CHAPTER IX

IN WHICH NATHAN TAKES PART IN THE BATTLE OF WYOMING

Barnabas and his companions checked their horses, and for several minutes they sat still in the saddle, gazing with stirring emotions on the peaceful and beautiful scene. In vain they listened for hostile shots; in vain they scanned the horizon for the smoke and flames of burning dwellings.

"We've come in time!" exclaimed Nathan.

"We have, lad; no doubt of it," assented Barnabas. "God grant the rest of the force get here before the trouble begins. And now let's be pushing down to the fort."

"Hold on, comrades," said Abel Cutbush. "Here our ways must separate. I'm a married man, and I'm going to strike fur Wilkesbarre, where my wife and child will be expecting me."

"They may be yonder at the fort," suggested Barnabas.

"Perhaps, man," was the reply; "but I'll look at home first."

So, with a few words of farewell, Cutbush turned sharply off to the left. The other four urged their steeds cautiously down the mountainside, and without mishap they reached the valley. They crossed the Susquehanna by a fording, spurred up the farther bank, and were shortly challenged by watchful sentries. A little later they rode triumphantly through the gates of Forty Fort, which was a large, stockaded inclosure with double rows of huts inside.

Here thrilling sights were to be seen, and it was evident that a battle or a siege was shortly expected. The fort was full of men, women, and children. The former were hard at work, cleaning and loading muskets, measuring out powder and ball, and repairing clothes and shoes for a march. Many of these eager defenders ranged in age from fourteen to sixteen, and there were also a number of very old men. The little children were prattling and playing as though they had been brought to the fort for a holiday. Of the women, some had given way to utter grief and were weeping bitterly; others, more stout of heart, were cheering and encouraging their husbands.

Barnabas and his companions were joyfully greeted, many friends and relatives pressing around to clasp their hands. When the first excitement was over Colonel Zebulon Butler pushed to the spot, accompanied by his associate officers, Colonels Denison and Dorrance.

"My brave fellows, you are heartily welcome," cried Colonel Butler. "Do you come from Washington? What news do you bring? Where are the rest of the Wyoming men?"

"A couple of days' march behind, sir," replied Barnabas, in answer to the latter question. Then he briefly went on to tell of the battle of Monmouth, the departure of the Wyoming troops, and the subsequent adventures of his own little party. Men and women listened to the narrative with breathless attention, and when they learned of the uncertain fate of Captain Stanbury--who was known and liked throughout the valley--Nathan was the recipient of numerous looks and words of sympathy. But all other news dwindled to insignificance beside the fact that the relieving force was still miles away, and how sorely the absent ones were needed Barnabas and his friends soon understood.

It appeared, according to Colonel Butler's hasty account, that the enemy had entered the head of the valley on the 30th of June. They numbered more than a thousand in all, six or seven hundred of them being blood-thirsty Seneca Indians under the terrible half-breed Brandt, and the remainder consisting of Colonel John Butler's Rangers, Captain Caldwell's Royal Greens, and Tories from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York. Colonel John Butler, who was in no wise related to the patriot leader, was in full command.

The enemy were too strong in numbers to be successfully resisted, and since the first of July they had ruthlessly murdered half a score of settlers, taken possession of Fort Jenkins, the uppermost one in the valley, and had advanced to the next fort, called Wintermoot's. Here they now were, on this morning of the 3d of July, and it was believed that they were preparing to move on Forty Fort.

"So you see that the situation is critical," Colonel Butler concluded. "We have not yet decided what to do, but the day can hardly pass without action of some sort. It is useless to hope for aid from the relieving force--they cannot arrive in time. The little army assembled here now under my command, is all we can count upon. They have come mostly from the neighboring lower part of the valley. A few companies of our home regiment are unfortunately in the outer settlements, and they can't reach us inside of twenty-four hours."

"Then we must get along without them, sir," exclaimed Barnabas. "We'll give the Tories such a lesson as Washington gave Clinton at Monmouth a few days ago."

"God grant that we may!" Colonel Butler said fervently. "I expect word shortly concerning the movements of the enemy, and then will be the time to form our plans. And now, my good men, I want to thank you for your heroic march. You will be provided with food, and everything else you may need, and I shall depend on your support in the coming struggle."

"You are sure to have it, sir," declared Barnabas; and this opinion was eagerly echoed by the rest.

During the next hour the work of preparation went on, fresh recruits straggling in at intervals. Nathan and his companions, who were already fully equipped, lent what aid they could, or engaged in conversation with old friends and neighbors.

About eleven o'clock in the morning a settler named Ingersoll, who had been captured by the enemy several days before, near Wintermoot's fort, arrived under a flag of truce, in custody of an Indian and a Tory. He was the bearer of a message from Colonel John Butler, demanding the immediate and unconditional surrender of all the forts in the valley and all public property. This was, of course, refused, and Ingersoll left with his guards, the latter having taken advantage of their visit to observe the condition of the fort, and the number and spirit of its defenders.

Colonel Zebulon Butler now called a council of war, at which opinions were freely expressed. Many of the settlers were admitted to this, including Barnabas and his companions. Colonels Denison and Dorrance, as well as a number of others, were in favor of delaying action, on the ground that the absent militia companies and the relief force sent by Washington might yet arrive in time to save the valley. But Colonel Butler was opposed to delay, and made an eloquent oration against it.

"For three days the enemy have been within the valley," he said, "and they have steadily carried on their work of destruction and murder. Two forts are already in their possession, and if we show an inclination to be idle they will certainly press their advantage. They have boats, and they can easily cross the river from Wintermoot's to Pittston, and take the little fort there under Captain Blanchard. They can march or float from place to place, and will destroy the valley piecemeal. And once the butchers spread throughout the country, we will no longer be able to hold our little army together. Each man will fly to protect his own home. The relief force cannot reach us in time, and it is doubtful if the absent militia companies will arrive within two days. So we must clearly depend on God and ourselves, and I assert that to attack and defeat the enemy is the only hope for the settlement."

These spirited words made an impression, and at once won over a large majority. The rest were finally induced to assent, and without further delay the preparations for the advance were begun.

Six companies were available, and of these one consisted of regulars under Captain Hewitt. The others were as follows: Captain Whittlesey's company, from Plymouth; Captain McKarrican's, from Hanover; the Lower Wilkesbarre and Upper Wilkesbarre Companies, commanded respectively by Captain Bidlack and Captain Geer, and a company from Kingston under Captain Aholiab Buck. Barnabas and Nathan were assigned to Captain Whittlesey's company, as were also Reuben Atwood and Collum McNicol. In all, the force was three hundred strong--two hundred and thirty enrolled men, and about seventy boys, elderly settlers, judges of the valley courts, and civil magistrates. And this brave but meager army was about to attack one thousand Tories and Indians!

It was an hour past noon when the band of defenders filed out through the gates of Forty Fort, leaving a few sentries behind them to protect the weeping and well-nigh distracted women and children. It was a clear, warm day, and never had the Wyoming Valley looked more beautiful and peaceful. Birds were twittering, and the sun shone brightly on forest and river.

Forward the column marched, not knowing that their movements were being watched by vigilant spies. But such was the case, and fleet couriers bore word of the advance to Colonel John Butler, at Wintermoot's. He at once sent a message to his rear guard at Fort Jenkins, who were destroying the defenses of that place, to hasten down to join him and meet the Yankees.

In the neighborhood of three o'clock the Americans approached Wintermoot's fort, and from a distance they saw that it was in flames--the motive for which act on the enemy's part was never fully understood. At this point there were two plains between the river and the mountain, the upper and lower flats being divided by a steep bank fifteen or twenty feet in height. The fort stood on the brow of the bluff.

Colonel Zebulon Butler sent several officers forward to reconnoiter the ground, and when they returned with their reports, and with the intelligence that the foe were close in front, the little army at once proceeded to form in line of battle. They ascended the dividing bluff, and deployed across the upper plain. Their right rested on the steep bank, and the left stretched across the flat to a morass that separated the bottom land from the mountain. The plain was sparsely wooded with yellow pine trees and oak scrubs. Captain Whittlesey's company, to which Nathan and his friends belonged, was on the extreme left, and that flank was in charge of Colonels Denison and Dorrance. Colonel Butler himself commanded the right wing.

The enemy's left, under Colonel John Butler, rested on Wintermoot's fort, which was now on fire, and from which the Susquehanna was distant about eighty rods. A flanking party of Indian marksmen were hidden in some logs and bushes near the top of the bank. Next to Colonel John Butler were more Indian marksmen and Caldwell's Royal Greens, while the main body of the Senecas under Brandt formed the right wing, which extended over the plain to the morass.

Thus face to face, the two armies remained inactive for some little time. At a distance Nathan's keen eyes could make out the glitter of a uniform here and there, or see the feathered plumes of the Indians nodding. Through the green of the trees the sun shone on tomahawks and musket barrels.

"How do you feel, lad?" asked old Barnabas.

"Ready for the fight," was the cool reply.

"But this ain't the battle of Monmouth, lad. There's worse odds ag'in us."

"All the more reason why we should fight the better," declared Nathan. "Monmouth was for our country and this is for our homes."

"Ay, that's proper talk," exclaimed Reuben Atwood. "I'm thinkin' we must all fight to the bitter end, since there's no mercy to be looked for from them fiends over yonder."

Now a sudden excitement spread throughout the lines, and the men straightened up at attention. Colonel Zebulon Butler came riding from right to left, and checking his horse near Captain Whittlesey's company he repeated the brief address he had just made to his followers on the right.

"Men, we are about to attack," he cried. "Yonder is the enemy. Slaughter without mercy is what we must expect if we are defeated. We are here to fight for liberty, for our homes and families, for life itself. Stand firm with the first shock, and the Indians will yield. Let every man remember his duty."

Loud and hearty cheers followed the Colonel as he rode back to his post. Nathan gripped his musket tight, and as he recalled the massacres of the preceding days he resolved to make each shot tell. "Hurrah! we're going!" he shouted.

"Yes, we're at it, lad," cried Barnabas. "Steady, now!"

The signal had been given, and the long line was in forward motion. They drew nearer and nearer, and suddenly the order to fire came from Colonel Zebulon Butler. Crash! crash! the deadly volleys rang out. Still the Americans advanced, firing rapidly and steadily. Crash! Crash! Men began to fall, some dead and some wounded. The bluish powder smoke rolled over the field, mingling with the yellow clouds from the burning fort. Louder and louder blazed the musketry fire. In spite of the pluck of its officers the British line gave way a little. But it quickly rallied, and the enemy stood their ground stubbornly.

The American right was now hotly engaged with the Senecas and Rangers, and soon the fight was waging along the entire line. On both sides the dead and wounded increased, and as the Indian sharpshooters fired they uttered fearful and hideous yells. Nathan was surprised at his own coolness. He loaded and fired like an old soldier, never pulling trigger until he had a bead drawn on a foe. Some of the men on the left began to waver as their comrades fell about them, but a few words from Colonel Dorrance had the effect of closing the broken line up.

For half an hour the battle went on, growing warmer and warmer. As yet Nathan was unhurt, and so far as he could tell his friends had fared as fortunately. Animated by the hope of victory, the Americans displayed the utmost valor and bravery. But now, alas! the enemy began to show the power that superior numbers gave them. A large force of Indians was thrown into the swamp, thus completely outflanking the left of the patriot line. Seeing the danger, Colonel Denison ordered Whittlesey to wheel his company at an angle with the main line, and thus present a front to the foe.

It is always difficult to perform such an evolution under a hot fire, and in this case the result was disastrous. No sooner had Captain Whittlesey's company made the attempt than the Indians rushed forward with blood-curdling yells. Some of the Americans understood the order to fall back on flank to mean a retreat, and by this fatal mistake the whole of the left line was thrown into confusion. A part stood their ground, and others fled in panic. Seeing the disorder and confusion here, and finding that his own men on the right were also beginning to give way, Colonel Zebulon Butler rode recklessly to and fro between the fires of the opposing ranks.

"Stand firm!" he cried in ringing tones. "Don't forsake me! Make a stand, my brave men, and the victory will yet be ours."

But it was too late. In vain did the daring commander harangue his men; in vain did his officers support him by words and actions, and the drummers beat the charge. The rout began--a rout that was too overwhelming and widespread to be checked. The right and left lines of the Americans fled in all directions, hotly pursued by the vengeful Tories and Indians. The crack of muskets and the dull crash of the tomahawk mingled with the shrieks of the dying and the yells of the victors. Stephen Whiton, a young schoolmaster, was butchered by the side of the man whose daughter he had just married. Darius Spofford, also lately married, fell dead in the arms of his brother Phineas. Every captain that led a company into action was slain. Bidlack, Hewitt, Whittlesey--all died at the head of their men.

And now, the battle over and the massacre begun, horror was piled on horror. There was little chance of escape for the fugitives. The flanking party of Indians pushed hastily to the rear to cut off the retreat to Forty Fort, and thus the wretched and panic-stricken settlers were driven in the direction of the river, over the open ground and through fields of uncut grain. Some few swam to Monockasy Island, which offered a temporary refuge. But many were speared and tomahawked at the water's edge, and others, shot while swimming, were borne away lifeless on the current. A man named Pensil, who had gained the island, was pursued there and slain by his own Tory brother. Lieutenant Shoemaker, as he plunged into the river, glanced over his shoulder to see a Tory named Windecker who had often dined at his table in past times. Swimming back to shore, he begged his old friend to protect him. The foul ruffian pretended to consent, but while he helped the officer out of the water with his left hand, with his right he drove a tomahawk into his brain. Many others were thus lured to shore by promise of quarter, only to be ruthlessly butchered. A number of the prisoners were thrown alive on the burning logs of Fort Wintermoot, and no less than a score were tomahawked by Queen Esther, an Indian fury in the form of a woman. She slew them with her own hand while the savages held them, and the bodies of her victims, scalped and mutilated, were subsequently found lying in a circle where they had fallen. The carnage would have been greater had not night intervened. Under cover of darkness a small proportion of the fugitives escaped, and of the number was Colonel Denison and Colonel Zebulon Butler. The latter was borne off the field on his horse, and by a devious route he finally reached the fort at Wilkesbarre.

Good fortune also fell to the lot of Barnabas and Nathan. After standing their ground until valor had ceased to be a virtue they fled, side by side, to the river, firing at intervals as they went. At the water's edge they confronted and killed a Tory and an Indian who had overtaken them, and then, being good swimmers, they safely reached the opposite shore some distance below the island. In company with several other refugees they pushed down the Susquehanna, recrossed the stream, and safely entered Forty Fort at nightfall. They were rejoiced to learn that Reuben Atwood and Collum McNicol had arrived some time before.

Pitiful and heartrending were the scenes within the fort as the hours of darkness dragged on. Women and children wept and wrung their hands as they called the names of loved ones who would never return. Bleeding and powder-grimed men stood about in weary and dazed groups. Of the band of three hundred who started out to battle at noon-time less than one-third had straggled back. The rest lay dead and mutilated in the woods, on the sands of Monockasy Island, or were drifting on the rippling tide of the river. So terrible was the defeat that the survivors had utterly lost heart; they were ready to submit to any terms to save their lives.

The night was full of horror, for an attack was constantly expected. In the interval between darkness and dawn, a few settlers with their families flocked to the fort from the lower part of the valley, and several sorely-wounded fugitives crept in. Nathan could not sleep, and for hours he wandered about the stockade. The disaster had stunned him, unused as he was to the horrors of Indian warfare. The past week, with its record of bloodshed and battle, had made a man of the lad. How dreamlike and long ago seemed his happy student life in Philadelphia!

The outcome of the Tory and Indian raid upon the colonists of the Wyoming Valley may be briefly told. On the morning of the 4th of July--the day following the massacre--Colonel Zebulon Butler started for the nearest town on the Lehigh to send a report to the Board of War. That morning one of the absent militia companies arrived at Forty Fort, and there was some talk of offering further resistance. But this was speedily abandoned, as messengers who had been sent out reported that the panic-stricken inhabitants of the valley were fleeing in every direction to the wilderness. It was also learned that Fort Brown, at Pittston, had been surrendered by Captain Blanchard.

So Colonel Denison at once opened negotiations with the leaders of the enemy, and after hours of suspense and discussion it was decided to surrender the fort on condition that the lives of the survivors should be spared. The articles of capitulation were signed, and on the afternoon of the 5th a sad and bitter ceremony took place on the bluff of the Susquehanna. The gates of Forty Fort were thrown open, the flag was hauled down, and to the music of drums and fifes the enemy marched in behind Colonel John Butler--company after company of Rangers and Tories, Captain Caldwell's Royal Greens, and the sullen, painted-faced Indians headed by two human fiends--Brandt and Queen Esther.

Colonel Butler prevented any immediate bloodshed, but the settlers were ruthlessly plundered as they filed out. Knowing their danger too well they fled in all directions, some toward the Delaware, others down the Susquehanna by water and land.

The Senecas and Tories shortly laid waste the valley, destroying what they could not take away, burning the town of Wilkesbarre and many cabins, and driving the horses and cattle to Niagara. The relief force that had started from Washington's army turned back when the news of the massacre reached them at Stroudsburg, and for a time the lovely Vale of Wyoming was abandoned to ruin and solitude.