A loud cheer greeted Strong’s final words, and cries of, “We want no other captain!” “Do what you please!” resounded on every side.
So the officer sheathed the Revolutionary sword which he had drawn, and turned to see that the bearers of the flag of truce had halted about twenty yards from the palisades.
“Ho! Captain Strong,” came a loud and clear voice from the little group, and it was seen that the speaker was a white man clad in the full scarlet uniform of a British officer.
“Well, what is wanting?” answered Strong, through the embrasure.
“You are surrounded by nine hundred Indians, and four hundred of his majesty’s troops,” said the spokesman of the flag-bearers. “Colonel O’Neill, commander of the combined forces, desires to spare the effusion of noble blood, and therefore summons you to surrender at once.”
“Upon what terms?” asked Strong, as a murmur of defiance ran through the ranks of the fort’s defenders.
“Your people will be permitted to depart in peace; but the fort, of course, will be destroyed,” said the Briton.
“Nine hundred Indians and four hundred British,” said Strong, turning to his men after the Englishman’s last words. “I did not think the odds were so terrible.”
“The soldier lies!” cried Levi Armstrong, stepping forward. “He has spoken to terrify us, and the quarter we would receive is the quarter given to Captain Heald at Chicago. Bordermen, remember that massacre of men, women and children. Shall we surrender?”
“No! no!” rung on every side, and Captain Strong’s face assumed the hue of ashes.