CHAPTER III. SIMON BARTLETT

After Elias had departed from view, I wasted no more time in watching the red sneaks who had counted on satisfying their thirst for blood by answering John Butler’s call to what he claimed to be civilized warfare, but began the journey toward our stockade, knowing full well the danger of moving carelessly or rapidly.

There was in my mind a determination to do something toward the rescue of that poor girl who was eating her heart out in the lodges of the Indians, if it should be decided by the members of our company that two or three could be spared to accompany me in the venture. I was turning all this over in my mind as I advanced pace by pace, keeping sharp watch for the slightest unusual movement of the foliage ahead of me, and listening intently to every noise, the cause of which I might not be absolutely certain.

Perhaps half an hour passed, and already I began to believe it would be possible for us Minute Boys to effect a rescue, when it suddenly became apparent that not very far behind me some person was moving quite as cautiously as myself.

As a matter of course it was absolutely essential I should know who this stranger might be, and, halting within a dense clump of cedars, I waited, breathlessly, finding it difficult to repress a cry of astonishment when he finally came into view, peering cautiously around in a manner which told that he understood full well the dangers to be encountered.

It was Simon Bartlett, an old man of near seventy, from Wilkesbarre, whom I knew full well as one being nigh crippled with rheumatism, but having a heart so full of courage that in times of stern necessity he could so far defy bodily ailment as to do the work of half a dozen men.

As I stepped out in front of him he had his musket to his shoulder in a twinkling, but lowered it quickly, as he asked, in a whisper:

“What has happened at Jenkins’s Fort, lad, that you are here?”

Before answering him I put the question:

“Did you not meet Elias Shendle during this past half-hour?”

He shook his head.

“The lad left me hardly more than thirty minutes ago, to carry to Forty Fort the information that we at the stockade are the same as besieged. There are an hundred or more Indians close around, and so many Tories at Wintermoot’s that it seems positive we of the valley are marked out as victims.”

I believe the information which I gave Master Bartlett was no more alarming than he had anticipated, for instead of making any ado, he said, quietly:

“We had come to believe from rumors which lately arrived that mischief was brewing, and in order to know exactly what we might expect, I took upon myself the task of visiting you lads.”

“And right glad will the members of the company be to see you, Master Bartlett, for there is none in all the valley who could give so much aid. I believe of a verity the mere fact of your entering the stockade will renew their courage.”

“Are they growing timorous, then?” the old man asked.

“Not to the extent of showing it, Master Bartlett; but you must remember that the Minute Boys are young at this business which John Butler calls war, and it would not be surprising if more than one felt a tremor of fear at knowing that all the miserable horde from Johnson Hall were assembling here.”

“Ay, lad, true,” the old man said, half to himself, and he added, in a louder tone, “Think you it will be possible to hold your own, in case of an attack?”

“That you should be better able to judge than I, Master Bartlett. The stockade is larger. With Elias gone, we number but twenty-one, and if a determined attack be made on all sides, then of a verity must we go under; but, I pledge you this, that unless the people in the settlement below can have ample warning of what may be in store for them, we shall fight without thought of preserving our own lives, in the hope of saving them.”

“That’s the right kind of talk, lad, and it does me good in these times when there are so many croaking as to the impossibility of our standing against those who will come down on us. I will go into the fort with you, since Elias Shendle is doing that which I would have done,” and he started on, I detaining him only long enough to explain the danger which lay before us.

From this moment, and until we were come within sight of the stockade, neither he nor I spoke. There was so much of difficulty in the task that we could not afford to spend any moments in conversation, and I believe we traversed not less than six miles in making a distance of no more than two, so many détours were we forced to make, in order to avoid the red scouts who were flitting here, there, and everywhere, as it seemed, through the forest. Never before had I seen so many Indians in such a small extent of territory, and all of them on the war-path.

That we did succeed in getting within view of the stockade without an encounter, now seems to me almost marvellous; but it was destined that when we believed the more perilous portion of the enterprise was past, did the dangers thicken.

In my eagerness to make certain the Minute Boys were not in more danger than at the time of my leaving them, I pressed forward eagerly to get a clear view of the fortification through the foliage, counting on the possibility of attracting the attention of those on guard, and, just as I was parting the leaves in front of me, a sharp ray of light, as if glinted from a surface of steel, caught my eye.

Instinctively, although not realizing all the peril, I swerved aside, catching in my left hand the trunk of a sapling, swinging half around and coming up erect, only to find myself facing a venomous Mohawk, who had raised his hatchet to strike.

In another instant, despite the fact that I had escaped his first blow, he would have stricken me down, and this I realized, therefore, bending my body ever so slightly, I darted in to catch him under the arms, as we lads were wont to do while wrestling.

How I might dispose of him, or he of me, after that, did not come into my calculations, for the very good reason that there was no time in which to reason out the matter. The fellow was thrown off his guard for an instant by my unexpected and unusual movement, and fortune so far favored me that I was able to get a grip upon the naked murderer’s throat in such a fashion that he could not cry out.

I hope it will never be my ill luck to have again such a struggle as ensued.

While battling for very life, and knowing that the slightest careless movement would give him an opportunity to brain me, I had sense enough to realize that the noise of the struggle would bring to his aid a score or more of his fellows. Therefore was I hampered in my efforts because I durst not work as I otherwise would, whilst he, on his part, was aiming to give the alarm, threshing here and there with his feet in the hope that some of those near about might hear him, and all the while I wondered where Simon Bartlett could be.

The only hold which the fellow could get upon me was around my back, and he hugged as does a bear, striving to crush in my ribs, until the sense of suffocation which came upon me was so nearly overpowering that had it been only my life which was in the balance I must have given up the struggle before it was well begun.

Not many seconds did we stand upright in this fight which could end only in the death of one; soon we were on the ground, he uppermost, but I knowing that the advantage was mine, because of his protruding tongue and eyeballs, which seemed starting from their sockets.

How long we fought there I am unable to say. It seemed to me a full hour was spent, when most likely no more than three minutes had passed, and during all this time, as I afterward learned, Master Bartlett was doing his utmost to get in a blow with his knife, but finding it difficult to do so without danger of wounding me.

Then, at the very moment when I believed victory lay with the Mohawk, and that I was even on the borders of the Beyond, I felt the sinewy frame suddenly relax, the head which had been bent toward me in the effort to weaken the hold upon his throat fell back, as a stream of warm blood covered my breast.

Simon Bartlett had thrust his knife in through the savage’s back, and the fight was over.

Yes, the fight was over; but even while I struggled to my feet, trying to regain the breath which had been nearly forced from my body, I realized that although we had come off victorious in this encounter, our peril had been increased tenfold, for the body of the Indian would unquestionably soon be found by his fellows, and then must be known the fact that some of our company were outside the stockade, after which our doom was certain.

On the heels of this thought came another, which was, that by killing this villainous Mohawk had we put in greater jeopardy Elias Shendle, for even though Master Bartlett and I succeeded in gaining the stockade, the besiegers would be more keenly on the alert than before, while Elias, believing matters to be as when he left, would find himself confronted by death, when the only mercy he could hope to receive would be that it came speedily, while he was fighting.

However, the deed was done, and no good could come of my conjuring up all the possibilities of trouble.

We must get into the fort now without delay, or else abandon our efforts to do so, in which case rapid retreat would be necessary.

It was not in my mind, however, to leave the vicinity of Fort Jenkins while it was possible to remain, and believing the danger to be less if we made a bold stroke, I said hurriedly to Master Bartlett:

“If the Indians nearabout have not already heard the noise of the fight, they will soon come upon this fellow’s body, and then are we lost beyond hope; therefore I propose that you and I take to our heels now, running with all swiftness toward the main entrance, on the chances that the sentinels will see us and open the gate. Of course we stand the risk of being shot down; but that, in my mind, is no less if we stay here trying to get across the cleared space secretly.”

“It shall be as you say, lad,” the old man replied, grimly. “I am ready to take my chances of running as fast as you.”

Without waiting for further converse, for it seemed to me that even the seconds were precious just then, I started at full speed across the space which had been cleared immediately in front of the main entrance to the stockade, and on seeing Giles March standing sentinel directly over the gate, it seemed as if fortune was smiling on us.

Master Bartlett, half-crippled though he was, held even pace with me; but when the race was a little more than two-thirds run, and I saw that the small gate was being opened cautiously, the report of a musket rang out almost at the same instant that I heard a bullet whistle past my ears. Then came another, and another, and in a twinkling it was as if all the thicket surrounding the stockade was alive with the crackling of musketry.

Strangely enough, I gave no heed to the possibility of death at that moment when it lurked close behind me, but said to myself, as if it were something in the nature of a jest:

“Elias Shendle’s arithmetic is strangely out of sorts when he claims that there are but an hundred Indians nearabout, for of a verity twice that number of shots have already been fired.”

Then, turning my head ever so slightly, I looked to see if Master Bartlett was still on his feet, fearing lest he had been stricken down, and the old man was close at my heels, smiling, if you please, because we had thus far run the gauntlet in safety.

It heartened me wondrously to hear him cry:

“They need practice at a target, lad, before they shoot at moving game.”

Then, ere one could have counted ten, we were safe within the stockade, and I gripping Giles March’s hand, as if he and I had both come from our graves to meet each other.

“It was a narrow shave,” one of the lads who crowded around us said, and Master Bartlett replied with a laugh:

“Ay, narrow, if you please, but yet margin enough and to spare, since we are here sound of body, although a little lacking in wind.”

And thus did the old man come out from the race with death, having a jest upon his lips, even as I have known him in later days when the peril was equally great.

I had returned none too soon, so Giles March told me when we stood apart from the others that I might learn what had happened during my absence.

The lads were growing faint-hearted, having come to understand full well the force which menaced from the outside, and knowing that the slightest relaxation of vigilance meant a decided advantage to the enemy.

It could not be otherwise than disheartening to know that possibly all the strength which the Tories could muster was about to be directed upon us, and our number so small that, even though each lad proved to be a host in himself, we were all too few to defend the stockade at every point.

“There are four or five among us whose hearts have grown faint,” Giles said, “and unless their courage can be brought up to the sticking-point, there is a fear in my heart that they will make the others timorous.”

“And yet what may we do, Giles?” I asked, in perplexity. “We cannot put blood in veins that are filled with milk.”

“I believe it were better that we sent them away. To my mind the company would be stronger without them.”

“Unless they be lads who are well versed in woodcraft, the chances of their getting away are exceeding small,” I replied, and, while I was describing to him what I had seen, both in company with Elias and while returning with Master Bartlett, the old man joined us.

“You lads are in a position where open battle is to be preferred, rather than this constant nagging by bullets whenever a head is shown above the stockade,” he said, as if thinking aloud, and so much confidence did I have in his courage and judgment that I repeated what Giles had told me, whereupon he said gravely:

“I believe in looking bad matters squarely in the face, and, judging from what has been seen, your plight is likely to continue as it has been until Butler’s gang makes a direct assault. You should have more of a force here.”

“Very true, Master Bartlett,” I replied, with a laugh, in which was no mirth, “and mayhap you will be able to tell us how our numbers can be increased? There are not enough men, counting the cripples, in all the valley to defend the blockhouses which are scattered from here to Wilkesbarre, therefore how may we expect that any will come to us?”

“It would be wiser for them to abandon some of the stockades lower down, in order to hold this one, where the heaviest fighting will come, and it may be that those to whom Elias Shendle speaks will understand such to be the case.”

“I am not minded to build my hopes on getting reinforcements,” I replied, and then, because the subject was not heartening, I begged the old man to tell us what had been done by our people.

He made a long story out of little, and yet in that little was considerable meat.

In the first place, the people at Wilkesbarre had information that General Schuyler had written a letter to the Congress, detailing the situation and forecasting the probabilities, urging that such recruits in the American army as came from Wyoming be allowed to return on furlough, in order to defend their homes, but thus far no attention had been paid to the communication.

The women of the valley, knowing well all the needs, and how put to it we were for ammunition, had taken it upon themselves not only to plant the gardens and till the farms, but to make gunpowder for the several garrisons. They had taken up the floors of their houses, dug out the earth, and put in casks in order to make saltpetre. Then mixing charcoal and sulphur with it, and grinding the whole in a small mill which Master Hollenback had brought, made such powder as we could use; but it fouled the guns so badly that not above a dozen charges might be fired without cleaning the weapons.

Word was also received that John Butler had gathered two companies of Tory rangers, a detachment of Johnson’s Royal Greens, and from five to six hundred Indians, who were advancing from Niagara, intending to overrun the valley. The men already at Wintermoot’s were probably the advance of this large army.

To oppose this force, Giles and I knew full well that, taking every man in the valley who could fire a musket, we would not be able to raise more than two hundred at the most.

It was a situation of affairs such as might daunt even the bravest spirits, and we Minute Boys, ignorant of all the rules of warfare, a mere handful, as compared with the Indians which already surrounded us, were expected to hold in check the Tories and savages which Butler was leading against us.

“It is not well, Master Bartlett, that you should tell the others what we have just heard,” Giles March said, gravely, when the old man had come to an end of his budget of news. “I had thought my heart stout enough to keep me behind these logs so long as life remained, believing I might aid those of my own blood in the valley; but, knowing what may be coming against us, I understand now how vain it will be. Those who are weak-hearted already are like to make such plaint that a retreat will be begun before the battle is commenced.”

Then it was that Master Bartlett set about trying to hearten us, saying that it was not impossible the Congress, learning what was being done, would take immediate steps to send three or four companies—perhaps a regiment—to aid us. He also suggested that possibly John Butler intended to strike a blow elsewhere rather than at our valley, and there might have been some chance for hope in this last had we not known that many of the Tories were members of the Susquehanna Company, who, by shedding blood now, might establish firmly their claims upon the land.

However heavy my heart had grown since Master Bartlett told us so much regarding the situation outside, I was not minded that the Minute Boys should relax their vigilance in the slightest degree, for we would hold Jenkins’s Fort as long as might be, forcing the enemy to pay the largest possible price in blood for whatsoever of advantage he gained over us.

When Giles and I had made the round of the stockade to learn if every lad was doing his duty, we returned to where Master Bartlett awaited us, and then I asked if he believed it possible or advisable for us to make any attempt at rescuing Esther Hinchman, detailing the plans which had already been formed in my mind.

The old man was unwilling to give a direct opinion; but that he favored something of the kind both Giles and I understood when he said:

“Whatsoever you do must be done quickly, lad, before the enemy has gotten ready to make an attack upon the fort. Nothing can be accomplished by force, and, therefore, a small number only should be sent out,—say, two or three. I am ready to do my share of the work; the brother of the girl had, perhaps, better be made one of the party, and the third man can be of your own choice.”

“If you had the task in hand, Master Bartlett, when would you set out?” I asked, and he replied, promptly:

“As soon as the sun has set.”

“It should be my right to name the third member of the party,” Giles March said, and I knew what was in his mind, but did not settle the matter then, for I was hoping there might be some change in affairs which would give me the privilege of going with Master Bartlett, therefore turned the conversation by speaking of the possibility that we might be able to add to our store of provisions.

It was when the old man heard we had such a small stock of food that his face took on a graver expression than while he was telling of the overwhelming force likely to come against us, and until the sun was near to setting did we discuss the chances of replenishing our scanty larder, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

That night each of us had for supper a piece of corn bread as large, perhaps, as half your hand, and so dry that it was like unto hardened clay.

While I was absent Giles had divided the force into three parties, allowing each in turn to go off duty for two hours, that all might thus have opportunity for sleep. It seemed to me best that such routine should be continued.

Master Bartlett, as if having forgotten what he had advised in regard to attempting the rescue of Esther Hinchman, proposed that both Giles and I lie down to rest, leaving him in charge of the fort, and this we did, for slumber weighed so heavily upon our eyelids that it was with difficulty I could keep mine from closing even while I made the rounds of the stockade.

During three hours or more we slept as only tired lads can, and when I came out from the blockhouse it was near to ten o’clock; but Master Bartlett had nothing of importance to report.

The enemy remained quite as vigilant as before, shooting with poor aim whenever one of the lads incautiously showed himself above the stockade, and nothing had been seen to betoken any change of plan on their part; therefore it was that I did no more than make the rounds from one sentinel to another, without giving any attention to the surrounding forest.

An hour later Giles joined me, he having gained just so much the more sleep, and Master Bartlett took his turn at lying down.

We two lads stood near the door of the blockhouse while I explained to Giles that the enemy had been wasting less ammunition than usual, as it seemed to me, when suddenly a rattle of musketry was heard from the eastern side, near the water, and our lads who were at that portion of the stockade failed to return it.

As a matter of course, Giles and I ran quickly toward what seemed to be the danger-point, and, clambering up on the narrow platform, I demanded of the lad nearest me why he had not discharged his musket.

“I have seen no target as yet,” he replied. “The shots were fired from such a distance that even the flashes of the guns have been hidden by the foliage.”

Looking to the priming of my musket, I strained my eyes in vain for some sign of the enemy, but yet the reports continued to ring out in rapid succession, and I wondered why I failed to hear the whistling of the bullets.

Two or three of those who were off duty came running up in the belief that they might be needed, and it was only natural that all the other sentinels should have turned in that direction from which it seemed probable an attack would be made.

Therefore it was, and I am willing to take all the blame for such carelessness, that the stockade nearabout the gate was virtually unguarded.

The first intimation I had that the discharge of musketry from the eastward was only a feint on the part of the enemy was from Master Bartlett, who, having come out of the blockhouse, saw at once in what way we had laid ourselves open to an attack.

It was the report of his musket which caused me to whirl about suddenly, and then it looked as if fifty or more naked savages were scaling the stockade just over the gates, while inside perhaps ten or twelve stood awaiting the coming of their comrades.

An exclamation of anger because of my stupidity involuntarily burst from my lips, as I gave the word for all, save only four sentinels, to join me; but, by the time the lads were down from the platforms, there were not less than two score Indians already inside.

It seemed to me at that moment as if the fort was already taken; but so great was my anger because of having given the foe the opportunity he wanted that I forgot all the danger which menaced, and, shouting to hearten my comrades, ran forward side by side with Giles March to do whatsoever we might toward repairing the mischief.

And now of what took place during the next half-hour I have no clear knowledge, save as to our first charge, when, emptying our muskets into that throng of half-naked murderers, we dashed forward, not stopping to reload, but depending upon using our weapons as clubs.

It was like some horrible nightmare, where one struggles against such odds that he can make no headway, but is continually forced to exert himself to the utmost, knowing death to be close at hand.

Once, while I was parrying with my musket a blow which one of the Mohawks would have dealt me, another ran swiftly around, as if to strike from behind, and already in fancy had I felt the burning sensation which accompanies the thrust of cold steel, when the report of Master Bartlett’s musket rang out, while one of my adversaries dropped dead as the other took to his heels.

It was a battle wherein we fought hand to hand, overmatched in numbers, in strength, and in weapons, and yet to the credit of the Minute Boys it must be said that even those who had shown themselves faint-hearted shortly before, fought like men, regarding not their own lives in the hope of delaying the enemy ever so little on his march through the valley.