The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Our party shouted with satisfaction, but we soon perceived that our foes had not retreated. After hovering about for some time, and apparently consulting together, they again formed a dense body and advanced at full speed towards us. Hoping that the same plan we had before adopted would succeed, we were waiting to fire, when the horsemen, separating, swept round to the right and left with the evident intention of taking us in the rear. Though there was no barricade on that side, we had the waggon to protect us; but then our horses were exposed, and might either be killed or carried off.

“We are in a fix, I guess,” exclaimed Silas Slag; “but never say die, lads; I have been in a worse one than this, and am still alive.” This address infused new courage into the rest of the men.

The Indians, finding that our small band was far more formidable than they expected, had become very wary, and kept hovering around on every side, just beyond reach of our rifles. Bound and round they swept, making various feints, for the purpose of wearing out our courage, I suppose. This, however, gave us time to make further preparations for their reception.

By cutting some holes in the awning of the waggon, and replacing a few chests and bags on one side of it, we turned it into a little fortress, likely to prove of service against enemies on horseback, armed only with spears and bows and arrows. Our chief cause for fear was, that some of them might dismount, when they would be much more formidable at close quarters. They did not, however, seem inclined to attempt such a proceeding. Now with loud shrieks they advanced, and then wheeling round, off they went as if in fall flight, but in another moment they were again advancing towards us with threatening gestures. I thought they would turn, but no; on they came from each quarter of the compass, shouting, shrieking, and flourishing their spears. The next instant a flight of arrows came flying among us, compelling us to sink down under our barricade to avoid them. This was no easy matter. One grazed my shoulder, and another went through Peter’s hat, and for a moment I thought he was wounded.

“Fire, lads!” I shouted, “steady as before.” I, with two of the men, sprang into the waggon to receive our enemies, and as they approached, we fired in quick succession; but, very naturally, our aim was not so steady as before, and still on they came, shrieking terrifically.

As the Indians got within thirty paces of us, without stopping the speed of their mustangs, they for an instant dropped their lances, and grasping their bows, let fly another shower of arrows. Then on they came more rapidly than before. I did not look round to see who was struck. I felt a sharp pang in my side where an arrow was quivering. I trusted that it was not poisoned; it had come through the tilt of the waggon. I had no time to draw it out, for the point of a red warrior’s spear was close to me. I had fired one barrel, but I had the second loaded. I pulled the trigger. The Indian sprang forward, the spear passed on one side, and he fell dead at my feet, while his horse, turning aside, galloped off.

Our men had all fired, and three Indians lay dead in front of us. But though the front rank had wheeled round, the rest were coming on with furious gestures of vengeance. Our little band was also sadly diminished.

For an instant, not hearing Silas Slag’s voice, I turned my head. He lay writhing on the ground, with an arrow through his breast, which he was in vain attempting to drag out, while another man, though he still stood at his post, seemed badly wounded with a spear-thrust in his neck. The pain in my side was increasing so much, that I every instant expected to drop fainting to the ground.

I got out of the waggon, for in a hand-to-hand encounter I could fight longest in an open space. I knew that it would be destruction to yield, so I instantly began reloading my rifle, while I shouted to my companions to struggle to the last. They were doing their best to keep the Indians at bay while I reloaded. Again I fired; my aim was unsteady; and I killed the horse instead of the rider. The animal fell directly in front of me, and served as a barricade, but the Indian, disengaging himself, drew his scalping-knife from his girdle and sprang towards me.

Weak, and suffering intense pain, I could do little to help myself, and thought that my last moments had come when, just as the Redskin was about to plunge his weapon in my breast, Ready, who had been watching by my side, with a fierce growl flew at his throat, and compelled him to turn the intended blow on one side, and the next moment the butt of Peter’s musket came crashing down on his head and stunned him. The rest of the party, still able to stand up, were engaged in single combat with the more daring of our adversaries, while other Indians were flocking round, either thrusting at us with their spears, or with arrows in the string, standing ready to shoot as opportunity might offer.