Be that as it may, it is certainly a fact that, in 1793, the Cherokee and Seneca tribes of the Iroquois were not only at war with the Crows, Iowas, etc., of the rival Sioux faction, but were turning their mysteriously obtained rifles on the white people of the States; and the celebrated General Wayne was sent into Ohio with a strong force of cavalry and infantry to restore order. He pitched his camp near Fort Jefferson, on Lake Erie, and having driven away the insurgents, sent a hundred foot-soldiers, under Lieutenants Lowry and Boyd, across the lake to a fort near Detroit, to bring back by road three hundred horses and extra 18 provisions, and, incidentally, to disarm any quarrelsome redskins they might meet with.
The return march was destined to be a very unpleasant one. Large and small bodies of the Indians whom Wayne had driven to the forests persistently harried the column, flank and rear, firing from behind rocks and among the trees, till, in a couple of days, the hundred men had become only seventy, and many of the horses had escaped or been stolen. At noon on the third day the men halted for dinner on a barren tract between a range of hills and a thick forest; and, in order to guard against a surprise, Lieutenant Boyd with twenty men was sent to patrol the woods while the rest ate their meal in comfort. Half an hour later, while Lieutenant Lowry was preparing to send another twenty men to relieve the scouts, the report of a gun, followed quickly by a dozen others, warned him that the day was not to be gone through without further trouble.
A Gallant Rescue
Lieutenant Boyd had been sent with twenty men to patrol the wood while the main body ate their meal. Presently shots were heard, and Sergeant Munson was sent to bring back an immediate report. He found the Lieutenant trying to bind his shattered leg. Shooting the foremost redskin, the Sergeant mounted the officer on his back and, after several narrow escapes, brought him into camp.
Every soldier caught up his rifle and made ready to defend the horses and stores which had been placed in the centre of the camp. Lowry called a couple of sergeants to him and pointed to the new patrol.
“Take these to Mr. Boyd’s assistance; and you, Munson” (to the younger sergeant) “bring me back word of what is going on. Hark at that!” A rapid, running fire was beginning, and above Boyd’s voice, which was shouting directions or encouragement to his men, there rose the truly fearful war-whoop peculiar to the Cherokee Indians. “Hurry; off with you! I’ve enough men here to guard the horses in case——”
The little squad plunged into the wood and made 19 for the scene of action, which could not be far away, judging by the distinctness of the voices. They arrived after a minute’s quick double, and the sight that awaited them was not an encouraging one. Ten of their comrades were already dead or dying; the rest were fighting desperately against a score of Indians, most of whom were armed with rifles in addition to their bows and hatchets, while, leaning back against a tree, and doing his best to cheer on the survivors, sat Lieutenant Boyd, his shin-bone shattered by a bullet.
The new-comers fired a volley; several Indians fell, and the rest were speedily charged with fixed bayonets. Again came the horrible war-whoop, this time from a second batch of Indians who either had just arrived or had been in hiding, and these hastened to pour flight after flight of arrows into the rescuers from behind.
Young Munson, who was now fighting on the right wing of the little force, turned swiftly, and, firing off the charge which he had just rammed down, shot the foremost of the bowmen. But, even as he started to reload, he remembered his officer’s command to return at once with news; in the hurry and excitement of the last few minutes he had forgotten all about it. He looked round for the quickest exit from the wood, and, in so doing, caught sight of Boyd who, faint with the loss of blood, had been feebly endeavouring to bandage his wound with a handkerchief. The sergeant threw one more glance back at the soldiers; many of them had already fallen before the Indian arrows, and the rest, paying no attention to their new 20 assailants, were pursuing those who had guns. Then he turned again to the officer. To leave him here was to abandon him to death, perhaps by torture.