, if they secured a closer approach on in the darkness
of night, the defenders could shoot them through the loopholes in the
projecting floor above.
There was a gate on each side of the stockade, except on that furthest
removed from the block-house. Only one of these was used, and that was
on the southern side. The wooden chimney was at the corner, entirely
within the stockade, and the numerous attacks which the structure had
repelled proved, more than anything else, the strength and power of
resistance of the defence.
The interior of the fort, as some called it, was of the most primitive
character. Below was a rough slab floor, with a fireplace, the smoke
from which found its vent up the wooden chimney. There were a bench, a
table, and several rude chairs, while a barrel of corn-meal was
generally kept pretty well filled against the emergency which all
felt was liable to arise without an hour's notice.
The second story, although larger, as we have already stated, was
furnished with the same simplicity. It was supposed that, in case of
danger, this floor would be used more than the other by the defenders.
It had the two trap-doors in the steep roof, and was liberally
ventilated by means of the numerous loopholes which let in bars of
light from every direction, and permitted the outlook to take in as
extensive a vision as though the spectator was not surrounded by any
walls at all.
Fort Bridgman faced the Licking river on the west, the stockade
extending eastward. It was originally intended to embrace the six
cabins which were put up by the settlers, but these were finally left
outside, and the inclosed square looked like a small parade-ground, to
be used for the benefit of the garrison. It contained near the centre
a well, to be appealed to in emergency, though it was not placed
within the building itself, so as to shut off the possibility of its
being seized by an attacking force. Colonel Preston more than once had
expressed a purpose to have such a well dug, but it was deferred from
time to time until, as is generally the case, the necessity was
forgotten altogether.
In the roomy upper story of the block-house was always kept a barrel
of water, blankets, a few chairs, a number of axes, shovels, spades,
picks, and utensils useful in a new settlement. Fort Bridgman at one
time promised to become an important town in Kentucky; but a fierce
raid by a band of red men, one tempestuous night in mid-winter,
destroyed every cabin except the block-house, in which only a few
settlers found safe refuge from the vengeful warriors.
In the autumn of which we are speaking there were only two cabins
beside the defence. These stood outside the stockade, and one was
occupied by Colonel Hugh Preston, his wife Maria, and his two
daughters--Mary, aged ten, and Susie, eight years old.
Jo Stinger, an old Indian fighter of the early days in Kentucky, made
his home with the family, while Jim Turner and Sam Megill occupied the
other. The last two were brothers-in-law, and it was the intention of
the latter to bring his wife and three children from Wild Oaks in the
spring to live in the dwelling which he had taken so much pains to
erect and fit for their coming.
Such was the garrison of the block-house in the autumn when Colonel
Preston, while hunting in the woods, learned of the presence of a war
party of Wyandots. It was by a pure accident, or rather providence,
that he discovered the alarming fact, and he lost not a moment in
improving the important knowledge.
He hastened home, and the settlers gathered in the block-house, with
such extra provisions, blankets, fuel, and other necessaries as they
could get together. The doors of the building and the gates of the
stockade were fastened, and the men stationed themselves in the most
available points to detect the approach of their enemies.
The little garrison were none too soon in these preparations, for
within the succeeding half hour the Wyandots were seen on the edge of
the woods, and creeping along the bank of the Licking one hundred
yards away. They were quick to note that, with all their secrecy of
movement, their approach had been discovered; if they had any doubts
on the point, they were removed by a couple of rifle-shots that were
sent hurtling among the bushes which partly concealed their bodies.
"It's a great disappointment to them," said Jo Stinger, as he peered
through a loophole, "for they had every reason to believe we would be
surprised."
"I hope it will be so much of a disappointment that they will postpone
the siege," remarked the Colonel.
The old hunter shook his head, and added--
"That depends very much on how many redskins are out there. If the
party is not very large, they will be apt to give it up; but if there
are as many as I fear, the varmints will hang on, in the hope of
cleanin' us out."
"They will have no easy task to do that," remarked the Colonel, with a
flash of the eye; "this isn't the first time it has been tried, and it
won't be the first time it has failed."
"Suppose it is a success?" said his wife gently.
The Colonel turned when he heard the familiar voice at his elbow, and,
as he noticed Mary and Susie playing on the floor, something like a
pang went to his heart. The sight caused him to feel more vividly than
ever before the dreadful meaning of the word "failure," which had
just passed the lips of his beloved wife.
"Failure!" he repeated, as he placed his arm affectionately on her
shoulder; "do you regard it possible, when I have _you_ and the little
ones depending on us?"
"I know every man, and myself as well, will fight to the end, but even
that does not always avail: the bravest must succumb when the
assailants overwhelm them."
Tears glistened in her eyes, as she tried hard to look courageous, but
a mother lives in her affections, and no one could have felt more
deeply than did she, that all she valued in the world was at that
moment within the wooden walls of the block-house, while a merciless
foe was on the outside, as eager as so many jungle tigers to reach
them.
"We have an abundance of ammunition," added the husband, seeking to
hide a vague fear which was creeping over him; "and we can stand a
longer siege than the Indians will care to maintain against us."
"I trust so, but I cannot feel the hope which sustains you: I wish you
would send word to your brother at Wild Oaks, that he may give us
help before it is too late."
This plan, although not named until now, was in the minds of more than
one member of the garrison. Colonel Preston had asked himself whether
it was not the prudent thing to do, and he looked at Jo Stinger to
learn what he thought of it.
The old scout nodded his head in a way to signify he was favorable,
and said--
"It's the right thing, Colonel, and I'm the man to do it."
"But how can you get out? The Indians will be on the watch, and we are
too few in number to spare a man."
"Didn't I carry the news to Wild Oaks two years ago, when it looked as
though all of us was going under sure?"
"You did--that's a fact; but was the risk as great as now?"
"I think this is no greater, and it may not be as great: that's to be
found out. That time, I took three hours to get through the red skin
lines; but when I had shook 'em clear, I done some of the tallest
traveling of my life."
"If you think it best, you may try it after dark."
"I'll do it," said the settler, with a compression of the lips which
showed his earnestness. He had perilled his life many a time during
the years spent on the frontier, and he was not the man to hesitate,
when duty called him.
It was now the middle of the afternoon of the blustery autumn day
which saw the approach of Ned Preston, Blossom Brown and the Shawanoe,
Deerfoot, to the vicinity of the block-house. The garrison were sure
to use the utmost vigilance until the all-important question was
settled, and it was not probable the besieging Wyandots would make any
serious attack before the night was well advanced.
When Megill, a tall, sinewy, iron-limbed pioneer, learned the
intention of Stinger to make the attempt to reach Wild Oaks with a
view of bringing help, he commended the plan and said he would gladly
take his place. But Stinger would not consent, and it was understood
that the dangerous task was to be undertaken by him who proposed it.
As the chilly night settled over river, forest and clearing, every
one in the block-house was impressed with the solemnity of the
situation. Even little Mary and Susie talked in hushed voices of the
wicked Indians on the outside, and wondered why they wished to harm
those who had never harmed them. When they knelt at their mother's
knee, their prayers were touching in their earnestness and simple
faith, and brought tears to the eyes of their parents.
"God will take care of us," said Mary to the elder, with the trusting
belief of childhood; "so don't feel bad, papa and mamma."
The mother had made them a bed in the corner, beyond the reach of any
stray bullets that might find their way through the loopholes; and, as
she tucked the blankets around them and kissed them good-night, she
added her own petition to heaven that it would guard and shield them
from all harm.
Stinger, Megill and Turner were at the loopholes; and, while the
twilight was deepening within the gloomy block-house, Colonel Preston
lingered a few minutes beside his wife, who was seated on a rude stool
waiting for the little ones to close their eyes in slumber.
"Why should we feel alarmed, Maria," he asked, "when, as I told you a
short time ago, we have plenty of ammunition and the means to defend
ourselves? There are five rifles, one for each of us, including
yourself; these walls are too strong to be battered down, and we can
make our aim too sure for the Wyandots to expose themselves long to
it."
"That is all true, Hugh, and I hope that nothing I have said will
cause misgiving on your part; but, at the best, there are only a very,
_very_ few of us, and you know accidents may happen: suppose," she
added in a tremulous voice, "one or two of you should fall----"
"Colonel, begging pardon," interrupted Jo Stinger, at this moment
advancing toward them, "you obsarve it's so dark inside that we
couldn't see each other's faces if it wasn't for that taller candle
burning on the stand, and I don't know of a better time to start for
Wild Oaks."
"Is it fully dark on the outside?" asked the Colonel, glad of excuse
to end the gloomy conversation.
"As dark as a wolf's mouth--so dark that I'm hopeful of getting
through the lines, without any bother; you know that every hour
counts, and I shall have to put in some big licks to reach Wild Oaks
and bring the boys here by to-morrow night."
There could be no disputing this fact, and Colonel Preston peeped
through the loopholes, first on one side of the block-house and then
on the other, until he had looked toward each point of the compass.
It may be said that nothing but blank darkness met his eye. He could
hear the sound of the flowing river, the solemn sighing of the
night-wind among the trees, but nowhere could he catch the glimmer of
the Indian camp-fire, nor hear the red man's war-whoop which had
fallen on his ear more than once since he made his home on the Dark
and Bloody Ground.
This impressive stillness told as eloquently of the presence of the
red man as the sounds of conflict could have done.
"There is no need of waiting longer," remarked the Colonel.
As he spoke, he began descending the ladder, which answered for the
stairs, Stinger following him. On the lower floor there was not the
slightest ray of light, but both were so familiar with the room that
they needed no lamp.
Reaching the door, Colonel Preston placed his hand on the heavy bars
which held it in place, and the two listened for several minutes.
Nothing was heard, and the fastenings were drawn with much care and in
almost complete silence.
"If you have to come back," whispered the commandant, "give the signal
and I will let you in."
"I'll do so;--good bye," and, without any more words, the scout
vanished in the gloom.
To the consternation of Colonel Preston, he heard the familiar whistle
of Stinger a couple of hours later, at which time he hoped he was well
on his way to Wild Oaks.
The messenger was safely admitted within the block-house shortly
after, and his first words were--
"It's no use, Colonel; a rabbit couldn't creep through the lines,
they're watching so close."