“Here I am at Westbrookville splitting rails. I should be at Shohola splitting heads and scattering Indian brains. That would be more in keeping with my conscience, than to stand here and pound these wedges. Confound the log, it is as cross grained as a peperage, and sticks to the bark as close as an Indian to his scalping knife. Curse the red Devils, I long to see the last one killed and scalped. If there was more Tom Quick’s there would be less Indians. Well, they are growing less every day. Yesterday I sent five more to the Spirit land. Yesterday I colored Butler’s Falls with blood. Yesterday the hawks at Hawk’s Nest mountain wafted the spirits of five more to the Indians’ eternal hunting ground. There were big spirits and little spirits. It was easy to pop over the old man and his Squaw, but when it came to knocking out the brains of the little babe, that kinder went against the grain. Confound the little redskin, he looked me right in the eye and laughed—as much as to say, ‘Uncle Tom don’t.’ I most wish that I had spared the boy to see if anything could be made out of a redskin. But pshaw! Papooses become Indians as surely as nits become lice. But I must go to work, or the sun will darken before I get these rails split. To-day comes the great eclipse of the sun and soon that orb from which we receive light and heat will be obscured, and the earth will be wrapped in the mantle of night. I see that it is approaching and darkness will soon prevail.” This soliloquy nearly cost Tom his life. Whilst he was talking six dusky Indians were noiselessly crawling toward him. So stealthily had been their approach that Tom was not aware of their presence until he was grasped by two stalwart Indians. He sprang for his rifle, dragging the Indians with him, but the others came and Tom was overpowered. He saw his peril and knew that it was only by strategy that he could escape. The fact of the eclipse flashed across his mind and he resolved at once to excite the superstition of the Indians by appealing to the white man’s God. Hawkeye was the first to break the silence. “Pale face, your time has come. The Avenger of the Delaware Valley must die. At sun down you can fight faggot and fire. Now call on the white man’s God and see if he will save you.” Tom replied: “The white man’s God is the Indian’s great spirit; that spirit is here and talks with me.” Hawkeye looked at Tom with astonishment. “What does the white man’s God say?” Tom replied: “He says that Indian tells the truth—that my time has come—that I must die—that I must not fight the Indians anymore, but must go with you as soon as my work is done.” Hawkeye looked pleased and said: “What work?” “Finish splitting this log,” replied Tom. The Indians were so pleased to capture Tom without a fight that they were thrown off their guard and laid down their arms. What more does the white man’s God say, inquired Hawkeye?