alike seemed to feel it in the very air. As the evening wore on Joe begged to be allowed to reconnoiter, and at last the captain consented. It was a pitchy dark night. Joe took one companion only the faithful Prince, who could scent an Indian as quickly as he could a fox. Cautiously opening the postern gate of the fort, musket in hand, Joe crept out under cover of the darkness, and, holding the spaniel by the collar, made his way slowly across the open space to the meeting-house near by, which had thus far escaped destruction. Here he paused and listened. The silence was oppresIt was broken sive. Leaving his shelter, the young ranger, crouching low, moved still farther away from the fort, until he was upward of twenty rods from its palisades. Suddenly Prince stopped, planted his fore feet vigorously, and throwing up his snout, gave a fierce sharp bark. In trying to check him, his master unfortunately caught the sleeve of his jerkin on the trigger of his musket JOE ELY AND JACK BROWN RETURN TO NO. 4. and discharged the piece. The sharp shot aroused echoes far and wide. The effect was immediate and terrible. to be useless, turned and ran for the fort. Joe, knowing longer concealment when a fusillade of shots rang out from the edge of the clearing, accompanied by the shrill whoop known so well to the frontier settlements of New England. A red-hot needle seemed to pass across the top of the boy's shoulder. He ran on, shouting to the soldiers to hold the gate open for him. In another minute he and his four-legged comrade were safe within the walls; but Joe had a little red stream running down under his sleeve to his hand, and poor Prince was limping on three legs, but full of fight. Joe's wound fortunately proved not to be deep. The scored shoulder was quickly bound up, and the scout took his place with the rest at the defenses of the fort. The first shots fired by the enemy had inaugurated a general attack. From north, south, east and west rang out the sharp reports. Warriors appeared on every side, as if they had sprung from the soil itself, and rent the night air with their fierce cries. Now and then French accents mingled with the ruder shouts, thus assuring the besieged band that the allies of the North had joined forces with the savages. A log house and an adjoining piece of fence were fired by the enemy; a high wind drove the smoke in dense clouds into the fort; burning embers falling on all sides rendered the situation desperate. Nothing daunted, the Rangers coolly kept their posts, drenching the endangered roof, while a ringing shot every minute or two told the story that these New Hampshire marksmen fired with sure aim from behind the palisades. Throughout the night and the whole of the following day the battle continued. The besieged force dared not leave their posts for food or sleep. "We had determined," wrote Capt. Stevens afterward, "to stand it out to the last degree." At ten o'clock on the second night, the attacking force sent a messenger into the fort asking for a truce until sunrise the next morning, when a parley would be held. This was gladly granted by the Rangers, who, however, remained at their posts, distrusting the intentions of the foe. On the morning of the ninth, three men on each side met beneath a white flag, about twenty rods from the fort. "We bring a request from General Debeline," said one of the Frenchmen in broken English, "that you will deliver up the fort at once; in which case you shall all be spared, and you shall be allowed to take sufficient clothes and provisions for your march, as prisoners of war, to Montreal. Our general wishes to meet the captain personally, and receive his answer." Upon hearing this report, Capt. Stevens at once stepped toward the flag of truce, where he met General Debeline, commanding the attacking force. The two officers saluted gravely, the natural dignity of manhood in the forest ranger matching the courtliness of his opponent. The latter began the conference at once, eager, perhaps, to rescue so gallant an enemy. "I beg," he said firmly, "that you will accede to my proposition. I must have the fort, and have it I will, before another day. I have seven hundredmen with me." "And if I refuse?" asked Stevens calmly. "We shall set fire to the fort by burning arrows or fuel heaped against it, and shall move upon you at once. When you finally yield, I cannot hope to control the native forces under my command. You know what that means?" "When we yield?'" repeated the ranger slowly, with a curious smile. "Of course you will not be so reckless, so insane, as to keep up a useless resistance against overwhelming numbers," added Debeline, with some impatience. Then he added: "Do me the honor to retire to your men, sir, and consult with them. I will hold my forces back for thirty minutes more. After that limit I will not answer for what may take place.” The two men saluted again, and retired to their lines. Stevens at once told the men what the Frenchmen had said, and asked their opinions. Fight it out!" shouted Winchell, striking the butt of his gun heavily on the floor. "I'll never give in to the red sarpints while I live." A shadow of terrible wrath and sorrow passed over his face as he spoke, and his comrades remembered the fate of his wife and children a few months before. "Nor I! Nor I!" cried one after another. A vote was taken. It was unanimous. "We will fight it out." New Hampshire had spoken. No sooner was the answer announced from the palisades than another furious onslaught of bullets came from every quarter; yet such was the dread of the Rangers' terrible aim that hardly a red skin or Frenchman showed himself, preferring to fight from behind trees, stumps and fences. As night came on, arrows bound with burning tow began to fly through the air. But the besieged had not been idle. While others had manned the loopholes, about half of the number had dug eleven trenches out under the bottom of the fort, forming breastworks with the gravel thrown up, so that men standing in these pits could dash water upon the outside of the wooden building and avert the danger of conflagration. Several hundred barrels of water were used in this way, entailing terrible exertions on the weary men. At midnight the Indians were badly frightened by a volley from one of the deserted houses near by. It could only come, they believed, from a rescuing party, as not a soul could have left the fort and crossed the intervening space without being seen. The real fact was that Joe Ely and Jack Brown had quietly made their way through their old tunnel, first to Col. Walker's cellar, then to the Sartwell house. As they emerged into what had been the kitchen and living-room of the old log house, a glance through the unglazed window-opening showed a body of a dozen or more red skins crouching behind a fence, and busily engaged in binding tow upon their arrows. The firelight gave the boys an immense advantage. Taking careful aim, they fired. Two wild howls of pain, and the cries of all the band, told them their shots had taken effect. The blaze was instantly extinguished by the wily but astonished savages, and a random shot or two sent at the house. One of the bullets went through Brown's left arm. The boys knew well enough that within a few minutes the house would be surrounded, so they hurried back into the tunnel, the mouth of which was ingeniously concealed. They were satisfied with their exploit, having entirely checked the discharge of burning arrows from that quarter; and it was not until they were safe within the walls of the fort once more that Jack reported his wound. Grimly the men fought on, at fearful odds. They knew well enough that many such fights in New England had terminated in massacre and frightful torture. For over sixty hours they had but snatched food and sleep. On the morning of the tenth, as the men stood at their posts, fainting with exhaustion, the enemy advanced for another parley. This time Indians came -not Frenchmen, who, perhaps, had lost their appetite for this unpleasantly stubborn game. "If the Rangers would sell them corn," said the Indians," they would draw off their forces." "That is against the law of our country," replied Stevens, as quietly as if he had a regiment at his back. The red skins retired. A few more scattering shots were fired at the fort. Then silence fell once more upon the forest. Before sunset scouts were sent out through the tunnel to reconnoiter. They brought back word that the enemy had decamped. No. 4 was saved. But little remains to be added. Wonderful to report, only two men of the fort were even wounded Ely and Brown. Their names, with that of the gallant Stevens, are enrolled in the archives of New Hampshire to-day. Great was the rejoicing in Boston over the news of the battle and successful victory. Captain Stevens received from the Provincial Government, fifty dollars for his services. He was, moreover, presented with a "valuable and elegant" sword by Sir Charles Knowles; and years afterward little No. 4 received the Commodore's own name: "Charlestown," and thus it stands on the map of New Hampshire to-day. |