Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE BLOCK-HOUSE.

  The block-house, known near a century ago as Fort Bridgman, stood onthe right bank of the Licking river in Kentucky, and was some thirtyodd miles southwest of the present city of Maysville.

  The block-house proper was a substantial structure of heavy logs, andconsisted of only two rooms--one above and below. The lower story wasa dozen yards square, and the upper was two feet greater in eachdirection, for the builders followed the frontier fashion ofprojecting the second story over the first. This projection beingpierced with portholes, gave opportunity to the garrison to fire downon the heads of their assailants, who might attempt to batter down thedoor, or make a rush for the interior.

  The roof was so steeply shelving that the most agile Indian could notsustain himself on it. On each side was a trap-door, intended for usein emergency. The roof itself was composed of thick slabs of oak,and, like the logs, doors, and every portion of the building, wasbullet-proof.

  The structure stood at the angle of a square of one hundred feet,which was inclosed by a strong stockade. This consisted of logs splitthrough the middle, one end sharpened and driven deep into the earth,leaving the upper portions, which were of irregular height, nine orten feet above the ground.

  Standing at the angle of this square, it will be seen that theblock-house formed a part of two sides. On that which faced theLicking was a door and one window; on the opposite side, which openedinto the stockade or inclosure, were also a door and window. On theother two sides were two windows, but no door; the former were sonarrow that no Indian warrior could force his way through them, whilethe doors of puncheon slabs would have resisted for a long time thepounding of a battering-ram. The windows were all on the ground floor.

  The fort having been built expressly for defensive purposes, where theperil was known to be great, it lacked nothing which the rudefrontier warfare could suggest. It was so abundantly pierced withloop-holes that the garrison commanded every approach.

  If the red men attempted to scale the stockade at any point, they hadto expose themselves to the bullets of the unerring Kentuckians behindthe logs; while, if they secured a closer approach on in the darknessof night, the defenders could shoot them through the loopholes in theprojecting floor above.

  There was a gate on each side of the stockade, except on that furthestremoved from the block-house. Only one of these was used, and that wason the southern side. The wooden chimney was at the corner, entirelywithin the stockade, and the numerous attacks which the structure hadrepelled proved, more than anything else, the strength and power ofresistance of the defence.

  The interior of the fort, as some called it, was of the most primitivecharacter. Below was a rough slab floor, with a fireplace, the smokefrom which found its vent up the wooden chimney. There were a bench, atable, and several rude chairs, while a barrel of corn-meal wasgenerally kept pretty well filled against the emergency which allfelt was liable to arise without an hour's notice.

  The second story, although larger, as we have already stated, wasfurnished with the same simplicity. It was supposed that, in case ofdanger, this floor would be used more than the other by the defenders.It had the two trap-doors in the steep roof, and was liberallyventilated by means of the numerous loopholes which let in bars oflight from every direction, and permitted the outlook to take in asextensive a vision as though the spectator was not surrounded by anywalls at all.

  Fort Bridgman faced the Licking river on the west, the stockadeextending eastward. It was originally intended to embrace the sixcabins which were put up by the settlers, but these were finally leftoutside, and the inclosed square looked like a small parade-ground, tobe used for the benefit of the garrison. It contained near the centrea well, to be appealed to in emergency, though it was not placedwithin the building itself, so as to shut off the possibility of itsbeing seized by an attacking force. Colonel Preston more than once hadexpressed a purpose to have such a well dug, but it was deferred fromtime to time until, as is generally the case, the necessity wasforgotten altogether.

  In the roomy upper story of the block-house was always kept a barrelof water, blankets, a few chairs, a number of axes, shovels, spades,picks, and utensils useful in a new settlement. Fort Bridgman at onetime promised to become an important town in Kentucky; but a fierceraid by a band of red men, one tempestuous night in mid-winter,destroyed every cabin except the block-house, in which only a fewsettlers found safe refuge from the vengeful warriors.

  In the autumn of which we are speaking there were only two cabinsbeside the defence. These stood outside the stockade, and one wasoccupied by Colonel Hugh Preston, his wife Maria, and his twodaughters--Mary, aged ten, and Susie, eight years old.

  Jo Stinger, an old Indian fighter of the early days in Kentucky, madehis home with the family, while Jim Turner and Sam Megill occupied theother. The last two were brothers-in-law, and it was the intention ofthe latter to bring his wife and three children from Wild Oaks in thespring to live in the dwelling which he had taken so much pains toerect and fit for their coming.

  Such was the garrison of the block-house in the autumn when ColonelPreston, while hunting in the woods, learned of the presence of a warparty of Wyandots. It was by a pure accident, or rather providence,that he discovered the alarming fact, and he lost not a moment inimproving the important knowledge.

  He hastened home, and the settlers gathered in the block-house, withsuch extra provisions, blankets, fuel, and other necessaries as theycould get together. The doors of the building and the gates of thestockade were fastened, and the men stationed themselves in the mostavailable points to detect the approach of their enemies.

  The little garrison were none too soon in these preparations, forwithin the succeeding half hour the Wyandots were seen on the edge ofthe woods, and creeping along the bank of the Licking one hundredyards away. They were quick to note that, with all their secrecy ofmovement, their approach had been discovered; if they had any doubtson the point, they were removed by a couple of rifle-shots that weresent hurtling among the bushes which partly concealed their bodies.

  "It's a great disappointment to them," said Jo Stinger, as he peeredthrough a loophole, "for they had every reason to believe we would besurprised."

  "I hope it will be so much of a disappointment that they will postponethe siege," remarked the Colonel.

  The old hunter shook his head, and added--

  "That depends very much on how many redskins are out there. If theparty is not very large, they will be apt to give it up; but if thereare as many as I fear, the varmints will hang on, in the hope ofcleanin' us out."

  "They will have no easy task to do that," remarked the Colonel, with aflash of the eye; "this isn't the first time it has been tried, and itwon't be the first time it has failed."

  "Suppose it is a success?" said his wife gently.

  The Colonel turned when he heard the familiar voice at his elbow, and,as he noticed Mary and Susie playing on the floor, something like apang went to his heart. The sight caused him to feel more vividly thanever before the dreadful meaning of the word "failure," which hadjust passed the lips of his beloved wife.

  "Failure!" he repeated, as he placed his arm affectionately on hershoulder; "do you regard it possible, when I have _you_ and the littleones depending on us?"

  "I know every man, and myself as well, will fight to the end, but eventhat does not always avail: the bravest must succumb when theassailants overwhelm them."

  Tears glistened in her eyes, as she tried hard to look courageous, buta mother lives in her affections, and no one could have felt moredeeply than did she, that all she valued in the world was at thatmoment within the wooden walls of the block-house, while a mercilessfoe was on the outside, as eager as so many jungle tigers to reachthem.

  "We have an abundance of ammunition," added the husband, seeking tohide a vague fear which was creeping over him; "and we can stand alonger siege than the Indians will care to maintain against us."

  "I t
rust so, but I cannot feel the hope which sustains you: I wish youwould send word to your brother at Wild Oaks, that he may give ushelp before it is too late."

  This plan, although not named until now, was in the minds of more thanone member of the garrison. Colonel Preston had asked himself whetherit was not the prudent thing to do, and he looked at Jo Stinger tolearn what he thought of it.

  The old scout nodded his head in a way to signify he was favorable,and said--

  "It's the right thing, Colonel, and I'm the man to do it."

  "But how can you get out? The Indians will be on the watch, and we aretoo few in number to spare a man."

  "Didn't I carry the news to Wild Oaks two years ago, when it looked asthough all of us was going under sure?"

  "You did--that's a fact; but was the risk as great as now?"

  "I think this is no greater, and it may not be as great: that's to befound out. That time, I took three hours to get through the red skinlines; but when I had shook 'em clear, I done some of the tallesttraveling of my life."

  "If you think it best, you may try it after dark."

  "I'll do it," said the settler, with a compression of the lips whichshowed his earnestness. He had perilled his life many a time duringthe years spent on the frontier, and he was not the man to hesitate,when duty called him.

  It was now the middle of the afternoon of the blustery autumn daywhich saw the approach of Ned Preston, Blossom Brown and the Shawanoe,Deerfoot, to the vicinity of the block-house. The garrison were sureto use the utmost vigilance until the all-important question wassettled, and it was not probable the besieging Wyandots would make anyserious attack before the night was well advanced.

  When Megill, a tall, sinewy, iron-limbed pioneer, learned theintention of Stinger to make the attempt to reach Wild Oaks with aview of bringing help, he commended the plan and said he would gladlytake his place. But Stinger would not consent, and it was understoodthat the dangerous task was to be undertaken by him who proposed it.

  As the chilly night settled over river, forest and clearing, everyone in the block-house was impressed with the solemnity of thesituation. Even little Mary and Susie talked in hushed voices of thewicked Indians on the outside, and wondered why they wished to harmthose who had never harmed them. When they knelt at their mother'sknee, their prayers were touching in their earnestness and simplefaith, and brought tears to the eyes of their parents.

  "God will take care of us," said Mary to the elder, with the trustingbelief of childhood; "so don't feel bad, papa and mamma."

  The mother had made them a bed in the corner, beyond the reach of anystray bullets that might find their way through the loopholes; and, asshe tucked the blankets around them and kissed them good-night, sheadded her own petition to heaven that it would guard and shield themfrom all harm.

  Stinger, Megill and Turner were at the loopholes; and, while thetwilight was deepening within the gloomy block-house, Colonel Prestonlingered a few minutes beside his wife, who was seated on a rude stoolwaiting for the little ones to close their eyes in slumber.

  "Why should we feel alarmed, Maria," he asked, "when, as I told you ashort time ago, we have plenty of ammunition and the means to defendourselves? There are five rifles, one for each of us, includingyourself; these walls are too strong to be battered down, and we canmake our aim too sure for the Wyandots to expose themselves long toit."

  "That is all true, Hugh, and I hope that nothing I have said willcause misgiving on your part; but, at the best, there are only a very,_very_ few of us, and you know accidents may happen: suppose," sheadded in a tremulous voice, "one or two of you should fall----"

  "Colonel, begging pardon," interrupted Jo Stinger, at this momentadvancing toward them, "you obsarve it's so dark inside that wecouldn't see each other's faces if it wasn't for that taller candleburning on the stand, and I don't know of a better time to start forWild Oaks."

  "Is it fully dark on the outside?" asked the Colonel, glad of excuseto end the gloomy conversation.

  "As dark as a wolf's mouth--so dark that I'm hopeful of gettingthrough the lines, without any bother; you know that every hourcounts, and I shall have to put in some big licks to reach Wild Oaksand bring the boys here by to-morrow night."

  There could be no disputing this fact, and Colonel Preston peepedthrough the loopholes, first on one side of the block-house and thenon the other, until he had looked toward each point of the compass.

  It may be said that nothing but blank darkness met his eye. He couldhear the sound of the flowing river, the solemn sighing of thenight-wind among the trees, but nowhere could he catch the glimmer ofthe Indian camp-fire, nor hear the red man's war-whoop which hadfallen on his ear more than once since he made his home on the Darkand Bloody Ground.

  This impressive stillness told as eloquently of the presence of thered man as the sounds of conflict could have done.

  "There is no need of waiting longer," remarked the Colonel.

  As he spoke, he began descending the ladder, which answered for thestairs, Stinger following him. On the lower floor there was not theslightest ray of light, but both were so familiar with the room thatthey needed no lamp.

  Reaching the door, Colonel Preston placed his hand on the heavy barswhich held it in place, and the two listened for several minutes.Nothing was heard, and the fastenings were drawn with much care and inalmost complete silence.

  "If you have to come back," whispered the commandant, "give the signaland I will let you in."

  "I'll do so;--good bye," and, without any more words, the scoutvanished in the gloom.

  To the consternation of Colonel Preston, he heard the familiar whistleof Stinger a couple of hours later, at which time he hoped he was wellon his way to Wild Oaks.

  The messenger was safely admitted within the block-house shortlyafter, and his first words were--

  "It's no use, Colonel; a rabbit couldn't creep through the lines,they're watching so close."