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excited to plan in this; do you act as you think best, and oh, if you have any idea of what may be the feelings of a father, or what will be those of a sister, do act quickly.” “Col. S.” said the young man, “if I were to consult my own feelings”— At that instant the sharp report of a rifle caused both to start, and brought every man to his feet. “It is me, it is a friend—a friend—for mercy’s sake don't shoot again!” “It is Bates,” cried a dozen men, “we know his voice.” “You might as well have found that out in some other way than by shooting at me,” muttered the man, as he came limping into camp; “but I suppose,” continued he, “it was my own fault; but how in thunder could I see the sentinel ? the rascal was lying as flat as a red skin. To be sure, when I saw the camp I did not think of the sentinel, or any thing else. I thought I had been fired at enough for one day, and did’nt dream of getting this one in my leg.” “Where is your company how came you so wounded ?” cried the men, pressing eagerly around him. “Why,” said the man, “as to where they are, I cannot say ; but I can tell you the last I saw of them. It was about noon when we were fired upon. How many Indians there were, I cannot say; as myself and one or two others were shot at the first fire. My arm was broken, which Lt. S. observing, he ordered me to retire to the rear and there secrete myself. I did so, and was afterwards joined by Williams, who, being badly wounded in the knee, did not like to run the risk of being discovered, as escape by flight would be to him impossible; so I helped him up into a tree where he would be more likely to escape search than on the ground.” “Did you hear any more of Charles 7" said Col. S. “Did you hear him give any orders by which we could judge what were his plans ?” “I did not; but as I helped Williams up into the tree, he told me that Lt. S. had been wounded, and that the men had hid him in some bushes to their right. The firing was then more to our left; and before long it ceased; soon after, a single shot, and then such a horrid yell filled the air that I believe it will ring in my ears forever.” “Yes—yes”—cried some of the men; “that was when the last brave fellow fell, or when they found a man not yet dead.” At this moment Lt. Henry approached the crowd. Although the storm had not yet ceased, he had flung aside his cloak and was clad in a dress of the lightest kind, and most fitted for active exertion. The rifle in his hand, and pistols in his belt were all the arms he bore. “Bates,” said he, “where were you when the savages first showed themselves?”

“At the second bend of the river, where some of our men tried to ford it yesterday. You know where I mean.” “ Yes.” “Well, we were but a few hundred yards from the banks.” “Do you think they have sound Williams or young S. * “No. What Indian, with all his cunning, would ever dream of a wounded man's climbing a tree? As sor Lt. S. I cannot say, as I did not see where he was put.” “Shall we leave those men to die?” said young Henry. “No, no,” cried a hundred voices. “Who will go to their rescue 7" “I will, I will—all of us.” “That would be too many,” said Henry : “it must be a small party, that can act secretly enough for this enterprise. Is there any who will make one of a party of twenty f' At this question all were silent. One unacquainted with the character of our backwoodsmen might have thought them influenced by sear; but it was not so. No one was at first willing to put himself into so choice a party as the present was to be. It was but for a moment, however, when one of the youngest in camp stepped forward. “Williams is my brother,” said he, “I shall claim to be one of the party.” “And I, too,” said an old hunter; “Lt. S. saved my life at the risk of his own, not forty eight hours ago.” “Choose for yourself, now,” cried the men, as no one else advanced. Henry stepped among them, touching such as he wanted on the shoulder. These, laying aside their blankets, proceeded to the side of Williams and the hunter. Henry placed himself at their head, and silently they departed. The hurried shake of the hand, and the low “God bless you,” was all that passed between the strongest friends. For a few moments, those left behind stood conversing lowly around the fires, and then all was quiet as before, save an occasional muttering from the tent where the surgeon was dressing Bates' wounds. Although the wound in his leg was not as bad as that in his arm, yet he complained only of the former, and said it was natural enough for him to get the other; but he could scarce forgive the sentinel for shooting him for a red skin. Lt. Henry had left the camp at a point where no fires might betray him to any outlying Indians, and had struck at once into a thick hammock. Following a small trail they had passed directly through, and then took at once to the open pine land. For about two hours they proceeded as rapidly as men could, and not a word was spoken. Leaving the open country they passed through a narrow swamp and entered one where the low palmetto leaves, so common in that part of the country, and the underbrush was very thick. From the cautious manner

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in which they now proceeded, it was evident they expected every moment to fall in with foes. Leaving his place in the rear, the old hunter moved silently to the side of his officer. “Lt.” says he, “we must be near where young S. and Williams are hid; you had better let me go ahead and find them, for if you come suddenly upon thein they may take us for Indians, and make noise enough to betray us.” Henry assenting, silently halted his little band, and the hunter kept cautiously on. Whilst the men were awaiting his return, listening for the slightest sound, they thought once or twice (as the wind lulled for a moment,) that they heard the sound of human voices; but the next blast would drown it all. Ere long the hunter returned with Williams, who told them the savages had searched every bush, even under the tree he was upon, and asterwards proceeded to search those more to the west. Soon after he heard the report of a pistol, and then a loud shout, half in anger and half in triumph. “Yes,” said one of the men, “S. had pistols, and some red skin got one of the bullets.” “I can swear to that,” said the hunter, “sor when W. told me that, I went in the direction, and sound a dead Indian lying by a clump of high palmetto, and the bushes around were much trampled. As I came back, W. told me that a party of Indians, whom he thought bore their wounded, went south, whilst the others went west, shouting and yelling.” Leaving W. who was now comparatively safe, the party went forward in a southwest direction. It was evident the Indians felt perfectly secure in their late victory; otherwise, they would not have divided their forces. Speed now appeared their greatest object, and they wound their way among the clumps of palmetto as rapidly as though they had been always accustomed to those paths. Before long they could distinctly see the light from a fire shining on the trees. Tho old hunter again approached Henry, and receiving a nod, started off to the left so as to come up to the south of their fire, because the Indians would expect no foe from that quarter, and the wind would blow from them to him. As he neared the fire, the bushes became higher but not so thick, and trees of larger size were rather more numerous. Every step of the experienced old man was as cautiously made as if his life, or the gaining his object depended on each one of them. Only one large cluster of bushes was between him and the fire; waiting till the wind blew more wildly by than ever, and he had gained his place. Slightly separating the leaves, he had the warriors and their captives full in view. The place they had chosen for their torture-ground was singularly well adapted to the purpose. A large oak stood in the center of an otherwise clear space of ground, surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes; on the other flowed the river. Directly facing him, and tied to the oak was Charles S. His arms and feet were free : but his right arm hung in a way that plainly showed it broken—his left arm rested in his bosom, and his eye keenly watched a group of about twelve Indians, who were in front of him, a little to his right. “I see, I see,” muttered the hunter, “the boy holds in his left hand a knife, which, sooner than bear their torture, he will use upon himself; how I wish the rest had come up with me! I am afraid to go back for fear it will be too late; but what can I do alone I wish the boy had not the knife, for I know the bloody savages too well to think they will be in a hurry to see the end of him, but they may drive him to the deed, and I am as aid they will before I can get back. The red skins are moving towards him already. No, no, it will not do for me to go back.” At this moment the chief raised his tomahawk, and before the hunter could get his rifle through the bushes, it had been hurled, and hung quivering in the tree directly above the head of the victim. “What an old fool I have got to be,” muttered the old man. “I might have known they would not let him die so easily. By thunder what a look the boy gave their chief then I verily believe the red skin will fall in love with him, he bears himself so nobly.” The Indians now formed themselves in a circle, drew their knives, and with threatening gestures began their dance. Suddenly the chief leaving the circle rushed to his captive as if to stab him. As quick as thought the eye of the scout glanced along his rifle, his hand was on the trigger, when a strong arm arrested him. Turning fiercely upon the intruder, he beheld Lt. Henry, who, uneasy at his delay, had come sorward with his men.

“Are we in time *

“For vengeance, if not for mercy.”

The young man glanced his eye at the dark group round the tree. “How far is it to the river ?”

“Hardly twenty rods.”

Turning to his men, he ordered four to conceal themselves near the river, four more a few yards to his right; the rest cautiously took their places as near where the scout stood as possible. Two of the parties had orders to fire on the first opportunity they could do so, without endangering their friend. The party by the river were to reserve their fire for any who might attempt to escape. Several of the savages held in their hands short sticks, to which were hung some of the scalps they had taken; as these came in front of Charles, they whirled them in his face, asking in broken English, “Do you know him what warrior wore this?” Then, as they passed him, would boast of the manner in which they had taken them. Others, still more barbarous, would slap them in his face, and as the young man sickened and turned away, would sneeringly observe, “white man don't love his sriends much.”

The same idea that the left hand of the captive held a knife, now seemed to seize the chief; for, leaving the circle, he stepped slowly towards him, his eye fixed upon his ; suddenly, giving his left arm a jerk, he pulled it from his bosom. For a moment they struggled together. It was a moment of agony to the captive's friends, who dared neither stir, nor fire, for fear of causing his instant death. During the struggle, something glittering fell to the earth. “Does the white man so love gold that he clings to it even in death?” asked the chief, as he stooped to pick it up. But as his eye glanced on it in the light, he gave such a laugh and yell of triumph as made the youth turn away in horror. Holding it over his head he showed it to his warriors, who instantly started for the fire, each anxious to get a torch light, that the young man might more distinctly behold the face that so beautifully smiled there. “Your young squaw smiles on you now,” said the chief, who stood alone by Charles. “How long will it be before she smiles on another?” A dozen rifles flashed from the darkness around, and seven or eight Indians fell where they stood, some wounded, some dead; one or two, as they leaned over the fire, fell into it, and experienced the agony they intended for another. The remainder tried to escape to the river. The chief started so suddenly as to drop the miniature he held, and sprang with the rest for the river; but the flash of the rifles on its banks told him all hope of escape was cut off. Drawing his knife, he turned to rush on his captive—his hand was at his throat, his arm was descending, when it was grasped, and instead of a prisoner, he clasped one in every way his equal. Lt. Henry had flung himself so violently between his friend and the soe, that he fell with the latter to the earth. The red man was underneath him ; but as his hand still grasped a knife, and as Henry had none, there seemed little chance for him. Henry's right hand held a pistol; but his arm had clasped the warrior so firmly that it had fallen beneath him, and before he could extricate it, the knife of the savage was in his side. A triumphant yell burst from the lips of the red man, and died away, strangely mingled with the report of Henry's pistol. To the astonishment of all he arose—the knife hanging from his side; it had glanced on his powder horn and stuck among the bullets of his pouch, which hung below. As day began to dawn, it was judged prudent to return to camp as speedily as possible, for it was thought the other party of Indians could not be far off. Litters were made on which were placed the hunting shirts of the dead Indians, and their wounded friends. The party arrived safe in camp, but upon examination of the wounded men, it was deemed best for them to proceed to the station at V y where better shelter could be procured. Alice was also there, and could bestow that attention on her brother, which, more than any thing else, would aid his recovery. The gallant little band who had so nobly rescued them, was ordered to be their escort, and before midnight Henry had delivered S. to the care of his sister. What

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