e settlers
were still unsuspecting, when, on the evening of November
10, the enemy arrived within a mile of the fort and crept
to the summit of a hill densely shaded by evergreens,
and hid themselves from sight. The snow was fluttering
down, but towards morning this had changed to a drizzling
rain, and the air was thick and murky. Groping their way
forward as silently as possible, they stole upon the
slumbering cluster of habitations. Just as they came near
the edge of the village, a settler was seen riding in on
horseback. An Indian fired and wounded him. But the man
clung to his horse and pressed on heroically to sound
the alarm. Before rushing to the onslaught, the Rangers,
under the immediate command of Butler, paused a moment
to see what damage their powder had taken through the
wet. This moment was fatal for the settlement, for the
Indians now rushed on in advance and sped into the doomed
village like hounds let slip from their leashes.

The savages were now beyond control, and Brant knew that
even he could not stay the slaughter. Fiercest of all
were the Senecas, who tomahawked and slew with the
relentless fury of demons. But the War Chief thought of
the family of a Mr Wells, whom he knew and hoped that he
might save. He took a short cut for this settler's house,
but the way lay across a ploughed field, and as he ran
the earth yielded under his feet and he made slow progress
through the heavy soil. When he came to the house, he
saw that it was already too late. The Senecas and other
Indians with them had done their work. Not one of the
inmates had escaped the tomahawk.

While the attack upon the houses was in progress, the
Indians made several assaults upon the fort, but to no
avail. Their work of destruction, however, went on
unchecked among the habitations of the settlers. It was
not long before flames were mounting in every quarter.
Butler, dismayed to see the Indians so completely beyond
control, was forced to hold his regular troops in readiness
to oppose a sally from the garrison. Brant meanwhile
exerted himself in performing numerous acts of kindness,
and did what he could to check the rude violence of his
savage band. In one house he found a peasant woman working
calmly at her daily toil.

'Are you thus engaged,' he questioned, 'while all your
neighbours are murdered around you?'

'We are the king's people,' was the simple response.

'That plea will not avail you to-day,' said the chieftain.