United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction; Wyoming Valley (Pa.) -- History -- Juvenile fiction
“All that might have been done already, Jonathan Ogden, if I, and such
as I, had not been a hindrance. If the savages had killed us outright
then you would not be wasting your time here defending us.”
“Nay, lad, you are wrong in that, since whether you were alive or dead
should we be held here because of the women and children. I count that
we Minute Boys are doing full service when we save the lives of as many
as are here in this cave, and that I warrant you we shall do, however
hotly those who are lurking outside may press us, for we hold the
advantage to such an extent that an hundred of them could never gain an
entrance while two of us are able to discharge the muskets which the
women can load.”
Then I went in turn to each of the other lads, whispering such words of
comfort as came most readily to my tongue, and returned to my place by
Giles March’s side, feeling as never before the importance of holding
myself well together in order to cheer those who were depending upon us.
Later Esther Hinchman brought us dried meat, and water in a vessel of
birch bark, which she had deftly fastened together with thorns, and we
made what served us well for a meal, watching keenly as we ate.
Then, in turn, Giles went back to speak with our wounded comrades,
leaving me alone on guard, and in this wise did time pass until evening
came, without our having again seen anything at which we should shoot.
Just at twilight, when we might distinguish the bushes in front of us
and yet not be able to see clearly, that happened which robbed me of my
sense of security.
The children had laid down to sleep, their mothers sitting beside
them to check any cry of alarm which might come if one of the muskets
was discharged suddenly, when I heard distinctly the dropping of a
pebble, evidently from that portion of the cave where Master Bartlett
had formed the narrow chimney by thrusting down through the earth a
sharpened sapling.
Giles’s head came up on the instant, and I knew he had heard the same.
It seemed like a matter of small moment to thus arouse two who were
defending the lives of so many; but we had learned to distrust the
lightest unusual sound, knowing that it betokened some new danger,
although for the instant it was impossible to say what.
Then, suddenly, the reason for the dropping of that pebble came to me.
Touching Giles ever so lightly, that he should understand I had left
him, I stole softly back to the fireplace, and, as I looked up through
the aperture, a few tiny particles of earth struck my face.
Then was it all plain.
The Indians, despairing of being able to dislodge us by direct assault,
except at too great a cost, had been prowling about searching for some
other entrance to our place of refuge, and their keen sense of smell
had detected the odor of smoke near by that small hole.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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