"Follow me, neighbors!" shouted Honeywood: "there's death behind, and no mercy before."
His voice was drowned in a rattling volley, followed by the death-shrieks of Indians, while far above the din rose the wild, exulting, peculiar war-whoop of the Black Rifle, like nothing else in the world as Holdness said, and which was instantly recognized both by the settlers and their foes.
This was immediately succeeded by the blast of a conch, by which he directed those who from time to time followed his lead.
Israel Blanchard, who was perched on the roof of the block-house, listening anxiously to every sound that came from the battle-ground, saw the flames rising, and understood but too well the object for which they were kindled. Hard upon this came the volley, and the blast of the horn.
"It's the Black Rifle and his men: Nat's got 'em," shouted Blanchard.
He flung open the gate, and rushed to the scene of conflict with all the lads at his heels, whose yells justified abundantly their cognomen of the "Screeching Catamounts."
"I do believe Israel has lost his senses," said Mr. Seth, as he shut and barred the gate his brother had left open in his headstrong flight.
"Then he's lost a good deal," said Mrs. Sumerford, who heard the remark.
They were too late to join in the conflict; for when they reached the spot the Indians had fled, pursued by the Black Rifle and his band.