All day they marched in bitter cold,
And when, as fell the night,
They reached the hill and gazed their fill
Upon the piteous sight,
No need to urge the rapid chase,
The cinders did that well,
And in the air a woman's hair
Told more than words could tell.
In stern resolve they lay them down,
For rest they needed sore,
But long ere dawn the swords were drawn
And open stood the door.
Out to the gloom of morning passed
Full silently those men,
And what 'twixt light and fall of night
Should come, no soul might ken.
III
They turned their faces toward the west,
The morning air was cold,
And softly stepped, while still men slept,
With courage high and bold.
An Indian they met ere long,
'Twas Peter, whom they knew;
They asked their way, naught would he say,
To his own comrades true.
In anger cried the governor:
Then let the man be hung,
For he can tell, he knows full well,
So let him find his tongue.
To save his life that wretched man
Agreed to be their guide,
As they marched on, the Indian
Marched onward by their side.
And soon they reached a dreadful swamp,
With cedar trees o'ergrown,
And thick and dark with dead trees stark
And great trunks lying prone.
'Twas frozen hard, and Indians there!
They fired as they ran,
And with a bound that spurned the ground,
The fierce assault began.