usly uttered a fiendish
shout, such as no person can imagine who has not heard the Indian
war-scream; and then brandishing their tomahawks rushed upon the house
and began hewing at the door. In a moment we were all down stairs, and
our fire became so fatal that they were forced to retire several times;
but with desperate courage they returned to the attack. I never
experienced the feeling of utter despair but once in my life; and that
was then. Roe came running down stairs (whither he had gone for more
ammunition) and with a face white from terror, informed us that the
ammunition was expended. Here we were, surrounded by a host of savages,
fastened in a small house, with nothing to defend ourselves, and the
helpless women and children under the roof. 'Let us open the door, and
decide the contest hand to hand,' said Ralph Watts. 'O! my family, my
wife and children,' groaned Daniel Roe, 'let us defend the house to the
last.' And with nerves strung like iron, and hearts swelled to
desperation, we waited in silence for the savages to hew their way
through the door. The work was soon over, the savages uttered one
deafening yell as the door gave way; and clubbing our guns we wielded
them with giant energy. The dark forms of the savages crowded the
door-way, their eyes glared madly at us, and their painted features
working into a hundred malignant and fiendish expressions, which,
together with their horrid yells, and the more heart-rending cries of
women and children, all formed a scene of the most harrowing
description. The battle was soon over. By some mishap I was hurled head
foremost out the door; but so intent were the savages upon the battle
within, that they did not once notice me, as they rushed forward to the
scene of action. Seeing that all was lost, and that to remain would only
be throwing away my life uselessly, I sprang to my feet and slipping
around the corner of the house I made my way over the old
fortification[B] and soon left the noise far behind me. Much has been
written and said of grief, but how little do we know of its poignant
nature, till we suffer the loss of some dear friend. 'Tis when we behold
an object of deep affection lying passive and dead--but a thing of clay
unconscious of the pain it gives, that we feel _that_ sorrow, which
language is too feeble to express. I found it so, when upon returning to
the cabin a few hours afterward, I found the dead bodies of all my
friends mutilated and weltering