Until my brother and myself alone Remained of all our band. My wife had clung Close to my side throughout the horrid strife, I, warding off each blow, and struggling on. And now we three were near the blockhouse-door, Closed by a secret spring. My brother first Its succor reached; it opened at his touch. Just then an Indian darted to my side And grasped my trembling wife"--the old man paused And veiled his eyes, whilst shudderings shook his frame As the wind shakes the leaf. "I saw her, youth, Sink with one bitter shriek beneath the edge Of his red, swooping hatchet. Turned to stone I stood an instant, but my brother's hand Dragged me within the blockhouse. As the door Closed to the spring, and quick my brother thrust The heavy bars athwart, for I was sick With horror, piercing whoops of baffled rage Echoed without. Recovering from my deep, O'erwhelming stupor, as I heard those sounds My veins ran liquid flame; with iron grasp I clenched my rifle. From the loops we poured Quick shots upon the foe, who, shrinking back, To the low cabin-roofs applied the brand-- Up with fierce fury flashed the greedy flames. Just then my brother thrust his head from out A loop--quick cracked a rifle, and he fell Dead on the planks. With yells that froze my blood, A score of warriors at the blockhouse-door Heaped a great pile of boughs. A streak of fire Ran like a serpent through it, and then leaped Broad up the sides. Through every loop-hole poured Deep smoke, with now and then a fiery flash. The air grew thick and hot, until I seemed To breathe but flame. I staggered to a loop. Dancing around with flourished tomahawks I saw my horrid foes. But ha! that glimpse! Again! oh can it be my wavering sight! No, no, forms break from out the forest depths, And hurry onward; gleaming arms I see. Joy, joy, 't is coming succor! Swift they come, Swift as the wind. The swarthy warriors gaze Like startled deer. Crash, crash, now peal the shots Amongst them, and with looks of fierce despair They group together, aim a scattered fire, Then seek to break with tomahawk and knife Through the advancing circle, but in vain, They fall beneath the stalwort blows of men Who long had suffered under savage hate. Hunters and settlers of the valley roused At length to vengeance. With a rapid hand The blockhouse-door I opened and rushed out, Wielding my rifle. Youth, this arm is old And withered now, but every blow I struck Then made the blood-drops spatter to my brow, Until I bathed in crimson. With deep joy I felt the iron sink within the brain And clatter on the bone, until the stock Snapped from the barrel. But the fight soon passed, And as the last red foe beneath my arm Dropped dead, I sunk exhausted at the feet Of my preservers.