the hours grew as we sat by the fire, and, presently, i noticed that simon’s head was fallen forward, and he slept. i had hard work to fight off the slumber, as i had not closed my eyes for two nights, and was weary with my journey. i knew i dared not sleep, for, though i did not fear simon, nor hardly an attack from the wolves, while the fire burned, yet there was a feeling of vague uneasiness with me, a dread that some nameless thing was abroad in the forest, and i could not shake it off.

simon stirred uneasily, and then i heard a faint, far-off sound, as of some one walking cautiously through the underbrush. could it be indians? our fire was not brilliant now, but, fearful that even its faint glow would betray us, i scooped up a handful of earth, and dashed it on the embers, extinguishing them.

nearer and nearer came the sound until it was almost upon us. i reached over and touched simon, who awoke with a start. then he heard the sound and looked about in alarm. i took up my flint-lock and gave simon one of the two pistols i had, at the same time motioning him to make no noise.

257“indians,” he whispered, and i nodded.

the next moment we saw through an opening between the trees not fifty feet away dim shadows in the night; a line of figures which we made out to be the red men of the woods. one behind the other they marched, silent, almost, as spirits, save for a little rustle of the leaves as they brushed by them.

each warrior had a gun, and they wore their war feathers. i counted six score ere the last one passed and i knew there would be no peace in the land for a time.

it was the beginning of the indian uprising of which i had heard when near new york, and, with that savage band abroad our lives were scarce worth a flint.

simon and i cowered in silence until we saw no more shadows, and then we breathed, it seemed for the first time since the indians had come into view. the sailor spoke no word, but he handed the pistol back to me, like a man who was glad he had had no use for it.

with the savages on the war path it was little chance that elizabeth would escape an attack.

should we then push on there? i tried to think of a better plan, but there seemed none. we would be as much exposed to attack in retracing our steps, as in going on. if we could reach the town the block house might afford us protection until help came. once in elizabeth, too, simon and i could aid the settlers in defending the place from the indian attack. there was nothing to do but go on as soon as it was light.

258that it might be a race for life toward the end, seemed certain, as we could not travel without leaving a trail that even an indian boy might follow.

i waited impatiently for the daylight, and it came so slowly that i was minded to wake lucille, and start ere the dawn. but i feared to get on the wrong path, and so i waited, counting the minutes until the first flush in the east.

no sooner had it tinged the sky than i roused simon, who had fallen asleep again, and bade him get kit in readiness. i entered the bower and kissed lucille, whereat she awoke with a start.

“are we home, edward?” she asked.

“almost,” i said, cheerfully.

i dared light no fire, for fear of the tale the smoke would tell, so we ate the remainder of our bacon cold, with the dry biscuit, washing the poor meal down with water from a near-by brook. then observing all the caution we could we took up our journey again.

there seemed to be a better path now, though it was far from easy traveling. when we had occasion to speak it was in whispers. i watched with jealous eyes every bush and tree, starting at each sound, while lucille on kit’s back was pale with fear.

the morning had turned to noon. our only meal was water, drunk from oak leaves, that i fashioned to form a cup. the spirits i saved, for there was no telling when i could get more. most anxiously did we strain our eyes for 259the sight of a house. yet we went fully two miles after our halt at noon, ere we found one. it was simon who first saw it. he pointed between the trees and said:

“look.”

“what is it?” asked lucille.

“a place where some one lives, i hope,” was my reply. we increased our pace. as we came nearer the house i thought that it was strangely still and quiet about the spot. kit, too, pricked up her ears, and sniffed as if she did not like the air. it was a time to be cautious and so i led the mare with lucille behind a clump of trees. bidding simon take one of the pistols, and stay there on guard, i went forward. i looked on every side of me.

though it was a farm house there seemed to be no evidence of life. there were no cows in the meadow that stretched out in back, and not even a dog ran out to bark. the chickens and ducks appeared to have flown away. i saw that the barn door was open.

it was a strange house with no one on guard at such a time. i proceeded more slowly until i reached the kitchen door, which was unlatched. a woman’s dress on the floor caught my eye. thinking now that all was right, and that i would find the family within i crossed the threshold, giving a knock to announce my coming.

then such a sight of horror as met my gaze!

on the floor were the dead bodies of a man, a woman and two little girls. their heads were away from me, but when my eyes had become accustomed to the dimness of the 260room, i saw that each one had been scalped. it needed no writing on the wall to tell that indians had been there, and recently. with fear-blanched face i ran back to where i had left lucille and simon. the latter saw the cause of my return in my manner, but lucille asked:

“were the people there, edward?”

“no,” i said, “they had gone out.”

i knew now that our only hope lay in pushing on with all speed, and without stopping to explain further i led kit out into the road, which was fairly good.

“we must hasten, simon,” i said, and under my breath i told him what i had seen.

kit trotted off, and simon and i had to run to keep up with her. lucille inquired, with fright showing in her eyes, why we had so suddenly left the vicinity of the farm. i told her i had learned at the house that by hastening on we could reach elizabeth ere dark, and i was anxious to do so.

already it was getting dusk. we passed by farm houses at short distances apart now, so i knew the town must be near. there was no sign of life in any of the dwellings, however, and in fancy i saw within them such a scene as i had first come upon. at other places there were household articles scattered about, which showed how the families must have fled at the first alarm of the indians.

copper kettles, warming-pans, a spinning wheel, now and then a chest of linen, strewn along the road, told how the colonists had packed whatever of their possessions they 261could in a cart and hurried off to the block house, to be safe from attack. what they did not take with them the indians carried off or burned.

i glanced on all sides of us. it was so dark that i could scarce see, though i made out the village a short distance ahead. the log block house stood on top of a little hill, and a fire burned on one corner of the roof, a signal to refugees.

my eye had no sooner caught sight of this, and i turned to tell lucille that our journey was at an end, than simon gave a cry. he pointed behind us, terror in his face.

i looked, and there, on the brow of the hill we had just descended were the figures of a score of indians!

they were a quarter of a mile behind us, and we were half a mile from the fort.

i gave kit a blow across the flank with my sword scabbard. she sprang forward. at the same time simon and i broke into a run. a yell from the savages told us we had been observed, and that they were in hot pursuit.

they were afoot, and i knew that lucille was safe from them, for kit would carry her to the block.

“ride on ahead,” i called to her. “simon and i will hold them in play until you are safe, lucille. ride on for your life!”

“i will not leave you, edward,” she called back, and she tried to pull the mare up.

“on, kit, on!” i shouted.

the mare heard and started at a sharp gallop.

262lucille clung to her seat, and waved her hand back at me.

though simon and i had made good speed the indians were now within range. they shot a flight of arrows, and several, who had muskets, discharged them. they did not hit either of us, and lucille was now out of danger. not so, however, simon and i. on came the savages, running with great speed, and uttering their war cries.

there were three fleeter of foot than the others, and they were in the lead. i saw if we were to gain the block house we must dispose of these or halt them for a time. bidding simon halt we drew up short in the road. i told him to fire at the one on the left with his pistol, while i took the one on the right with the flint lock.

two quick shots rang out in the darkness. simon only wounded his man, but i had better luck, and the ball went through his body, so that he fell doubled up in a heap, and then was still.

the enraged yells of his companions told us he was dead. the whole party stopped short and that gave us the chance we wanted. at top speed we resumed the race to the fort. lucille was almost there now, and we could see the gate cautiously opened to let her in.

“quick, simon,” i called, for the indians were after us again, and we could not hope with but a single charge in a pistol to halt them.

poor simon was almost done for with the run. his breath came in gasps. i caught him by the arm, and was 263helping him along. the nearest indian was not a rod away. with head down, panting from the exertion and almost ready to give up i half led, half dragged simon on.

then, and it was a welcome sight, the heavy log gate of the block house swung open. a score of armed men in close formation emerged. i could see the matches of some of the muskets burning. the indians saw them, too. with a final yell of rage and defiance they abandoned the chase, turned back, and were soon lost to sight in the darkness, which had now fallen.

simon and i reached the gate, the men opening to let us pass inside. one, who wore a sword, and who seemed to be in command, said:

“you were only just in time, sir. had the maid not ridden up when she did and warned us of your approach we might not have made the sally, for we were deep in council, planning how best this uprising of the savages can be met.”

“i give you thanks,” i said, noting that lucille had dismounted, and was with some of the women.

“few are needed,” rejoined the man who had first spoken, “seeing that you are two men, one with a goodly weapon; for we have need of fighters now. as for your companion i note that he carries a pistol with the powder pan empty. we will give him a musket that he may do his share in the defense. the smaller weapons carry only a little way. i am in command here,” he went on. “perhaps you may have heard of me?”

264“i have not the honor,” i said, “having but just arrived from a distance, and indeed coming here by a mere chance.”

“well, then,” went on the commander of the little fort, “i am captain philip carteret, brother to his excellency, sir george carteret, governor of the jersey province.

“my brother sailed for london a month ago,” went on the captain, “leaving me in charge of the colony. much have i found to do, settling the disputes among the people, and now with this uprising of the savages, there is like to be more work. but you have a soldierly bearing and, i doubt not, will be glad of a chance to fire a gun at the red men.”

“that i will,” was my answer. “you guessed right when you spoke of my bearing. i am captain edward amherst, late of salem town, in massachusetts, whence i led a company against st. johns. this is simon rogers, a sailor who has business of his own here, and is only a fellow traveler with me, though we have fought together. the maid who rode up on the mare is my promised wife, whom i have brought here that we may wed.”

the introductions being over captain carteret led the way into the block, and the door was carefully secured. pine torches gave a ruddy, smoky light to the scene, which was of great confusion.

men were here and there, some looking to see that their weapons were loaded, others mending a broken stock or whetting up rusty sword blades. women were huddled in corners, some weeping, some gazing on with frightened 265eyes, and some trying to comfort crying children. all about were scattered household goods, through the piles of which soldiers made their way to the various parts of the block house. i had hardly time to take this all in and see that lucille was being cared for by some of the calmer women, when a messenger bade me to supper with captain carteret. right glad i was of the invitation, too.

the captain’s voice told me to enter when i had knocked at the door the messenger indicated. on the rough table was a smoking hot meal. of all the confused assemblage the cook, it seemed, had kept his head. i did full justice to the roast deer’s flesh, and the fish with the yellow corn bread that went with it. when the edge had gone from my appetite the captain told me of the situation. a friendly savage had brought word of the indian uprising two days ago. messengers were sent to as many of the outlying farm houses as possible, and the people made all haste to the fort.

“can you stand a siege?” i asked, wishing to know for lucille’s sake, how matters stood.

“the place is stout enough,” said the captain, “and we have men in sufficient numbers, with a goodly supply of powder and ball. but the provisions are a point of worry to me. there was not time enough to lay in a full larder, and, with all the women and children to feed beside the men at arms, i fear it will go hard if we are cooped up here for any time. but we will do the best we can.”

“how many men have you?”

266“there are four score fit for fighting,” was the captain’s answer.

at the close of the meal i made my excuses and went to find lucille. she met me at the entrance of the women’s apartment, having come out to learn where i was. i told her how strong the fort was, how we had plenty of men to defend it with, and enough of ammunition for all the indians in jersey. she had recovered somewhat from her recent fatigue, and looked more beautiful than ever, with her hair tossed about, and the roses in her cheeks.

the women, she said, had been most kind to her.

“it is a comfort to speak to some one in petticoats again,” she said. “just think, i have been over a month, and could not even learn if my skirt hung properly.”

“a most woeful lack,” i said mockingly. for there was no immediate danger now, and we could afford to jest.

“truly a great deprivation,” said lucille, laughing.

i left her after a time, kissing her good-night, and bidding her be of cheer. then i went back to captain carteret, to consult with him about the defense of the block.