“They’ve all gone now,” cried out the child; “I can’t see nothing but some cows agin the sky, follering arter ’em.”
“Following arter ’em—Lord ’a’ massy upon us then!” whispered the old woman, drawing a heavy breath, and she turned with a deadly paleness on her face, without addressing the child again.
“There they all go on the run now—hurrah—hurrah! Won’t the Injuns catch it—hurrah!”
All the little voices in the fort set up an answering shout as the child clambered down from her post. The younger women received this infant battle-cry as an omen. Their faces, hitherto so anxious, flushed with enthusiasm; those who had wept before, started up and went to work at random, tearing up old sheets and scraping lint, while a group of little boys built a fire within the stockade, and went to work vigorously, moulding bullets from hot lead they melted in the iron skillets, which were yet warm from cooking the last household breakfast.
The women knew that the troops had moved up stream, and would go on till they met the enemy; so, with their hearts leaping at every noise, they waited in terrible suspense for the first shot. Thus two hours crept by—two long, terrible hours, that no human being in that fort ever forgot. Two or three times little Hetty climbed up to her look-out—the loop-hole, but came down in silence, for nothing but the still plain met her search. The third time, however, she called out, but with less enthusiasm than before:
“Here comes somebody down the cart-road, full trot, on a great white horse; oh, it’s Aunt Polly Carter, with her go-to-meeting bonnet on, a-riding like split; I guess somebody ’ed better let her in; for she’s turning right up to the fort.”
“She comes from up stream; she must ’a’ seen the army; some one run and tell the guard to let her in,” cried a score of voices; “she’s got news—she’ll bring news.”
With a clamor of eager expectation, the women rushed up to meet Aunt Polly, who, in defiance of all military laws, rode General Washington within the stockade, and close up to the fort. She was greatly excited; her huge bonnet had taken a military twist, and loomed out from one side of her head, giving her grim features to full view; a large cotton shawl, flaming with gorgeous colors, was crossed over her bosom and tied in a fierce knot behind; she carried a long walnut switch in her right hand, worn to a tiny brush at the end, for in the excitement of that ride she had beaten General Washington into a hard gallop every other minute.
“Have I seen ’em?—of course I have, and a wonderful sight it was—hull battalions of sogers a-moving majestically.”
“Did you see my son—was the enemy near—can they surprise Wintermoot’s Fort?”