The Daughter of the Chieftain | Page 9

enemy to give the impression they were withdrawing from
the neighborhood.
As you may well believe, the movements of the patriots were watched
with deep interest by those left behind. The women and children
clustered along the river bank and strained their eyes in the direction of
Fort Wintermoot, the black smoke from which rolled down the valley
and helped to shut out their view.

There was hardly one among the spectators that had not a loved relative
with the defenders. It might be a tottering grandfather, a sturdy son,
who, though a boy, was inspired with the deepest fervor, and eager to
risk his life for the sake of his mother or sister, whose hearts almost
stopped beating in the painful suspense which must continue until the
battle was decided.
Alice was too young fully to understand the peril in which Ben was
placed. She had kissed him goodbye when he ran to take his place with
the others, and, with a light jest on his lips about her and Linna, he had
snatched a kiss from the little Delaware's swarthy cheek.
The mother added a few cheering words to the children, and it was a
striking sight when they and a number of others, about their age or
under, began playing with all the merriment of children who never
dream that the world contains such afflictions as sorrow, woe, and
death.
It was easy to follow the course of the patriots for a time after they
were beyond sight, by the sound of their drums and the shrill whistling
of several fifes.
In those days it was much more common than now for people to drink
intoxicating liquors. Just before the patriots started up the valley, I am
sorry to say, a few of the men drank more than they should. It has been
claimed by some that but for this things would have gone differently on
that day, which will live for ever as one of the saddest in American
history.
By and by the anxious people near the fort noticed that the sound of
drums and fifes had ceased, and the reports of firearms were heard.
They knew from this that the opposing forces were making ready for
the conflict, and the suspense became painful indeed.
Then amid the rattle of musketry sounded the whoops of the Iroquois.
The battle was on. Fighting began about four o'clock in the afternoon.
Colonel Zebulon Butler ordered his men to fire, and at each discharge

to advance a step. The fire was regular and steady, and the Americans
continued to gain ground, having the advantage where it was open.
Despite the exertions of the invaders, their line gave way, and but for
the help of the Indians they would have been routed.
The flanking party of red men kept up a galling fire on the right, and
the patriots dropped fast. The Indians on the Tory left were divided into
six bands who kept up a continuous yelling which did much to inspirit
each other, while the deadly aim told sadly upon the Americans.
The most powerful body of Indians was in a swamp on the left of the
patriots, and by and by they outflanked them. The Americans tried to
manoeuvre so as to face the new danger, but some of them mistook the
order for one to retreat. Everything was thrown into confusion.
Colonel Zebulon Butler, seeing how things were going, galloped up
and down between the opposing lines, calling out--"Don't leave me, my
children. Stand by me and the victory is ours!"
But it was too late. The patriots could not be rallied. They were far
outnumbered, and once thrown into a panic, with the captain of every
company slain, the day was lost.
You cannot picture the distress of the women, children, and feeble old
men waiting at Forty Fort the issue of the battle.
The sorrowful groups on the bank of the river listened to the sounds of
conflict, and read the meaning as they came to their ears.
The steady, regular firing raised their hopes at first. They knew their
sons and friends were fighting well, despite the shouts of the Indians
borne down the valley on the sultry afternoon.
By and by the firing grew more scattering, and instead of being so far
up the river as at first, it was coming closer.
This could mean but one thing; the patriots were retreating before the
Tories and Indians.

One old man, nearly four score years of age, who pleaded to go into the
battle, but was too feeble, could not restrain his feelings. He walked
back and forth, inspired with new strength and full of hope, until the
scattered firing and its approach left no doubt of its meaning.
He paused in his nervous, hobbling