CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION.
The wind from the south was so strong that most of the large sparkscapable of carrying the fire were thrown beyond the block-house,falling about the stockade, on the clearing, and among the trees,where they kindled spiral serpents of flame and smoke, which quicklydied of themselves.
But as the blaze grew hotter and hotter, it seemed to converge itsfierce heat upon the doomed block-house, as the blowpipe melts theobdurate metal. The upper room became filled with the quivering air,and more than one wondered how it was the logs withstood thefurnace-like blast so long.
Although the two cabins were closer to each other than to the fort,yet the untouched one was in no danger because of the direction of thewind. The structure which had been lighted, burned furiously, andthose who were watching its progress soon detected smoke from theblock-house itself.
Jo Stinger was surprised to learn that, instead of being on the roof,it was from one of the windows almost directly under him--almost thelast place where he expected the flames to catch.
While he was peering downward through the openings at his feet, hediscovered the blaze.
A quart or two of water, well applied, extinguished it, and he calledat the others to make known at once any other flame they might see.The warning was scarcely given, when Blossom Brown shouted--
"Here it am! here it am! burnin' like all creation!"
The dusky lad was not mistaken, for the logs below them had caughtagain, and considerable water was required before it succumbed.However, it went out at last, and the thick smoke and steam climbedupward into the face of Blossom, who coughed until he seemed nearlyracked to pieces.
Doubtless the Wyandots could have poured in a volley of shots throughthe loopholes, which would have slain a number of the haplessdefenders; but now, when nothing could prevent the capture of theentire party, the red men preferred that the company should fall intotheir hands intact.
Ned Preston was standing at the south-east angle of the block-house,looking toward the burning building, when he saw something which, forthe time, made him doubt the evidence of his own senses.
His position was such that he could look directly along the westernside of the cabin, which was unharmed by the flames. This, it will benoted, was the portion that adjoined the burning structure. On thisside of the building, which was not burning, the heat was not verygreat, but the illumination was so strong that it was as light asmidday, and no Wyandot ventured near it, through fear of the rifles ofthe Kentuckians.
The youth was watching the cabin, around and through which the flameswere raging so furiously, when an Indian warrior walked into view.From what point he came, the watcher could not tell: the first he sawof him was when he approached the logs of the other structure. Hemoved slowly, as if surveying all sides, and when he turned andreached the door, he was seen to raise his hand and pass within,where, of course, he vanished from sight.
This of itself would not have been so extraordinary, but for the factthat the handsome face, distinctly shown in the glare, the slight,graceful figure, carrying a long bow in his right hand, and displayingthe quiver of arrows over his shoulder, identified the Indian asDeerfoot the Shawanoe.
Despite the frightful situation, Ned Preston could scarcely restrain acheer, for he was thrilled with a pleasure beyond description over theunexpected discovery that his devoted friend was still alive.
Ned darted to the side of Jo Stinger and told him what he had seen.
"Are you sure of it, younker?" demanded the scout sharply.
"Sure of it? It is impossible that I should be mistaken; I know him aswell as I do you, and he stood in the full glare of the firelight."
"You're right; it _was_ the Shawanoe; I seen him; I thought the youngvarmint was dead, but he's a good deal more alive this minute than weare."
"But, Jo, what does it mean? Why did he come out there where he couldbe seen, and go into the building?"
"He wanted us to notice him, and it was the best thing he could do.The varmints toward the river and in the clearin' must have cotchedsight of him; but before they could larn his name and post-officeaddress, he was inside."
"But I can't understand his cause for entering the cabin any way; whatgood can he do us there?"
"I've my 'spicion--_there_! that's what I expected!"
A crackling, snapping sound overhead told the alarming truth: the roofwas burning fiercely, and there was no possible way of putting out theflames. In fact, it had been ablaze some time, for the fiery pointswere seen in several places along the ridge-pole, fast eating theirway, so to speak, into the vitals of the building.
A minute after the sparks began falling through upon the floor, thevapor loaded with fire filtered through the loopholes, and the upperstory had become untenable.
"Down the ladder!" said Jo Stinger; "it won't do to wait any longer."
He led the way himself, and the others followed in rather a pell-mellfashion. All, however, safely reached the lower story, where thesituation was improved for a brief time only.
Smoke and fire were around them; the air was thick with stranglingvapor and blistering sparks; the glow illuminated the interior, as ifwith a thousand lamps, and the ghastly countenances were rendered moreunearthly by the lurid light which permeated everywhere.
Megill, Turner and Stinger were grim and silent. They had faced deathbefore, and they were certain always to meet him with the front ofheroes. The pale face of Mrs. Preston was calm, and she was sustainedby the unfaltering trust of the Christian who forgets not that,however great the sufferings awaiting him, they can never equal theanguish of Him who gave up his life on Calvary for the world.
She kept her little ones close to her side. She had held a rifle whenthe danger first appeared; but she did not discharge it, and it wasnow cast aside. She remained near her husband, who, in a low voice,spoke encouraging words to her and his little ones, and who wasresolved to die fighting in defence of those who were a thousand timesdearer to him than his own life.
Blossom Brown was stupefied by the overwhelming terror of the scene.He moved about in a stolid, ox-like fashion, capable of obeyingblindly whatever those around told him to do.
It was apparent even to the little children, who had hushed theircries, that it was impossible to stay more than a few minutes longerin the block-house. It was already on fire in a dozen differentplaces, and was burning furiously. The fugitives might remain huddledtogether a short while, but only to meet the most awful of deaths; orthey could venture forth and fall into the hands of the treacherousWyandots.
"The door of that cabin over there is partly open, as you canobsarve," said Jo Stinger; "the logs haven't been scorched by fire, asyou can also obsarve; we'll make a run for that door, and arter we getinside, we'll fight till the death, as you'll also obsarve."
"But they can shoot us down while we're on the way," said ColonelPreston.
"They can, but they won't; for they'd rather make us prisoners. No redvarmint shall ever take _me_ captive."
"Nor me either," added Turner and Megill together.
"That seems to be the only thing we can do. We ought to be able tomake a stand there until to-morrow, when there may be help from WildOaks."
"All make ready; I'll lead the way."
There was not a heart from which a fervent prayer was not sent up toheaven; but the men compressed their lips and nerved themselves forthe final effort. Colonel Preston caught up Mary the elder, kissed andpressed her to his heart. She returned the caresses, and he held heron his left arm, while the right hand grasped his rifle. The wife didthe same with Susie, for the weapon she had cast aside was toovaluable to leave behind.
"Hadn't I better lead de way?" asked Blossom Brown, crowding forward.
"Why?"
"'Cause I'll kind ob darken tings, so de Injines can't see us."
"Wait till we start, and then you may lead if you can."
Jo Stinger leaned his long rifle against the wall, and with a firm,strong hand remo
ved the bars one after the other. Then the door wasdrawn inward, he picked up his gun, and looked around at the group.
"Foller me!"
As he spoke, he strode forth, the others close on his heels. BlossomBrown made a plunge to pass the leader, but as he did not know whichway to turn, he fell back.
The scout diverged to the left, and, with the same deliberate tread,passed over the open space between the burning cabin and the blazingblock-house. A short time before, this would have been impossible; butthe cabin was so nearly destroyed that the heat could be borne,although it caused each to hold his breath, it was so intolerable.
Scores of the Wyandots were watching the fugitives, and whoops andshouts of exultation rent the air, as a dozen advanced to meet thecaptives.
The latter hurried forward a few paces more, when Jo Stinger shouted--
"Now run for your lives!"
They were within fifty feet of the open door of the second cabin,through which he plunged the next instant like a cannon-shot, theothers following pell-mell. The movement was so sudden and unexpectedby the Wyandots crowding forward that it was virtually finished beforethey could interfere.
Ned Preston purposely threw himself behind the others, that he might,so far as possible, help protect his aunt and cousins. He was about tofollow them into the building, when one warrior, more agile than theother, bounded forward with uplifted tomahawk.
Before he could throw it, and before Ned could use his gun, aresounding twang was heard from the nearest window, and an arrow fromthe royal bow of Deerfoot the Shawanoe transfixed him.
Ned Preston was inside in a twinkling. The Wyandots, infuriated overthe trick played them, made a rush, with the intention of forcing anentrance at all hazards; but they were met by a rattling fire, whichsent them skurrying like rabbits to cover. Every window seemed tobristle with rifles, and the shots were so numerous that Waughtaukand his warriors saw that others than the fugitives were defending thebuilding.
Such was the fact. When Macaiah Preston, the leading settler at WildOaks, sent Deerfoot to apprise Colonel Preston of his danger, he didnot contemplate doing anything more. But his own son was involved, andhe became so uneasy that he consulted his neighbors, who agreed thathelp should be dispatched to Fort Bridgman without delay.
Accompanied by ten skilled riflemen, all of whom had seen service onthe frontier, he set out for the station thirty miles away. He reachedthe neighborhood quite late at night of the second day of the siege,and on the way he met and was joined by Deerfoot, who had started toobtain his help.
As the Wyandots felt certain of their prey, they had relaxed theirvigilance to a great extent. It was a curious fact that, while JoStinger was engaged on his reconnoissance, Deerfoot and several of thenew arrivals were doing the same, although neither suspected thepresence of the other.
The plan of Waughtauk was soon learned, and it was then decided toenter the cabin, and be guided by events. This was a task of extremedifficulty, but with the assistance of Deerfoot, who was the first toopen the way, they got within the building without detection by theirenemies. Then, with loaded and cocked rifles, they held themselvesready for any emergency.
As the crisis approached, Deerfoot purposely showed himself to thegarrison, that they might recognize him and learn that they were notdeserted. At the same time Macaiah Preston made several guardedsignals to Jo Stinger, which that scout saw and understood, though noone else did. He said nothing to his friends, but it was thisknowledge which gave such assurance to his movements.
The numbers within the cabin rendered it practically impregnable totwice the force at the command of Waughtauk, chieftain of theWyandots. The illumination from the burning embers was so full thatany warrior who ventured to show himself was riddled before he couldapproach within a hundred feet of the building.
This "electric light" lasted until after daylight, at which hour not asolitary hostile was visible. The single structure that had been leftstanding contained a stronger force than that of the red men who haddestroyed the other two.
There was no move made until noon, when Deerfoot ventured into thewoods on a careful and prolonged reconnoissance. When he came back, hereported of a verity that Waughtauk and his Indians had gone, and inall probability were miles distant.
It was deemed best, however, for the settlers to stay where they were,until the succeeding morning. This was done, and, at an early hour,the whole company started for Wild Oaks, on the Ohio.
The journey was ended without special incident, and just as the sunwent down behind the western wilderness, the settlement was reached,and all danger was past.
"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Colonel Preston, looking reverently upward;"we have been saved by fire indeed."
"And did you ever think we wouldn't be?" asked Susie, his youngerdaughter.
"Well, I must own that I gave up once."
"That is wicked, papa," said the little one reproachfully; "I _knew_God would take care of us all, and the bad Indians wouldn't hurt us,'cause Mary and I prayed to Him, and He heard us."
"God bless you--I believe you!" replied the father, with misty eyes,as he tossed the darlings in air one after the other, caught them inhis arms, and kissed them again and again.
We have not dwelt on the meeting in the cabin, which survived theflames, between the despairing fugitives and their rescuers. Itsjoyful nature may be imagined. The countenance of the handsome,willowy young Shawanoe was aglow with pleasure, when he grasped thehand of the no less delighted Ned Preston, who had believed him deaduntil he saw him walk forth in the glare of the burning building.
"You must come and live with us," said Ned, at the end of the journey,and after the others had thanked the wonderful youth for his services,which were beyond value.
"Deerfoot will visit his friends," said he, holding the hand of Ned,and looking affectionately in the face of the youthful pioneer; "buthis home is in the woods. He loves to lie under the trees and listento the sighing of the wind among the branches; he loves to watch theclouds, as they float like snowy canoes across the blue sky; he lovesto listen to the soft flow of the river, to crawl under the edge ofthe rock, and hear the snowflakes sifting down on the brown leaves;his soul rejoices at the crashing of the thunderbolts, which split thetrees like rotten fruit. When Deerfoot is tired, he can wrap hisblanket around him and sleep anywhere; when he is hungry, he has hisbow and arrow which can bring down the deer, and the bear, and thebison; when he is thirsty, he can drink the cold water which dripsfrom the mossy rocks; when he is in trouble, he will pray to the GreatSpirit of the white man, who will not turn his ear away.
"No, Deerfoot must live in the forests, but he will always love thepale-faces, and perhaps," added the Shawanoe, looking Ned Prestonstraight in the eye, "it may be the fortune of Deerfoot to be of helpagain to you."
"I know how gladly it will be given," said Ned gratefully; "and ifthere ever should come any need of _our_ help, it will be the pleasureof our lives to prove how much we appreciate your friendship."
The sun had gone down, and the shadows of night were creeping throughthe dim, silent woods, when Deerfoot the Shawanoe crossed the clearingwhich surrounded the settlement, and, pausing on the border of theforest, he waved a good-bye to his friends. Then he turned andvanished from sight.
But there seemed to rest the mantle of prophecy on his gracefulshoulders, when he intimated that it might be his good fortune torender service to Ned Preston and his friends. The opportunity camesooner than any one anticipated, and what befell the boy pioneer, andwhat was done by the young Shawanoe, will be told in the second volumeof the "Boy Pioneer Series," entitled--
_Ned in the Woods: a Tale of the Early Days in the West._
FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILE LIBRARIES.
ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME
(Except the Sportsman's Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and JackHazard Series.).
Each Volume Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
The enormous sale
s of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show thegreatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is oneof their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a millioncopies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulatinglibraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only twoor three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true,what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr.Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but neverequaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite theirsimilarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.
Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book,"Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book foryoung people, and its success was so great that he immediately devotedhimself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for awriter then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancyof the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since thenit has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about200,000 copies of the series have been sold.
--_Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls._
A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. Heshould be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. Heshould learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be writtendown to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.
--From _Writing Stories for Boys_, by Horatio Alger, Jr.
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HARRY CASTLEMON.
=HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.=
When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It wasour custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates,and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subjectthe teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "Whata Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter,and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled.The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when theywere all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living bywriting one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. Idid not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good asthe best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in myway just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's workswhich I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much asI did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to hisreaders he made use of this expression: "No visible change wasobservable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that ifa man of his education could make such a blunder as that and stillwrite a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that veryday and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent tothe _New York Weekly_, and came back, respectfully declined. It waswritten on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this wasagainst the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receivingsome instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a bookstore, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, hedidn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after ahard Saturday's work--the other boys had been out skating on thebrick-pond--I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the needof some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, doyou think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter,and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the firstfour volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes;it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing themanuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete.
--_Harry Castlemon in the Writer._
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EDWARD S. ELLIS.
EDWARD S. ELLIS, the popular writer of boys' books, is a native ofOhio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. Hisfather was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless hisexploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventurewhich gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and fordepicting the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.
Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptablefrom the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boyand he was graduated from the State Normal School and became a memberof the faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal ofthe Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools.By that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that hegave his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionallysuccessful teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, allof which met with high favor. For these and his historicalproductions, Princeton College conferred upon him the degree of Masterof Arts.
The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and theadmirable literary style of Mr. Ellis' stories have made him aspopular on the other side of the Atlantic as in this country. Aleading paper remarked some time since, that no mother need hesitateto place in the hands of her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. Theyare found in the leading Sunday-school libraries, where, as may wellbe believed, they are in wide demand and do much good by their sound,wholesome lessons which render them as acceptable to parents as totheir children. All of his books published by Henry T. Coates & Co.are re-issued in London, and many have been translated into otherlanguages. Mr. Ellis is a writer of varied accomplishments, and, inaddition to his stories, is the author of historical works, of anumber of pieces of popular music and has made several valuableinventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime of his mental and physicalpowers, and great as have been the merits of his past achievements,there is reason to look for more brilliant productions from his pen inthe near future.
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Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West Page 21