Ellis Edward Sylvester
Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West

CHAPTER XX
THE SOUTH WIND

The project of placing a dummy on the roof of the block-house, with a view of drawing the fire of the Wyandots, was original with Jo Stinger. It is hard to see what good was attained, for more than enough ammunition remained to prosecute the battle with all energy, whenever the opportunity presented itself to the assailants.

The explanation of the act is found in the mental composition of the frontiersman himself. He had been outwitted more than once by the Indians, and he wished to show them that he had not lost entirely the cunning which had made his name known among many of the tribes that roamed and hunted through Ohio and the Dark and Bloody Ground.

Still further, those men who are accustomed to scenes of danger and daring are not without a certain element of humor in their make-up, and when one's spirits are oppressed for a long period, the rebound, at times, is so sudden that he is impelled to words and acts so incongruous as to excite the wonderment of friends.

Jo constructed the dummy to look as much like himself as possible. The clothing and material for this could be ill spared, but he furnished most of it himself, and when the image was placed in position, he was as impatient as a child for the sport that followed.

Poor distressed Mrs. Preston could see no justification of such levity at so serious a time. Megill and Turner enjoyed it scarcely less than their friend, while the Colonel affected an interest which he was far from feeling.

Blossom Brown laughed heartily over the discomfiture of the red men, and Ned Preston forgot his dread and grief for the moment; but they quickly returned, and the depression of all was doubtless greater from the temporary lifting of spirits the incident caused.

The Wyandots had hardly discovered the deception, when all three of the men at the loopholes fired into them. The shots produced results too, and the assailants became more cautious of the Kentuckians, who had learned to use their guns with such accuracy of aim.

Jo Stinger, in spreading the wetted blankets over the roof, had shown not only skill and courage, but good judgment. The protection was secured at the remotest points, which it was impossible to reach from either of the trap-doors, without exposing themselves to the certain aim of the Wyandot sharpshooters. The uncovered portions were those within reach.

Jo Stinger and Colonel Preston passed to the southern side of the building, from which they could look out upon the nearest cabin. Here a number of Indians were gathered, as there had been almost from the first.

"Your errand, I've no doubt, Jo, is the same as mine," said the officer, in a guarded voice.

"There's no doubt of that," replied the scout, "always providin' yours is the same as mine."

"I'm watching the wind."

"So am I."

"How do you find it?"

"It's blowing from the south."

"I am afraid so," remarked the Colonel, with a pang of misgiving, as he received a puff through the loophole, directly in the face; "is it stronger than before?"

"It's blowing harder than it did a half hour ago, but not so hard as two hours since."

"The worst feature about the business is that the wind is not only from the wrong point of the compass, but it is increasing."

"You speak the solemn truth, Colonel, but it aint sartin the varmints have got us anyway – helloa!"

To the consternation of every one in the block-house the tread of feet was heard on the roof at that moment. Some one ran nimbly along the slabs, stooping down and holding himself from slipping by grasping the ridge with his hands.

By what possible means he gained this perch, was beyond the conjecture of any one; but the crisis was too grave to admit of an instant's delay. The warrior, beyond a doubt, had assumed this perilous risk with a view of tearing off the blankets, which shielded the roof from the flaming arrows.

Jo Stinger dropped his gun, sprang upon a stool, and leaped upward through the trap-door. Had he vaulted upon the roof with less celerity, he would have been dispatched by the Indian, who would have had him almost at his mercy; but the first warning the Wyandot received of his coming was his arrival.

The scout was aroused, and no athlete could have handled himself more deftly than did he. The very moment he was outside he moved several feet away from the opening and placed himself astride of the ridge pole.

This was the most secure position he could hold, and he peered around in the darkness and listened for something that would tell him where his enemy was. His unusually keen vision was of no use under the circumstances. There was not the slightest ember burning near him, nor was there a ray of moonlight or starlight to pierce the blackness of night.

But the Wyandot was there. He had removed several of the blankets, and was working at the others when the sound of the trap-door told him the important truth that a second person was on the roof.

The warrior could have slid down to the eaves and dropped to the ground without injury to himself; but that would have forced him to leave his work uncompleted, and he was too true a brave to do that.

Nothing loth to engage in a personal encounter, he began stealing along the ridge toward the point where he believed the white man was awaiting him. As Stinger held himself rigid and motionless, his precise location could not be determined at once; but the Indian's approach, guarded though it was, told Jo exactly where to search for his adversary.

Never was a barbarian taken more completely at fault. He made a fatal miscalculation, and one minute later, when he fell to the ground, he was as lifeless as the dummy which preceded him.

How this savage managed to reach the roof, puzzled Stinger beyond expression. He sat bolt upright on the ridge, looking around in the blank darkness, listening and thinking, and speculating upon the all-absorbing problem.

"It must be they rigged up some sort of ladder by cutting down a sapling; then they've leaned it aginst the eaves and he has shinned up, almost rubbing agin the muzzles of our guns, – but he won't climb any more ladders of that kind I reckon."

There was reason to fear the attempt would be repeated, and the scout retained his perch fully ten minutes, that he might be prepared to nip such a scheme in the bud.

Nothing to cause alarm occurred. Jo proceeded to investigate as carefully as he could the mischief done by the Wyandot who paid so dearly for it.

To his dismay the scout soon learned that the Indian had almost completed the task he undertook. He had torn off the frosty blankets and sent them rolling and sliding to the ground, as though they were so many ribbons fluttering in the wind.

Great damage in this respect had been done, and it was irreparable.

The scout had hitched along until close to the trap-door, where he paused a moment listening, in the hope of learning something of the movements of the Wyandots.

Loth as he was to admit it, he could not shut out the terrifying fact that the wind, which had set in from the south, was still rising and must soon reach a degree that would tempt the red men to fire the cabin, with the almost certain prospect of the flames communicating to the block-house.

Jo was contemplating this terrible contingency, when he heard several signals between parties near at hand. He had no way of knowing their meaning, but, while he was looking and listening, another burning arrow suddenly shot up from the edge of the clearing, in its curvilinear flight for the roof of the block-house.

"I wonder how near that is coming to me," muttered Jo, looking upward at the comet-like missile; "it turns beautiful – now it seems to halt like a swimmer looking for a spot where to dive – now it turns – down she comes – she is going to land on the roof sure – she's coming for me —great guns!"

Up went the trap-door, and down shot the scout like a seal who plunges into the air-hole just in time to elude the spear of the Esquimaux.

The spot vacated by the hunter was struck the fraction of a second after by the arrow, which would have played sad havoc with him, had he been less alert in his movements.

The expectation of the garrison, now that the roof had been cleared of the blankets, was that the Wyandots would repeat the bombardment of burning missiles, with an absolute certainty of success.

Such, there is every reason to believe, would have been the case, but for the favoring air which rendered any repetition of that species of warfare unnecessary.

It had ceased snowing, and the wind from the south was blowing strongly. Everything favored the method of attack which Stinger heard the chieftain Waughtauk declare should be used against the settlers.

By common agreement and without a word, the entire party passed to the southern side of the building and peered through the loopholes at the cabin, in which it was known a number of their enemies were gathered.

"If they have fixed upon this plan of assault," said Colonel Preston to Stinger, "why do they wait?"

"The varmints are good judges of weather, and they may be sartin the wind will be stronger by and by."

"But it seems strong enough to bring the flames over to us, and – "

"They've set fire to the cabin!"

The exclamation came from Ned Preston, who was at the elbow of Jo Stinger. Every one who was looking out in the darkness saw that he spoke the appalling truth.

The building nearest them had a door and window on the first floor, and two windows above, all facing the block-house. It was in the lower story that Waughtauk and his most trusted warriors had been grouped for hours, after having decided what should be the line of action toward the besieged settlers.

From the window on the lower floor suddenly issued a tongue of flame, which darted out and back with great rapidity. Then the whole interior became one vivid red glow, fire was seen shooting in every direction, and volumes of smoke began pouring from the upper windows.

The torch was applied, and the last, final test of the block-house had come.

The garrison were awed spectators of the scene. All understood what it meant, and there was no call for words; but as the southern side of the block-house, as well as the roof, were to be exposed to a furnace-like heat, the water was gathered in vessels, where it could be used the instant needed.

The Wyandots had hurried out of the building before the flames were fairly going, so as not to expose themselves to the rifles of the Kentuckians; but as the flames spread and the circle of illumination widened, the dusky foes were seen skulking behind the other cabin, along the stockade, and in the clearing, watching the destruction, and the massive block-house, whose heavy logs, steep overhanging roof, rude chimney and rugged outlines loomed up in the crimson glow against the background of blank darkness.

There was not a snowflake in the air, but the spotless white on the ground showed in many places where the mantle had been disturbed by the moccasins of the Wyandots.

The glare seemed to reach the clouds, and the myriads of sparks which went drifting to the northward, and falling over an area of many acres, brought out the gaunt, skeleton-like figures of the trees, which seemed to look solemnly forth from the dim woods, where the white and red men only met in scenes of violence and blood.

The garrison allowed themselves to be restrained by no sentimentality, for it was an hour when every shot counted. The glow of the ascending flames continually flung back the sheltering mantle of night enveloping the figures of the warriors, who were not always quick to remember the danger to which they were thus exposed.

But when four or five well-aimed rifles were fired from the loopholes, that were lit up with an illumination greater than that of the noonday sun, the survivors made haste to run back into the gloom, or to throw themselves behind some shelter.

The situation of those in the block-house became distressing beyond expression. The wind, blowing strongly in that direction, quickly filled the room with suffocating smoke, which, for a minute or two, threatened to overcome every one. The vapor, however, gave way to the heat, which was uncomfortable, although, so long as the logs did not take the flames, they could not cause much suffering.

The smoke and its miseries awoke little Mary and Susie Preston, whose terror, when they saw through the loopholes the burning cabin, and who were not too young to understand their peril, touched the hearts of all. They began crying piteously and, trembling in every limb, threw their arms first about the neck of mamma and then of papa, sobbing and clinging convulsively to each in turn.

"The wicked Indians will kill you: we know they will; they will kill papa and mamma, and that will break our hearts."

After a time, the mother was able to quiet them, and then both, without any agreement, knelt at her knee and prayed with the pathetic faith of childhood.

"Our Heavenly Father, don't let the bad Indians hurt papa nor mamma, nor Jo, nor Mr. Turner, nor Mr. Megill, nor cousin Ned, nor Blossom, nor us. Don't let them hurt anybody; take care of us all; make us good girls. Amen."

Who shall say that the petition from the hearts of the innocent and trusting little ones was not wafted upward by the wings of listening angels, who were quick to bear the message to Him whose ear is never closed? And who shall say that He, leaning over the celestial battlements, did not look down on that wild scene in the grim forests, and stay the hand of the vengeful Wyandot, as it was raised to smite his pale-face brother to the earth?

CHAPTER XXI
CONCLUSION

The wind from the south was so strong that most of the large sparks capable of carrying the fire were thrown beyond the block-house, falling about the stockade, on the clearing, and among the trees, where they kindled spiral serpents of flame and smoke, which quickly died of themselves.

But as the blaze grew hotter and hotter, it seemed to converge its fierce heat upon the doomed block-house, as the blowpipe melts the obdurate metal. The upper room became filled with the quivering air, and more than one wondered how it was the logs withstood the furnace-like blast so long.

Although the two cabins were closer to each other than to the fort, yet the untouched one was in no danger because of the direction of the wind. The structure which had been lighted, burned furiously, and those who were watching its progress soon detected smoke from the block-house itself.

Jo Stinger was surprised to learn that, instead of being on the roof, it was from one of the windows almost directly under him – almost the last place where he expected the flames to catch.

While he was peering downward through the openings at his feet, he discovered the blaze.

A quart or two of water, well applied, extinguished it, and he called at the others to make known at once any other flame they might see. The warning was scarcely given, when Blossom Brown shouted —

"Here it am! here it am! burnin' like all creation!"

The dusky lad was not mistaken, for the logs below them had caught again, and considerable water was required before it succumbed. However, it went out at last, and the thick smoke and steam climbed upward into the face of Blossom, who coughed until he seemed nearly racked to pieces.

Doubtless the Wyandots could have poured in a volley of shots through the loopholes, which would have slain a number of the hapless defenders; but now, when nothing could prevent the capture of the entire party, the red men preferred that the company should fall into their hands intact.

Ned Preston was standing at the south-east angle of the block-house, looking toward the burning building, when he saw something which, for the time, made him doubt the evidence of his own senses.

His position was such that he could look directly along the western side of the cabin, which was unharmed by the flames. This, it will be noted, was the portion that adjoined the burning structure. On this side of the building, which was not burning, the heat was not very great, but the illumination was so strong that it was as light as midday, and no Wyandot ventured near it, through fear of the rifles of the Kentuckians.

The youth was watching the cabin, around and through which the flames were raging so furiously, when an Indian warrior walked into view. From what point he came, the watcher could not tell: the first he saw of him was when he approached the logs of the other structure. He moved slowly, as if surveying all sides, and when he turned and reached the door, he was seen to raise his hand and pass within, where, of course, he vanished from sight.

This of itself would not have been so extraordinary, but for the fact that the handsome face, distinctly shown in the glare, the slight, graceful figure, carrying a long bow in his right hand, and displaying the quiver of arrows over his shoulder, identified the Indian as Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

Despite the frightful situation, Ned Preston could scarcely restrain a cheer, for he was thrilled with a pleasure beyond description over the unexpected discovery that his devoted friend was still alive.

Ned darted to the side of Jo Stinger and told him what he had seen.

"Are you sure of it, younker?" demanded the scout sharply.

"Sure of it? It is impossible that I should be mistaken; I know him as well as I do you, and he stood in the full glare of the firelight."

"You're right; it was the Shawanoe; I seen him; I thought the young varmint was dead, but he's a good deal more alive this minute than we are."

"But, Jo, what does it mean? Why did he come out there where he could be seen, and go into the building?"

"He wanted us to notice him, and it was the best thing he could do. The varmints toward the river and in the clearin' must have cotched sight of him; but before they could larn his name and post-office address, he was inside."

"But I can't understand his cause for entering the cabin any way; what good can he do us there?"

"I've my 'spicion —there! that's what I expected!"

A crackling, snapping sound overhead told the alarming truth: the roof was burning fiercely, and there was no possible way of putting out the flames. In fact, it had been ablaze some time, for the fiery points were seen in several places along the ridge-pole, fast eating their way, so to speak, into the vitals of the building.

A minute after the sparks began falling through upon the floor, the vapor loaded with fire filtered through the loopholes, and the upper story had become untenable.

"Down the ladder!" said Jo Stinger; "it won't do to wait any longer."

He led the way himself, and the others followed in rather a pell-mell fashion. All, however, safely reached the lower story, where the situation was improved for a brief time only.

Smoke and fire were around them; the air was thick with strangling vapor and blistering sparks; the glow illuminated the interior, as if with a thousand lamps, and the ghastly countenances were rendered more unearthly by the lurid light which permeated everywhere.

Megill, Turner and Stinger were grim and silent. They had faced death before, and they were certain always to meet him with the front of heroes. The pale face of Mrs. Preston was calm, and she was sustained by the unfaltering trust of the Christian who forgets not that, however great the sufferings awaiting him, they can never equal the anguish of Him who gave up his life on Calvary for the world.

She kept her little ones close to her side. She had held a rifle when the danger first appeared; but she did not discharge it, and it was now cast aside. She remained near her husband, who, in a low voice, spoke encouraging words to her and his little ones, and who was resolved to die fighting in defence of those who were a thousand times dearer to him than his own life.

Blossom Brown was stupefied by the overwhelming terror of the scene. He moved about in a stolid, ox-like fashion, capable of obeying blindly whatever those around told him to do.

It was apparent even to the little children, who had hushed their cries, that it was impossible to stay more than a few minutes longer in the block-house. It was already on fire in a dozen different places, and was burning furiously. The fugitives might remain huddled together a short while, but only to meet the most awful of deaths; or they could venture forth and fall into the hands of the treacherous Wyandots.

"The door of that cabin over there is partly open, as you can obsarve," said Jo Stinger; "the logs haven't been scorched by fire, as you can also obsarve; we'll make a run for that door, and arter we get inside, we'll fight till the death, as you'll also obsarve."

"But they can shoot us down while we're on the way," said Colonel Preston.

"They can, but they won't; for they'd rather make us prisoners. No red varmint shall ever take me captive."

"Nor me either," added Turner and Megill together.

"That seems to be the only thing we can do. We ought to be able to make a stand there until to-morrow, when there may be help from Wild Oaks."

"All make ready; I'll lead the way."

There was not a heart from which a fervent prayer was not sent up to heaven; but the men compressed their lips and nerved themselves for the final effort. Colonel Preston caught up Mary the elder, kissed and pressed her to his heart. She returned the caresses, and he held her on his left arm, while the right hand grasped his rifle. The wife did the same with Susie, for the weapon she had cast aside was too valuable to leave behind.

"Hadn't I better lead de way?" asked Blossom Brown, crowding forward.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll kind ob darken tings, so de Injines can't see us."

"Wait till we start, and then you may lead if you can."

Jo Stinger leaned his long rifle against the wall, and with a firm, strong hand removed the bars one after the other. Then the door was drawn inward, he picked up his gun, and looked around at the group.

"Foller me!"

As he spoke, he strode forth, the others close on his heels. Blossom Brown made a plunge to pass the leader, but as he did not know which way to turn, he fell back.

The scout diverged to the left, and, with the same deliberate tread, passed over the open space between the burning cabin and the blazing block-house. A short time before, this would have been impossible; but the cabin was so nearly destroyed that the heat could be borne, although it caused each to hold his breath, it was so intolerable.

Scores of the Wyandots were watching the fugitives, and whoops and shouts of exultation rent the air, as a dozen advanced to meet the captives.

The latter hurried forward a few paces more, when Jo Stinger shouted —

"Now run for your lives!"

They were within fifty feet of the open door of the second cabin, through which he plunged the next instant like a cannon-shot, the others following pell-mell. The movement was so sudden and unexpected by the Wyandots crowding forward that it was virtually finished before they could interfere.

Ned Preston purposely threw himself behind the others, that he might, so far as possible, help protect his aunt and cousins. He was about to follow them into the building, when one warrior, more agile than the other, bounded forward with uplifted tomahawk.

Before he could throw it, and before Ned could use his gun, a resounding twang was heard from the nearest window, and an arrow from the royal bow of Deerfoot the Shawanoe transfixed him.

Ned Preston was inside in a twinkling. The Wyandots, infuriated over the trick played them, made a rush, with the intention of forcing an entrance at all hazards; but they were met by a rattling fire, which sent them skurrying like rabbits to cover. Every window seemed to bristle with rifles, and the shots were so numerous that Waughtauk and his warriors saw that others than the fugitives were defending the building.

Such was the fact. When Macaiah Preston, the leading settler at Wild Oaks, sent Deerfoot to apprise Colonel Preston of his danger, he did not contemplate doing anything more. But his own son was involved, and he became so uneasy that he consulted his neighbors, who agreed that help should be dispatched to Fort Bridgman without delay.

Accompanied by ten skilled riflemen, all of whom had seen service on the frontier, he set out for the station thirty miles away. He reached the neighborhood quite late at night of the second day of the siege, and on the way he met and was joined by Deerfoot, who had started to obtain his help.

As the Wyandots felt certain of their prey, they had relaxed their vigilance to a great extent. It was a curious fact that, while Jo Stinger was engaged on his reconnoissance, Deerfoot and several of the new arrivals were doing the same, although neither suspected the presence of the other.

The plan of Waughtauk was soon learned, and it was then decided to enter the cabin, and be guided by events. This was a task of extreme difficulty, but with the assistance of Deerfoot, who was the first to open the way, they got within the building without detection by their enemies. Then, with loaded and cocked rifles, they held themselves ready for any emergency.

As the crisis approached, Deerfoot purposely showed himself to the garrison, that they might recognize him and learn that they were not deserted. At the same time Macaiah Preston made several guarded signals to Jo Stinger, which that scout saw and understood, though no one else did. He said nothing to his friends, but it was this knowledge which gave such assurance to his movements.

The numbers within the cabin rendered it practically impregnable to twice the force at the command of Waughtauk, chieftain of the Wyandots. The illumination from the burning embers was so full that any warrior who ventured to show himself was riddled before he could approach within a hundred feet of the building.

This "electric light" lasted until after daylight, at which hour not a solitary hostile was visible. The single structure that had been left standing contained a stronger force than that of the red men who had destroyed the other two.

There was no move made until noon, when Deerfoot ventured into the woods on a careful and prolonged reconnoissance. When he came back, he reported of a verity that Waughtauk and his Indians had gone, and in all probability were miles distant.

It was deemed best, however, for the settlers to stay where they were, until the succeeding morning. This was done, and, at an early hour, the whole company started for Wild Oaks, on the Ohio.

The journey was ended without special incident, and just as the sun went down behind the western wilderness, the settlement was reached, and all danger was past.

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Colonel Preston, looking reverently upward; "we have been saved by fire indeed."

"And did you ever think we wouldn't be?" asked Susie, his younger daughter.

"Well, I must own that I gave up once."

"That is wicked, papa," said the little one reproachfully; "I knew God would take care of us all, and the bad Indians wouldn't hurt us, 'cause Mary and I prayed to Him, and He heard us."

"God bless you – I believe you!" replied the father, with misty eyes, as he tossed the darlings in air one after the other, caught them in his arms, and kissed them again and again.

We have not dwelt on the meeting in the cabin, which survived the flames, between the despairing fugitives and their rescuers. Its joyful nature may be imagined. The countenance of the handsome, willowy young Shawanoe was aglow with pleasure, when he grasped the hand of the no less delighted Ned Preston, who had believed him dead until he saw him walk forth in the glare of the burning building.

"You must come and live with us," said Ned, at the end of the journey, and after the others had thanked the wonderful youth for his services, which were beyond value.

"Deerfoot will visit his friends," said he, holding the hand of Ned, and looking affectionately in the face of the youthful pioneer; "but his home is in the woods. He loves to lie under the trees and listen to the sighing of the wind among the branches; he loves to watch the clouds, as they float like snowy canoes across the blue sky; he loves to listen to the soft flow of the river, to crawl under the edge of the rock, and hear the snowflakes sifting down on the brown leaves; his soul rejoices at the crashing of the thunderbolts, which split the trees like rotten fruit. When Deerfoot is tired, he can wrap his blanket around him and sleep anywhere; when he is hungry, he has his bow and arrow which can bring down the deer, and the bear, and the bison; when he is thirsty, he can drink the cold water which drips from the mossy rocks; when he is in trouble, he will pray to the Great Spirit of the white man, who will not turn his ear away.

"No, Deerfoot must live in the forests, but he will always love the pale-faces, and perhaps," added the Shawanoe, looking Ned Preston straight in the eye, "it may be the fortune of Deerfoot to be of help again to you."

"I know how gladly it will be given," said Ned gratefully; "and if there ever should come any need of our help, it will be the pleasure of our lives to prove how much we appreciate your friendship."

The sun had gone down, and the shadows of night were creeping through the dim, silent woods, when Deerfoot the Shawanoe crossed the clearing which surrounded the settlement, and, pausing on the border of the forest, he waved a good-bye to his friends. Then he turned and vanished from sight.

But there seemed to rest the mantle of prophecy on his graceful shoulders, when he intimated that it might be his good fortune to render service to Ned Preston and his friends. The opportunity came sooner than any one anticipated, and what befell the boy pioneer, and what was done by the young Shawanoe, will be told in the second volume of the "Boy Pioneer Series," entitled —

Ned in the Woods: a Tale of the Early Days in the West.