The event which forms the subject of the ballad occurred in Nelson County, Kentucky, during the summer of 1787. About midnight, the approach of a hostile party was made known to John Merrill and his wife, by the barking of their house-dog. At first, Merrill supposed it to be some travellers seeking shelter, and opened the door. He received the fire of a half-dozen rifles, which broke an arm and a thigh. He fell, and his wife, at his call, closed the door. The Indians broke open the door, but Mrs. Merrill, who was a very large and powerful woman, killed four of them with an axe, and they gave that up. They next climbed the roof to effect an entrance by the broad chimney. There was a fire smouldering on the hearth, and on this Mrs. Merrill threw the feathers of the bed, which she had ripped open. The smoke caused two of the remaining three Indians to fall insensible. Braining these, she ran to the open door where the last surviving savage was entering. He was too close for her to strike, but she cut his cheek with the keen blade of the axe. He gave a yell of affright and despair, and fled, spreading a terrible story of the strength and courage of his female antagonist. A similar instance of female courage is that of Mrs. Dustan, in New England; but in the latter case the victims were asleep. _THE LONG-KNIFE SQUAW._ I was out upon the Piqua, two-and-forty years ago, Ere my sinews lost their vigor, or my head received its snow. I was not so skilled in woodcraft as I should have been that day, And towards the shade of evening, in the forest lost my way. Yet I wandered hither, thither, till beside a grey old rock, I beheld the smoky lodges of a band of Shawanock. There was peace between the races, and a welcome warm I found, And a supper which they gave me, by the camp-fire, on the ground. That despatched, I fell to smoking, and as up the round moon rolled, With a thirsty ear I listened to the tales the old men told. There they sat and chatted gayly, while the flickering of the blaze Led the shadows on their faces in a wild and devious maze. And among them one I noted, unto whom the rest gave place, Which was token he was foremost in the fight or in the chase. He had been among the white men till he spoke our language well, Though his speech was marked by phrases that from Western hunters fell. There was pausing in the stories, when he turned and spoke to me, As his red pipe he replenished—“I could tell a tale,” said he. “Those there are of daring white men, whom no danger can appall; But I knew a squaw among them, who surpassed them one and all. “Six good Shawanock, my comrades, did that pale-face woman kill.” Then I said—“Pray tell the story!” Quoth the other—“So I will. “There were seven of us together, who upon an August day, From the sullen, broad Ohio, up Salt River took our way.