United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction; Wyoming Valley (Pa.) -- History -- Juvenile fiction
At one time I believe it was possible to see not less than an hundred
dark shadows, which we knew to be John Butler’s mutinous followers, and
more than once, before we succeeded in driving them back, did it seem
certain some of them would succeed in scaling the walls.
Never had I known the curs to fight so boldly, and I now understand
that it was because they were half-crazed by the quantity of rum drank
immediately after Butler and his Tories marched out of Forty Fort.
We had a breathing spell of ten minutes or more, during which time the
women cleaned our fouled muskets, and we quenched the thirst born of
the fumes of burning powder, at the spring near the blockhouse.
Then, as suddenly as before, the battle was resumed; but it could soon
be seen that we were beset by a much smaller force. It seemed positive
that a goodly number of the cowards, finding us far stronger both in
numbers and weapons than they supposed, had given over the attempt, and
when I became convinced such was the case, the thought came that now
indeed was the time to show the brutes they were no longer the masters
in our valley.
“Find Master Bartlett for me, and quickly. Tell him to come here at
once,” I said to Esther Hinchman, who had remained just below my
station all the while we were fighting.
It was as if I had no more than spoken before the old man was by my
side, and I asked, hurriedly:
“Do you know how much we have suffered thus far?”
“Mistress Morley just told me that we had two wounded; but those who
were without muskets have taken their places, therefore the fighting
force has not really been lessened.”
“Then, hark you, Master Bartlett! You said to me that I should not give
an order without making certain it was obeyed, and I now command you
to take upon yourself the defence of this place, after our numbers
have been reduced by nearly one-half.”
“What do you mean?” he asked in surprise, but he did not turn his face
from the foe, nor had I ceased to fire whenever a target presented
itself during the time I was talking.
“I believe that now has come the moment when we should strike a blow
ourselves, instead of remaining on the defensive as if too weak to meet
those brutes openly. I count on taking with me nine of the lads whom
I know best, and slipping out of this place. We will fall upon yonder
curs from a point where they are least expecting to see us, and if it
be possible to get them on the run, I promise you we will not turn back
this side of Forty Fort, if so be we can contrive to cross the river.”
I had expected to have a long argument; but much to my surprise, the
old man never so much as opened his mouth, and after waiting a few
seconds for a reply, I slipped down from the platform, leaving him in
my place.
“You may never come back,” Esther Hinchman said, with a sob, as I stood
by her side, and then did I know she had heard what passed between
Master Bartlett and me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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