How They Brought Aid to Bryan's Station

With saddles girt and reins held fast,

Our rifles well in front, at last

Tom Bell and I were mounted.

The gate swung wide. We said, “Good-bye.”

No time for talk had Bell and I.

One said, “God speed!” another, “Fly!”

Then out we galloped. Live or die,

We felt each moment counted.

The trace, the buffaloes had worn,

Stretched broad before us; and the corn

And cane through which it wended,

We knew for acres from the gate

Hid Indian guile and Tory hate.

We rode with hearts that seemed to wait

For instant death; and on our fate

The Station's fate depended.

No rifle cracked. No creature stirred,

As on towards Lexington we spurred

Unflinchingly together.

We reached the woods: no savage shout

Of all the wild Wyandotte rout

And Shawanese had yet rung out:

But now and then an Indian scout

Showed here a face and feather.

We rode expecting death each stride

From thicket depth or tree-trunk side,

Where some red foe might huddle —

For well we knew that renegade,

The blood-stained Girty, had not stayed

His fiends from us, who rode for aid,—

The dastard he who had betrayed

The pioneers of Ruddle.

And when an arrow grazed my hair

I did not turn, I did not spare

To spur as men spur warward:

A war-whoop rang this side a rock:

Then painted faces swarmed, to block

Our way, with brandished tomahawk

And rifle: then a shout, a shock —

And we again rode forward.

They followed; but‘ twas no great while

Before from them by some long mile

Of forest we were sundered.

We galloped on. I'd lost my gun;

And Bell, whose girth had come undone,

Rode saddleless. The summer sun

Was up when into Lexington

Side unto side we thundered.

Too late. For Todd had left that day

With many men. Decoyed away

To Hoy's by some false story.

And we must after. Bryan's needs

Said, “On!” although our gallant steeds

Were blown — Enough! we must do deeds!

Must follow where our duty leads,

Be it to death or glory.

The way was wild and often barred

By trees and rocks; and it was hard

To keep our hearts from sinking;

But thoughts of those we'd left behind

Gave strength to muscle and to mind

To help us onward through the blind

Deep woods. And often we would find

Ourselves of loved ones thinking.

The hot stockade. No water left.

The fierce attack. All hope bereft

The powder-grimed defender.

The war-cry and the groan of pain.

All day the slanting arrow-rain

Of fire from the corn and cane.

The stern defence, but all in vain.

And then at last — surrender.

But not for Bryan's!— no! too well

Must they remember what befell

At Ruddle's and take warning.

So thought we as, all dust and sweat,

We rode with faces forward set,

And came to Station Boone while yet

An hour from noon... We had not let

Our horses rest since morning.

Here Ellis met us with his men.

They did not stop nor tarry then.

That little band of lions;

But setting out at once with aid,

Right well you know how unafraid

They charged the Indian ambuscade,

And through a storm of bullets made

Their entrance into Bryan's.

And that is all I have to tell.

No more the Huron's hideous yell

Sounds to assault and slaughter.—

Perhaps to us some praise is due;

But we are men, accustomed to

Such dangers, which we often woo.

Much more is due our women who

Brought to the Station — water.