"You don't mean that I shall start out to-night in this storm and darkness?"
"Yes, and without a moment's delay. Set the red dogs on the scent—capture the girl, and you shall be rewarded on your own terms. Go, or it will be too late!"
With some hesitation Ramsey obeyed, and when once in for the business, pushed it forward with all the energy he could master. This fellow was on friendly terms with the Indians, a band of whom—kind of renegades—whenever he could come across them, would follow his orders, or do his bidding. With a dispatch that would have done credit to the swiftest courier in the days of chivalry, he pushed forward through the wilderness to the usual place of rendezvous of this band, hoping to find and enlist them in the enterprise on hand; but they were absent on some expedition of their own. Not to be discouraged by one disappointment, Ramsey paused only long enough to determine that his expected coadjutors were not to be found in or about their usual lurking place, then continued his course down the Ohio with unabated ardor, and on the second day came in sight of a boat just at dusk of the evening. A momentary scrutiny convinced him that it was the one he was in pursuit of, and he concluded it must have been delayed by some misfortune, as he did not expect to come up to it so soon, if at all. However this might be, one thing was certain, the boat was there, and more still, the crew were careless, a certain sign that they felt secure and free from any dread of danger. So much the better for his purpose, thought the villain.
Driving on through the forest, at a speed far exceeding the slow motions of the boat, he resolved to collect a body of savages, and intercept the prize. Fortune seemed to favor him; for on the next day he fell in with a large force of warriors, who were "on the war-path," and ready for any work that gave promise of blood, booty, or scalps. They were easily induced to further the designs of Ramsey, of whose character they were well aware; and placing themselves under his guidance, he soon posted them along the banks of the river to watch for the coming boat. At dark it was descried, but being too far out to admit of being attacked, the enemy silently withdrew, and hastening forward, took a second position below the first. This was done several times, and, at last, Ramsey had the satisfaction of seeing the boat near the Ohio shore. When within fifty yards of the bank, the Indians, to the number of several hundred, suddenly came down to the edge of the water, and opened a heavy fire upon the crew.
The boat was commanded by Captain James Ward—was a crazy old thing, with only a single pine board for a bulwark. The captain was at one oar, and his nephew, a young man, at the other. Knowing that all depended on reaching the middle of the stream, the captain used his best exertions to force the vessel out; but his nephew let go his oar, and took up his gun to fire. As he did so, he was pierced through with a ball, and fell, mortally wounded. His oar dropped into the river; and the exertions of the captain only tended to force the boat nearer the shore. Seeing this, the savages gave a yell of triumph, and prepared to take possession of the prize. Ward, however, seized hold of a board, and with it took the place of his nephew, giving his own oar to one of the men, and made renewed exertions to gain the current, the enemy, meanwhile, pouring upon the crew an incessant volley of balls, thick as the falling hail of the storm, which soon riddled everything above the plank breastwork, and killed or wounded all the horses on board—seven in number.
During this time most of the crew were too badly frightened to do or be conscious of anything, excepting danger. One large, fat old Dutchman, in particular, was so taken aback, he threw himself down flat, with his face to the deck, hoping thus to escape with his life. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, however, his posterior protuberance was of such enormously aldermanic dimensions, that it projected above the defenses, and became a fine and laughable target for the savage marksmen, who aimed the great majority of their shots thereat. As the bullets tore through the old fellow's unmentionables, and raking his hide, made it smart, he would shift his position, and endeavor to shield himself all over; but it was of no use. In spite of all the efforts he could make, the young mountain would remain in view in its exposed situation, to the great annoyance of its owner, and the equally great merriment of the enemy. In this sad predicament the phlegmatic hero of the flesh mountain lay, piteously bemoaning his fate, and cursing his foes.
As the balls would rake the subnascent appendage, making it twinge with the sharp sting, he would cry out:
"Oh! oh, Lort! haf' mercy on me and mine!"
But his cries availed nothing; and so losing all patience, he raised up his head, and, looking at the enemy, called to them:
"Oh, now, t'ere! quit t'at tam nonsense, will you?"