The gate was opened, and Elizabeth bounded out at the top of her speed, and ran until she arrived at the door of the blockhouse. Her brother, Colonel Zane, hastened to open the door to his intrepid sister. The Indians did not fire a gun, but exclaimed, as if in astonishment, "Squaw! squaw! squaw!"
When she had told her errand, her brother took a tablecloth, fastened it around her waist, and poured into it a keg of powder. She then sallied back to the fort, in high spirits. The moment she was outside of the blockhouse, the whole of the enemy's line fired at her, but the shower of balls fell without doing her any injury. She reached the fort in safety, and the garrison was, in consequence, enabled successfully to repel their savage foe. Such an instance of female daring is worthy of all commemoration.
FEARFUL ENCOUNTER WITH ROBBERS.
The Madrid papers recite the particulars of a terrific scene which took place on the 14th of August, 1851, at the house of Don Diego Garcia, an old nobleman, who resided in the vicinity of that capital:
The night was dark and tempestuous. The rain poured down in torrents, and induced the night-watch, who had been reinforced since the recent augmentations of crime in the environs of the capital, to keep close to their quarters. The roads were completely deserted, and at long intervals only the shadow of a human figure flitted past the huge portals of Don Diego's mansion, in anxious haste toward its habitation.
Juan Munoz, the Don's old valet, had been sent to this city, by his master, and was now making the best of his way home. His errand to the capital had been to procure some medicine which his master had been ordered to take, he being at the time violently afflicted by the gout. Juan, as we have said, was picking his way, as best he could, through the deluged streets and roads, when, just as he came in sight of the mansion, he heard the voices of a number of men behind him, and supposing them to be a party of his fellow-servants who had been sent in search of him, since he had been much later than he expected to be, he drew back into an open recess to await their approach. He discovered that he was deceived in his expectations; the men were strangers to him, or, at least, he did not know their voices, but, while passing him, he plainly heard the name of his master pronounced by one of their number, and, stepping forward, he asked if they wished to see Don Diego that night. The men seemed perfectly stupefied by his sudden apparition, but they soon recovered from their surprise, and, after ascertaining that he was alone, he was politely asked to go before them and show the way. Scarcely had he proceeded a dozen yards; when a violent blow on the head laid him prostrate; a knife was then twice thrust into his breast, and the lifeless body was hurled into the middle of the road.
It was close upon midnight, when the wife of Don Diego, while tending her sick husband, was startled by a noise from the adjoining room. She immediately rang the bell, and was answered by the major domo, the only servant who had not retired to rest, being determined to await the return of Juan. As he entered, the door leading to the ante-chamber was also quickly opened, and on the threshold appeared five masked men, who were evidently unprepared to find more than one inmate in the sick chamber. Quick as thought the major-domo attempted to reach the bell-rope, that by a violent alarm he might awake the sleepers and obtain their aid, but quicker even than he was the leader of the masked band, who seized a pistol from his belt, and, with unerring aim, discharged it at the devoted servant. There was a faint cry: the old servant stretched out his hands for support, and then, with a heavy groan, fell to the floor, where death closed his eyes.
This unexpected catastrophe seemed to spur on the robbers to instant work. While one man was posted at each door, the three others insisted upon being informed by Don Diego where he kept his money and valuables; but the sick old man had sank into so complete a lethargy by the dreadful event which had passed under his eye, that he was unable to answer them. As rapidity of movement was, however, rendered peremptory to insure the safety of the band, the chief addressed the Donna for the same purpose, in answer to which, she evinced but little reluctance, and bade them to follow her. The robbers at once declared their readiness, and, after passing along the corridor, entered the dining saloon, where the Donna pointed out a large box, which, she said, contained the plate. Here another difficulty arose. The box, which in reality contained the plate, was securely locked, and the key nowhere to be found. Anxious to get at the rich booty, the leader, with an angry imprecation, put the muzzle of his heavy horse-pistol to the lock; a sharp report followed, and the lid thus unceremoniously opened offered no further obstacle to the rapacity of the invaders. Donna Ignazia took advantage of the joyful excitement of the band, and left the room to descend into the lower story of the mansion, where her hurried summons at the chamber doors of the servants were readily responded to by them, as they had already been awoke by the double report in their master's apartments. The tempest, which had raged so fearfully, had meanwhile ceased; the torrents of rain were followed by a clear night; the fury of the elements appeared as though, in momentary rest, they would gather strength for a fresh outbreak--nature's wrath had given place to the wrath of man.
The inanimate body of Juan Munoz had been discovered by a patrolling body of soldiery, who carried it to the guard-house. The stabs were found to be of minor consequence, and the blow on the head, although it had caused a very severe wound, had occasioned only a temporary loss of consciousness. It must be borne in mind, that two hours had nearly elapsed between the assault upon Munoz and the entrance into the house by the robbers, which time had probably been spent by them in various efforts to gain access. Strong restoratives, judiciously applied, soon brought back animation, and, shortly afterward, Munoz could give a confused narrative of what had befallen him. The officer on duty at once saw through the scheme, and gave orders to proceed to the mansion of Don Diego, which they reached at the precise moment when Donna Ignazia, with an armed body of her own servants, was leading them to the dining saloon. The summons of the officer at the front door was followed by a dead silence on the part of the robbers: but when they heard the measured tramp of the soldiery on the stair-case, they sought for means of instant flight. This, however, had been provided for; a portion of the military had surrounded the house, while the others, reinforced by the servants, approached. The only chance then left to the brigands was to cut their way through, or sell their lives as dearly as possible. In an instant the huge oaken doors of the saloon were closed and barred, the lights were extinguished, the windows opened, and everything made ready for the last desperate chance. Fortune favored them; for the soldiery, not anticipating a leap of their enemies from the high windows, withdrew their sentinels from there in order to make them guard the side and rear outlets of the mansion. Two of the bold ruffians had already made their descent by means of tablecloths, tied together, when the alarm was given. The soldiers rushed to the spot--a third robber was clinging to the frail chance for life, and was rapidly descending, but a well-directed shot bereft him of strength, and, after a few frantic efforts to retain his hold, he fell heavily to the ground. His two comrades made a firm stand: but vain was their boldness against the numbers of assailants, and in a few moments they fell, grievously wounded, into the hands of the victors.