Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West by Edward Sylvester Ellis
CHAPTER XX.
THE SOUTH WIND.
The project of placing a dummy on the roof of the block-house, with aview of drawing the fire of the Wyandots, was original with JoStinger. It is hard to see what good was attained, for more thanenough 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 thefrontiersman himself. He had been outwitted more than once by theIndians, and he wished to show them that he had not lost entirely thecunning which had made his name known among many of the tribes thatroamed and hunted through Ohio and the Dark and Bloody Ground.
Still further, those men who are accustomed to scenes of danger anddaring 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 soincongruous as to excite the wonderment of friends.
Jo constructed the dummy to look as much like himself as possible. Theclothing and material for this could be ill spared, but he furnishedmost of it himself, and when the image was placed in position, he wasas impatient as a child for the sport that followed.
Poor distressed Mrs. Preston could see no justification of such levityat so serious a time. Megill and Turner enjoyed it scarcely less thantheir friend, while the Colonel affected an interest which he was farfrom feeling.
Blossom Brown laughed heartily over the discomfiture of the red men,and Ned Preston forgot his dread and grief for the moment; but theyquickly returned, and the depression of all was doubtless greater fromthe temporary lifting of spirits the incident caused.
The Wyandots had hardly discovered the deception, when all three ofthe men at the loopholes fired into them. The shots produced resultstoo, and the assailants became more cautious of the Kentuckians, whohad learned to use their guns with such accuracy of aim.
Jo Stinger, in spreading the wetted blankets over the roof, had shownnot only skill and courage, but good judgment. The protection wassecured at the remotest points, which it was impossible to reach fromeither of the trap-doors, without exposing themselves to the certainaim of the Wyandot sharpshooters. The uncovered portions were thosewithin reach.
Jo Stinger and Colonel Preston passed to the southern side of thebuilding, from which they could look out upon the nearest cabin. Herea number of Indians were gathered, as there had been almost from thefirst.
"Your errand, I've no doubt, Jo, is the same as mine," said theofficer, in a guarded voice.
"There's no doubt of that," replied the scout, "always providin' yoursis 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, ashe received a puff through the loophole, directly in the face; "is itstronger than before?"
"It's blowing harder than it did a half hour ago, but not so hard astwo hours since."
"The worst feature about the business is that the wind is not onlyfrom the wrong point of the compass, but it is increasing."
"You speak the solemn truth, Colonel, but it aint sartin the varmintshave got us anyway--helloa!"
To the consternation of every one in the block-house the tread of feetwas heard on the roof at that moment. Some one ran nimbly along theslabs, stooping down and holding himself from slipping by grasping theridge with his hands.
By what possible means he gained this perch, was beyond the conjectureof any one; but the crisis was too grave to admit of an instant'sdelay. The warrior, beyond a doubt, had assumed this perilous riskwith a view of tearing off the blankets, which shielded the roof fromthe flaming arrows.
Jo Stinger dropped his gun, sprang upon a stool, and leaped upwardthrough the trap-door. Had he vaulted upon the roof with lesscelerity, he would have been dispatched by the Indian, who would havehad him almost at his mercy; but the first warning the Wyandotreceived of his coming was his arrival.
The scout was aroused, and no athlete could have handled himself moredeftly than did he. The very moment he was outside he moved severalfeet away from the opening and placed himself astride of the ridgepole.
This was the most secure position he could hold, and he peered aroundin the darkness and listened for something that would tell him wherehis enemy was. His unusually keen vision was of no use under thecircumstances. There was not the slightest ember burning near him, norwas there a ray of moonlight or starlight to pierce the blackness ofnight.
But the Wyandot was there. He had removed several of the blankets, andwas working at the others when the sound of the trap-door told him theimportant truth that a second person was on the roof.
The warrior could have slid down to the eaves and dropped to theground without injury to himself; but that would have forced him toleave his work uncompleted, and he was too true a brave to do that.
Nothing loth to engage in a personal encounter, he began stealingalong the ridge toward the point where he believed the white man wasawaiting him. As Stinger held himself rigid and motionless, hisprecise location could not be determined at once; but the Indian'sapproach, guarded though it was, told Jo exactly where to search forhis adversary.
Never was a barbarian taken more completely at fault. He made a fatalmiscalculation, and one minute later, when he fell to the ground, hewas as lifeless as the dummy which preceded him.
How this savage managed to reach the roof, puzzled Stinger beyondexpression. He sat bolt upright on the ridge, looking around in theblank darkness, listening and thinking, and speculating upon theall-absorbing problem.
"It must be they rigged up some sort of ladder by cutting down asapling; then they've leaned it aginst the eaves and he has shinnedup, almost rubbing agin the muzzles of our guns,--but he won't climbany more ladders of _that_ kind I reckon."
There was reason to fear the attempt would be repeated, and the scoutretained his perch fully ten minutes, that he might be prepared to nipsuch a scheme in the bud.
Nothing to cause alarm occurred. Jo proceeded to investigate ascarefully as he could the mischief done by the Wyandot who paid sodearly for it.
To his dismay the scout soon learned that the Indian had almostcompleted the task he undertook. He had torn off the frosty blanketsand sent them rolling and sliding to the ground, as though they wereso 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 hepaused a moment listening, in the hope of learning something of themovements of the Wyandots.
Loth as he was to admit it, he could not shut out the terrifying factthat the wind, which had set in from the south, was still rising andmust soon reach a degree that would tempt the red men to fire thecabin, with the almost certain prospect of the flames communicating tothe block-house.
Jo was contemplating this terrible contingency, when he heard severalsignals between parties near at hand. He had no way of knowing theirmeaning, but, while he was looking and listening, another burningarrow suddenly shot up from the edge of the clearing, in itscurvilinear flight for the roof of the block-house.
"I wonder how near that is coming to _me_," muttered Jo, lookingupward at the comet-like missile; "it turns beautiful--now it seems tohalt like a swimmer looking for a spot where to dive--now itturns--down she comes--she is going to land on the roof sure--she'scoming for me--_great guns_!"
Up went the trap-door, and down shot the scout like a seal who plungesinto 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 secondafter by the arrow, which would have played sad havoc with him, had hebeen less alert in his movements.
The expectation of the garrison, now that the roof had been cleared ofthe blankets, was that the Wyandots would repeat the bombardment ofburnin
Such, there is every reason to believe, would have been the case, butfor the favoring air which rendered any repetition of that species ofwarfare unnecessary.
It had ceased snowing, and the wind from the south was blowingstrongly. Everything favored the method of attack which Stinger heardthe chieftain Waughtauk declare should be used against the settlers.
By common agreement and without a word, the entire party passed to thesouthern side of the building and peered through the loopholes at thecabin, in which it was known a number of their enemies were gathered.
"If they have fixed upon this plan of assault," said Colonel Prestonto Stinger, "why do they wait?"
"The varmints are good judges of weather, and they may be sartin thewind 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 JoStinger. Every one who was looking out in the darkness saw that hespoke 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 lowerstory that Waughtauk and his most trusted warriors had been groupedfor hours, after having decided what should be the line of actiontoward 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 interiorbecame 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 hadcome.
The garrison were awed spectators of the scene. All understood what itmeant, and there was no call for words; but as the southern side ofthe block-house, as well as the roof, were to be exposed to afurnace-like heat, the water was gathered in vessels, where it couldbe used the instant needed.
The Wyandots had hurried out of the building before the flames werefairly going, so as not to expose themselves to the rifles of theKentuckians; but as the flames spread and the circle of illuminationwidened, the dusky foes were seen skulking behind the other cabin,along the stockade, and in the clearing, watching the destruction, andthe massive block-house, whose heavy logs, steep overhanging roof,rude chimney and rugged outlines loomed up in the crimson glow againstthe background of blank darkness.
There was not a snowflake in the air, but the spotless white on theground showed in many places where the mantle had been disturbed bythe moccasins of the Wyandots.
The glare seemed to reach the clouds, and the myriads of sparks whichwent drifting to the northward, and falling over an area of manyacres, brought out the gaunt, skeleton-like figures of the trees,which seemed to look solemnly forth from the dim woods, where thewhite 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 ascendingflames continually flung back the sheltering mantle of nightenveloping the figures of the warriors, who were not always quick toremember 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 noondaysun, the survivors made haste to run back into the gloom, or to throwthemselves behind some shelter.
The situation of those in the block-house became distressing beyondexpression. The wind, blowing strongly in that direction, quicklyfilled the room with suffocating smoke, which, for a minute or two,threatened to overcome every one. The vapor, however, gave way to theheat, which was uncomfortable, although, so long as the logs did nottake the flames, they could not cause much suffering.
The smoke and its miseries awoke little Mary and Susie Preston, whoseterror, when they saw through the loopholes the burning cabin, andwho were not too young to understand their peril, touched the heartsof 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 killpapa 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 patheticfaith 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 goodgirls. Amen."
Who shall say that the petition from the hearts of the innocent andtrusting little ones was not wafted upward by the wings of listeningangels, who were quick to bear the message to Him whose ear is neverclosed? And who shall say that He, leaning over the celestialbattlements, did not look down on that wild scene in the grimforests, and stay the hand of the vengeful Wyandot, as it was raisedto smite his pale-face brother to the earth?