It was a misty morning when Tom and his companion approached the fort. The air was damp with vapor, and the American flag, with its glorious stars and stripes, drooped heavily. The fortress was on the very outskirts of civilization, on an elevated point of land, commanding an extensive prospect on every side. Richly diversified prairies, rarely pressed by the white man’s foot, gave one an impressive sense of vastness and magnificence. As the sun arose, and the curtain of fog rolled off, Tom gazed on the landscape, spell-bound; for, accustomed as he was to prairie scenery, he had never seen any view that equalled this.

“Not an Injun could come nigh this ere fort,” said the little man that held the reins; “everybody has to be seen, no matter how fur off they be, specially when the officers gits their telescopes to their eyes. Why, I suppose they can see hundreds o’ miles with one of them big glasses; any 211 rate, I heard tell about their seeing clean up to the stars, an’ a good piece beyend.”

They had now approached a gate, before which paced an armed sentry, in answer to whose challenge, the little man, who grew consequential as he neared the citadel, said,–

“This ere youngster, Mr. Sojer, wants to see the commander of this ere institution on very perticler business, which admits of no delay.”

The man with the gun sent a message into the fort without a word in reply, until the messenger returned, when he said, laconically,–

“Pass in.”

Tom had never before seen a fortress, and surveyed with eager interest the rows of heavy guns, and the cannon-balls in conical shaped piles, and the long, four-storied brick buildings extending around the spacious square, from the centre of which rose the flagstaff. Grimly as frowned the guns and warlike munitions, the neatness and order that reigned had a pleasing effect on Tom’s mind. And within those many-roomed buildings, standing amid the solitudes of the wilderness, in the families of the officers gayety and mirth often held carnival. Already a gush of music, elicited by fair fingers from a richly-toned piano, was borne through an open window into the court below. Then a clear, sweet voice accompanied the instrument. 212

“Pooty as a bird, and a plaguy sight nicer,” exclaimed the little man as he frisked about, hitching his horse to an iron-ringed post.

Tom and his friend were shown into the dining-room of the commander of the fort. The officer was an early riser, and breakfasted betimes. The mahogany extension table was set with an elegant service. General McElroy was a tall, slender man, with iron-gray hair and weather-beaten face. His wife, a richly-dressed, stately lady, sat at the head of the table, and a boy of seven, in Highland costume, was at her side, while black Nancy flitted in and out with viands in her hands.

“Well, my lad,” said the general, sedately, “what do you want of me?” motioning his callers to be seated.

Tom commenced to state the occasion of his calling, and the general’s stolid features lighted up with growing interest; and he said,–

“Wait a moment, my boy; I guess you’ve a message important enough, and it will save time for you to relate it to two of us at once;” and pulling a bell-rope, a soldier appeared, to whom he said,–

“Tell Captain Manly that I wish to see him.”

In a moment the last-named personage came in. He was about forty, of frank, open face, and soldierly bearing. Tom liked him at the first glance. 213

“Captain,” said the general, “I want you to hear this boy’s story. Commence again, my lad, and state the whole as briefly and connectedly as you can.”

When Tom finished his recital, “You are a brave little fellow,” said the general, “and in my opinion, if you were in the ranks, you would be sure to be well spoken of;” then turning to the captain, he added, “This is grave business, Manly, and something should be done for the settlers whom this boy represents. I heard that an Indian called at the fort, and tried to make us understand that there was an uprising; and I suppose it was this Long Hair that the lad tells about, but I did not attach much importance to what he said. And now, Manly, I want you to take a detachment of men,–for I think I can depend on you to do it up right. See that they are well mounted and provisioned, and that their arms are in good order,–but you understand all about that,–and go to the relief of the settlement that these villains have beset.”

Then turning to Tom, he asked,–

“What is your name, young man?”

“Thomas Jones,” he replied.

“Well, Thomas, I conclude you will want to go with the men.”

“Yes, sir.” 214

“And do you know, the shortest route to the settlement in question?”

Tom answered affirmatively.

“Include a horse for the boy’s use, captain, and see that he is well provided for. He may be of use in piloting the way. At any rate he is a noble-spirited fellow, and deserves consideration at our hands. How many men will you need, captain?”

“I’d as lief have forty as more, if I can have my pick.”

“Make such arrangements as will please you; and I hope to have a good report when you come back. The rascally red-skins should be taught a severe lesson for this outrage, or they may commit more.”

Tom and his friend rose to withdraw with the under-officer, when the general said,–

“But you have not told me how far you came this morning.”

“We rode all night,” returned Tom; “I took supper at this man’s cabin, and he brought me here in his wagon to save time.”

“Bless me!” ejaculated the general, as he left the table; “that has the true ring in it. Nancy, see that these folks have a sip of coffee, and something to eat, and when you’ve broke your fast, my lad, come out into the square. I guess the captain will be ready by that time.” 215

Tom felt some diffidence about accepting the invitation of the general; but Mrs. McElroy was a true lady, and her winning smile, as she filled his cup with the fragrant beverage from the silver urn, put him at ease. She had many a woman’s question to ask about his adventures of yesterday morning, and seemed never to tire admiring his heroic conduct. He was just explaining for the third time how he pushed the savage from the cliff, when his voice was drowned by that of a girl, who came tripping and singing through the long hall that led into the dining-room. Hers were the same bird-like notes that came through the open window. It was the general’s only daughter, Alice, who, as she burst into the apartment, stopped in surprise as she saw strangers there.

“Just in time, Alice,” said the mother, pleasantly, “to hear this story.”

The girl was scarcely in her teens, and her fair face, expressive of good sense, gentleness, and intellectuality, was set off by a wealth of auburn curls that fell in careless profusion over her shoulders.

Tom had never known anything of sentiment, or thought much of personal looks, but he had a quick eye for grace and beauty, and, charmed at the unexpected ingress of the little fairy, he forgot alike his food, his manners, and his story, and 216 gazed in stupid silence at the lovely apparition. The mother comprehended the state of things, and, with a look of gratified maternal pride, said to Tom,–

“But you mustn’t forget your plate; you have had a long ride, you know, and have another before you.”

This recalled Tom to his senses, and in his straightforward, manly way he finished the account of the affair.

“The captain’s most ready,” said black Nancy, glancing out of the window, as Tom finished his repast.

“Farewell, my boy,” said Mrs. McElroy. “I wish you success, and hope no harm will come to you;” and Tom went out and mounted the horse that had been provided for him, and shaking hands with the kind settler who brought him there, he saw Mrs. McElroy and Alice waving their handkerchiefs, as he and the men rode in military order out of the square.

The horses were in good order, and the men in fine spirits, glad, after their idle life within the fort, to be sent on active duty. The day was almost cloudless, the air pure and bracing, and they coursed the smooth prairies at a rapid rate. Yet to Tom’s anxious heart the moments seemed long; and when they stopped at noon for refreshment, and to bait the horses, Tom could scarcely 217 brook the delay. He was really on his way with a brave band for the rescue. The thought of this was joyful to him, yet he was afraid that they might arrive too late; and as the soldiers lay upon the grass eating their rations, Captain Manly, reading his feelings, said to him,–

“Be patient, my dear boy; be patient. The old saying, ‘Prayer and provender hinder no man’s journey,’ is as true in war as in peace.”

He was a Christian soldier, and he added,–

“We must pray, Tom, that God will prosper us. By this bit of rest the men and horses will be all the better for service when we catch up with the savages; and if God shall so order it, we will save such of the poor settlers as have escaped from massacre.”

About the middle of the afternoon they drew near one of the settlements that lay in their path. Scouts were sent ahead to see if any Indians were lurking in the vicinity. They reported that none were to be seen, but that the village had been totally destroyed. Putting spurs to their horses, the eager soldiers were soon on the ground.

The air was still heavy with the smell of the burning, and as they passed along they saw that every cabin had been consumed. It was a scene of utter desolation. The horses’ feet splashed in pools of clotted blood, while ever and anon they came to the mutilated remains of some victim of 218 the massacre. In one place lay the form of a brawny pioneer, his broken rifle still clutched by the muzzle, while the ground around him was torn up by the mighty struggle he had made with his assailants. Here young children had been murdered by being dashed against a tree. To an oak near by a woman had been nailed while yet alive. All the corpses were horribly mangled and disfigured, indignities the most fiendish being heaped upon them. Their ears and noses were cut off, sticks were thrust into their eyes, and their mouths were filled with filth.

These awful sights wrought up the soldiers to frenzy. Tom’s passions rose also; but he was startled by the deadly paleness that sat upon the countenances of the others, so expressive of intensified hate and desire for revenge. But the scouts again appeared, and reported a large force of Indians encamped before a log house a few miles farther on; and Captain Manly decided to strike for a piece of woods to the right of the savages. When the woods were reached, it was discovered that all the dwellings on either side of the besieged cabin, comprising three promising young villages, had been swept away. Cautiously the little company pushed on to the scene of action. Before the lone cabin were assembled hundreds of Indians, engaged in some savage ceremony. 219

“They have taken a captive,” whispered Captain Manly, “and have brought him near the cabin to tantalize the inmates, hoping to induce them to make a sortie for the rescue of the prisoner.”

“It is Long Hair!” replied Tom, wild with excitement.

“Be quiet, be quiet, my boy,” replied the captain; “we’ll be in their long hair before they get his, if they don’t look sharp.”

Then dividing his force into four companies of ten men each, and directing them to crawl carefully through the long grass to the points he designated near the foe, he instructed each man to be sure of his aim, and fire when the captain’s division fired. The Indians had been so successful in their attacks on the settlements thus far, and so unmolested in their barbarities, that they were now completely off their guard, which enabled the whites to get close to them unobserved.

Tom’s eyes were fastened upon Long Hair. The faithful Indian’s handsome face betrayed no fear, but it was evident that he had given up all hopes of deliverance. With eagle eye he watched the ceremonies, and, as he saw them approach their fatal termination, began to chant his death-song. Captain Manly understood Indian customs, and telling certain of his men to make sure of the savages nearest Long Hair, he gave the 220 signal, and the bullets of the ten unerring marksmen mowing them down, firing from the other detachments following with deadly effect.

The panic of the Indians was indescribable; for the firing from so extended a line gave the impression of a much larger force than had really attacked them. Their confusion was increased also at seeing some soldiers issue from the woods, mounted; for the captain had given orders, in case there was a panic, for a portion of the command quietly and quickly to take to their horses and pursue the fugitives. Thinking themselves attacked by superior numbers of both cavalry and infantry, the Indians were at the mercy of the soldiers, who shot and sabred them with small opposition.

As soon as Captain Manly saw the effect of the first volley, he said to Tom,–

“I shall leave Long Hair in your charge.”

For with delicate magnanimity he would have Tom be the deliverer of the noble Indian who had perilled his life for Tom.

The lad needed no second hint, but sprang away, and severed the thongs that bound his Indian friend to the death-stake.

“Ugh! Tom good friend; big soldier-boy,” ejaculated the grateful Indian.

“Are father and mother safe?” asked Tom.

“In cabin there,” replied Long Hair. 221

Tom hurried forward towards the dwelling, but Long Hair seized him, saying,–

“Maybe they think you Injun; shoot you!” for his keen eye had caught sight of the muzzle of a gun pointing at them from out an aperture in the building. “White chief come soon,” he immediately added. “They no fire at you; see, gun gone.”

Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the outer door opened, and Tom saw his mother standing there, for she had discerned him in the deepening twilight, and recognized him as her son. Tom, with a bound, hastened to her, and as she folded him in her arms, and tenderly kissed him, he inquired,–

“But where is father?”

“Speak softly,” she replied, as she led the way to a bed in a corner of the inner building, on which lay Mr. Jones. “He is wounded,” said she, mournfully, “and is sleeping now. We cannot yet tell how it will turn with him, but hope for the best.”

“But where are the other men?” asked Tom, weeping, for only a few women and children were in sight.

“They deserted us night before last. Our provisions had run low, and the savages had retired to make us think they had left, and the men, half crazed with sleepless nights and scanty food, 222 were deluded by the idea that they might get safely away, and perhaps bring us aid. But, poor things, they were not themselves, and they had gone only a few rods, when they were set upon by the savages, and brutally slaughtered before our eyes. We used our guns on the Indians as well as we could, but found it difficult to prevent them from scaling the building.”

“Did you fire upon them?” asked Tom, wonderingly.

“Yes, my son,” said she, gently; “and last night, knowing how feeble our force must be, they were emboldened to attempt to burn the house. The roof caught in several places, and your father went up and put out the fire at the risk of his life. It was then that he was shot. He had been our main defence from the first, for the Indians were more afraid of his rifle than a dozen of others.”

“But how did you get along after father was disabled?”

“We women loaded, watched, and fired by turns. I do not see how we could have held out an hour longer. Help came just in time.”

“But where are all the children,” inquired Tom, forebodingly.

Mrs. Jones gave a low moan, as if her heart would break, but, with wonderful self-command, suppressed all other manifestations of emotion, 223 and said, lovingly, laying her hand on his shoulder,–

“My son, we are a broken family; we shall never all meet again on earth. Charlie disappeared at the first attack. I did not see him killed; and you know what a quick, active boy he is, and he may have escaped, although the chances were fearfully against him. Sarah was overtaken by an Indian, and tomahawked while flying home from the store.”

“And Bub?” sobbed Tom.

“That was one of the crudest of the cruelties connected with the outbreak. There was an Indian who made great professions of friendship, visiting our cabin almost daily. You saw him, Tom, when you visited us. We treated him very kindly, and made him many presents. He seemed to have a particular liking to Bub, and Bub was fond of him, and would always run to meet him when he saw him coming. The day of the fatal attack, he made his appearance as usual, and Bub, with an exclamation of joy, hastened to be the first to greet him, when, as the child drew laughingly near, the treacherous savage raised his rifle, and shot him through the head. This was the signal for the assault. Sarah was standing at the time in the store door opposite, and, seeing the murder, started for the house, her face terribly pale with fright. So terrified 224 was she that it seemed as if she flew rather than ran; but the same savage swiftly pursued her, and, being nearer the house than she, struck her down with his tomahawk. But Robert has been left to us, and a brave, good boy has he been.”

Tom was so absorbed that he had not noticed the quiet entrance of Captain Manly and others of the command, who, seated or standing around the room, listened intently to his mother’s account of the massacre. As she concluded, the captain said,–

“I had taken the precaution, madam, to bring the surgeon along with me; and if you desire it, he will examine your husband’s wounds, and see what is best to be done for him.”

At which the doctor stepped forward and proceeded to probe and dress the wound.

“It is an ugly hurt,” remarked the surgeon, “but by good care and nursing he may rally.”

“Just what are impossible,” answered the captain, “in this place. Would it do to remove him, doctor?”

“If a good litter was prepared,” was the reply, “there would be less risk in doing so than in leaving him in this wretched hole.”

“Particularly,” added the captain, “as the red-skins would be sure to come back to finish their fiendish work. And I would propose, madam, that, after my men have taken a little rest, we 225 remove you and your family at once to the fort, where you shall receive the best of attention, and everything be done for your husband that skill and medicine and needful comforts can do for his recovery.”

Mrs. Jones glanced at the ghastly wound of her husband.

“I understand your feelings,” said the captain, kindly; “but you have shown that you are a brave woman, ever ready to do what is for the best. Now, the Indians to-night were some three or four hundred strong; and, panic-stricken as they were, some of them must have discovered that I have but a handful of men. They will return in larger force, thirsting for revenge. It is therefore indispensable that we take Mr. Jones with us. It is all we can do under the circumstances.”

Mrs. Jones saw the propriety of this, and gratefully assented to the captain’s plan, and at the hour appointed–all the preparations having been efficiently made–the wounded man was carefully placed upon the nicely-constructed litter, the women and children taken upon the soldiers’ horses, and the little cavalcade moved noiselessly out on the star-lighted prairie.