Newspaper Page Text
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BY MOORE & HI LI:.
.t , ::,::itrOLIIME : L
DORA 11PCRAE ; .. ,
An Incident, of St. Wales "Defeat.
=,:;', :-:.;• .. ,
!._ . . „ BY , ViIitES..Ii;.,VERAIIIS " '
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,- ii':.irrtagatliering of St. Clair's army °dell
-, e 4, i rieur4( the Whole spring and summer
I' !._.:Among thoSe who centered, some-
Q:-• ~'. :ly, around his standard, were
• , :41 , •. 1 1 - iii an
. -,•,..„?-f entucky ; and among the ac
`4l•4lnoT :" •ho-composed this corps, no one
~, • :.Mlif.' :mo ,- unwilling• than John McCrae.'
''"John'. 7'father was an old settler; and
. •: -••
out with Clark more than • once.
- - ~ —4 r:t thirst for hair,"—as they say
•;, ~,,,.' 'i'o to California. .He would have
,••_..., '7".ti'to the wars, especially since his
'•;`Colonel Hardin had been worsted in
i. ' ndian fights under Harmar—but John
• la.no love of Indians, and nolove of war,
. .. when the old man - , with his kindling I.
eye put into, his son's hand the hunt
. : _knife, with which many a deer, bear,
-,, i nther, and more than one "human" had
['r•tiseert' bled to death, the son's own blood
i--••rtin cold.. ~
;"Give it to the varmints," said the-white
haired hunter, "and comeback hero with
out. a scalp 'on your head, or with many
under your belt, qr you'll taste a kiss of my
old rifle; my boy." .
- : The Kentuckians all went to the contest
.unwillingly, 'because regulars were to be
with - them, and regular officers were to
command them;', but. John MeCrao was
lictckward, bea*, in his soul ho was an
ruirt , :coward. - ilutlis. father was more
rrible• than •11eChecannaqua; and John
~'cat to the wars. The old. ryan had as
=lt of suspicion that his son was a cow
rd as such a man could have. But the
wae•only - knewia to one being, Dora
cCrae, John's twin sister: lasize, coin
lexion, . features, movements, even voice,
w could distinguish the two urchins that
layed in the sugar-troughs; and pounded
O hominy together. John was tinged to'
`s tones even with effeminacy ; Dora, tho'
a froin all' coarseness, was tall, active,
ring, and possessed a voice which, ring
-through • the clear woods of Fayette,
ght • have puzzled an old, Pagan to tell
ether it was Diana or Apollo he listened
: But alike as they were externally,
hin,,John and Dora differed widely.—
- had no linOwledge of fear till the w 0,,,
n s dread of insult and wrong slowly
ickened in her soul. The beasts of prey
• . wolves, cougars, bears—had no terror
A. her childhood; and many a time had
'e gone fearlessly into the forest to learn
O meaning of some strange cry, while
'hia cowered in the cornfield.
:When Jolla was to leave for * Fort Wash
, gten,,Dora, perfectly ' understanding his
read of the work before him, made up her
lad to go with him. ' She had cousins in
Who little village of Cineianati,
her, parents' leave to go and visit them
while John was preparing for, his north
"ward, marCh..undor St. Clair. She knew
~,, that her. strong affection for her brother,
'vas fully returned by him, and trusted her
`-presence . and influence would keep him
T. trite. to his duty..
1 .They reached the little marshy town ;
[ John reported himself to the proper officer,
~.T. and until the movement of September 17th,
when the army was g ot under way for the
l' Miami station—now Hamilton—all went
i . well, and Dora's throbbing heart grew ev
i cry day more calm. On the morning of
that day she rose early and went to her
. brother's room to bid him farewell—it
i might be forever. She knocked; no an
t saver—louder: there was no reply-r--slue,
E spoke: no sound followed,• but the snore
'.• :of the sleepers below. She went into the
room : the bed was empty, the window o
pen, the clothes of the late occupant scat
tered here and there. The dress he had
worn on duty lay on the floor. The truth
instantly flashed across the mind of the ag
itated girl--•'-"Flo, has 'deSorteill." -
For a while, contempt for him, love for,
him; dread of her father's anger, sorrow
for the deadly griefof the old veteran, were
mingled. in her mind. She
,saw the grey
Indian-fighter as lie sat at Ifis cabin-door,
in the early autumn sun, and counted the
victims of his son's rifle and knife—again,
she saw him as some neighbor, cruel with
news, .earae in and told him of that son's
desertion—she shuddered at the look .of
incredulous horror as it crept over and
froie that beaming,searred countenance—
,'Ail heard his cry of agony, of vengeance,
as .he realized , the terrible truth, that the
son of a McCrea was a coward. 7
With that swelling from tha heart which
chocks the throat, and runs over in the
I: wet; but unwceping eyes, she gathered her
saul's . energies, anA saw her way . Sudden
ly; :but. dimly—,—athe. pilot.. sees the air
cling Ohio when the mornig mist his like
la :Curtain: • . , • . ..
•;,.• Often in early youth—the twins were at
he time we. write of but eighteen—she had
,Itoged'ilresses with her. brother, to make
pi( among the neighboring cabins, a few
il[es south, on the Elkhorn.. At this rrio-
Oit filled with mingled emotions, inwhieh
for the fugitive, the pride of tho race
iccrae,' and womanly . diffidence pre-.
d,; • determined .to : clothe herself
khis hunting shirt and leggings, to . iade
p1, 1 4, 1 i the *nits, .to save his rep*.
rotin , the, slanderer, and, : i fslie. lived,
le. the Irtith, from rill
,but , thebrother
~ • I :
, that intense aieness'whieh be
*the, intense situations of life Dora
'`t lierrsition.• She must account
sown • apparent absence ; (rem her. house; and' she . mustmeet
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difficultiea'Which would grow. from an al
most entire want of a knowledge of Mili
tary life. 'Such were the two most.press,
ing- problems before her.: To solve' the
first was the work of a few moments.—
She rapidly wrote, in her backwoods fash
ion, a few lines addressed to John, telling
him that'she could not bear to wait for his
departure;that she dreaded the last fare-,
wells, an had left at early dawn toyetinn
to her home. This done, she went to her
room, packed •up, her clothes, which silo
put in his.saddle-bags,.put her chamber in
order; carefully cut her hair, and lay down
upon his bed. Not long after the oldest
son of her cousin bame' to call John to his
last breakfast. Dora rose, dressed her
self in her brother's::militia suit, which was
not after a very military fashion, and-with
trembling limbs descended the ladder by
which communication between the two
stories of the log house was effected.— ,
The family were all assembled, and won
dered why Dorn, who was commonly up
so early, though John was given to morn
naps, had not yet appeared. Johr4
(as we shall now call his representative,)
sat down to his corn-bread and rye, coffee,
and'if but little was said, and She seemed
somewhat queer and troubled, it was as,
cribed to his near departure, for which, as
the family suspected, he had no especial
fancy. . "But where's Dora? Where can
the girl be'!" was the constant inquiry.—
At last the mother of the young Buckeyes
went herself into the loft to look after her
cousin, and soon; with-fear and wonder
in every feature and limb, came down,
bringing the note to John, which in her
plain way,,she had read as soon as she saw
it. "The child's mad I" said the father.
"She's a' fool!" cried the aunt. " She's
as wild as she's good, that's sure," chim
ed in the matron herself. John's eyes
brimed with tears—but who could wonder;
and Dora rejoiced to find that her bold Ira :
ture made that seem natural for her to do,
which, done by another, would have seem
ed most out of nature. No one doubted
her departure; no one suspected that the
young soldier was any other than John
And'now she has, (we had better call
the fellow McCrae, by way ofcompromillit
however, and say McCrae has,) well Mc-
Crae has found a squad Of the sons of "Old
Kalmuck," (they at twenty being older
than their mother,) and is pressing on with
them to Ludlow's Station, where the body
of the troops had long been. Dora was
as well acquainted with the Kentucky boys
as John luid ever been, and so long as it
was merely to carry a rifle and use it hun
ter-fashion, she was equal to any man;
her old father would have thought her ed
ucation very childish if she could not car
ry, load, and fire a rifle----lun, leap, walk,
ride==;. - tri - short,"go through -any frunt;em
calisthenics. But:she dreaded to meet the
Colonel, and be put upon those semi-mili
tary evolutions which John had, been prac
ticed in for ririany weeks. Her second prob
lem as yet found no solution. Ludlow's
station is soon reached, Col. Oldham calls
his boys to order, puts them in line, and
though no very strict disciplinarian, tries to
learn what material is under him. "Who
are you, sir?" "John McCme." "Where
from?" "Fayette." "A son of. the old
Irishman?" " He's my father." "Good
my lad," says the Colonel ; "mind you
keep up the honor of the McCraes.
heard you had scarce their blood in you."
Dora's flashing eyes and expanded nos
trils Made the Colonel fairly jump. "It's
a scandal, a. slander," muttered Oldham,
as he moved on ; "the fellow has soul, has
pluck, if I know an eye from an acorn.".
Slowly, through the wilderness of stumps,
called playfully a road, the troops dragged
on towards the point where Fort Hamilton
was to be erected. •
During the march no '"eyolutions,". ex
cept the common one of getting out of a
quagmire, were called for, and our gender
less McCrae got the run of the - corpsohe
outline of operations quite clearly in mind.
But at the Miami was. to. come the. trial ;
there, in the intervals of mud-heaving,
were to come the Military movements, and
Dora had yet no solution to her prob
lem. Sickness, or a sprained ancle even
might lead to detection; she dared not get
into the hands of the Doctors. That young
McCrae had forgotten all
A lili,,had learned
at Fort Washington was nriffo believed
for a moment. What could be done?—
When her wits, hardly tasked, failed to
answer, the power 'which men term For
tune stepped in with a reply.
The day after they reached the Miami,
Col. Oldham had no inspections and his
mon lounged about, killing that aboriginal
who never dies, old Time. McCrae,
dad by Fortune, went to the field where
certain of the regular., troops
,Were. under I ,
drill. 'Among them was a fellow' whose 1 ,
heels had' been stolen by Baechns. He
,of the acute "right Wheel,,'
and "left wheel ;" but kept up a chronio
Wheel in all .directions. The eye of the
officer caught, hen; reprimand, an arrest,
~Eentertc.c o cenfmement till the army
moved 'again, were the ,Product of a mo
ment.; Our iniscl*heroine,,lpoked and
listened ;at first latighing; such Curves
.new thing in her forest geometry
thentionbled; 'thenthmightfni ;'Tartly
I'M, for her pibblem. seemed : ;less.perplex,
ing; HoMer*. m ig ht h m e,Baio - that 1i ►orva
came, fe,hcraid;'.,Aie the:help to a',
nolhar eupernattirell ageM, whiskey. `.Will
whiskey exprnilj.fitlLM.y - ..q
said fo heisor. •
John McCrae, for fear of quarrel, had al
ways shunned the bottle. That night John
sobered with amazement. McCrac,• my
boy, you'll patch it on the, parade to-Mor
row,"., were word's . that cheered D 011,63
heart, as she, suffered • the abominable li
quid to trickle over, her ,bosom; and :sink
into the folds of her, garments. . .
The morrow camel: the: prophecy was
realized: such slovenly habits' of musket
handling, i marchiag, moving, in a young
man four weeks tinder drill,'could not es
cape Oldham's eye. The . goddess of whis
key,however explained.it all. 'He shall by
made an example of,. swore the Colonel.
"It's the first time .he was, ver known to
drink,", said the Captain,. at his elbow.—
"So ?so 1" mused the commander. "Call
him here." The trembling masker ,came.
McCrae," said the officer kindly,' "you
are, plainly drunk ' .but I'm told it's the first
time. You will, however, consider your
self so far under arrest as not to appear on
parade again until notice is sent you."—
Dom's heart beat prayers and thanksgiv
ing till long after midnight.
Shutout from any participation in the
exercises, but allowed to witness them,
McCrae was soon so well acquainted with
what had to be done, that when called to
the ranks again while Fort Jefferson was
slowly rising from the sods, no more ig- I
norance was 'noticed than a month out. of I
practice would easily account for..
It was a weary march, that of St. Clair's
doomed army._. Throng!' muddy, timber
roads, often making only seven
miles a day, with scant and poor food, thro'
early snows and ceaseless rains,—cold,
wet and hungry, the troops toiled on from
Fort Jefferson toward the fatal field. And
yet this march was the brightest period of
Dora's life. On such a march as that we
speak of, strict discipline could not be ob
served, and the members'of the different
corpS were frequently during the day in
termingled. Now it happened that on the
way from Fort Hamilton, McCrae was
thrown into the company of the New Jer
sey regulars, or rather those who had been
[ such during the revolutionary wal.. A
mong them was Capt. Kirkwood, an old
veteran, and with him—in a manner un
der his charge a young man, son of a Mr.
Grey of Trenton, who was acting as a
unteer. ,Grey's father had been in the N.
Jersey regiment • himself, and the son had
been from his boyhood a soldier in pur
pose and in spirit; and yet a more gentle
being never lived. Fearless of danger,
calm in battle, he was horror-struck by
the rudeness, the profanity, the vulgarity
of a camp; and had taken up an especial
, dislike to the Western soldiers or hunters.
. It was with no good will, therefore, that
he saw McCrae rapidly becoming a Ever
,-ito with' larku-ond.4 wf.use, talcs of Cam
[ den ' Guilford and Eutaw, the beardless
Kentuckian never tired of hearing. But
as Grey noticed his new companion more
closely, and remarked that no oaths* ' no
vulgar slang,. no bitter taunts, or foolish
I boasting ever passed those almost effemi
nate lips, as he thought them, he began to
fall in with the old Captain's liking for the
boy and before the halt at Fort Jefferson
took place the two youngsters were insep
arrble. Grey was amazed and charmed
by the spirit of refinement which marked
the wildest sallies-of his comrade, & grew
more and more attached to the gentle sav
age. Dora, who had never before met an
educated, polished, find yet free , spoken, &
open-hearted • man, need we say how her
brain began to swim and her blood to tin
gle?—how her cars grew deaf to old Kirk
wood's yarns, and her eyes blind to eve=
ry wonder but one? For the first time
she dreaded the day of battle; she prayed
that the roads might grow deeper, and the
rains mightier; and the weary march en
dure forever. But her prayers even, could
not prolong it forever; On the evening of
the 3d of November, the army reached its
charnel-field, and McCrae passed with th
rest of Oldham's corps beyond the creek,
I and took up a position n' quarter of a mile
' The night of the 3d waiif„liy no means
pleasant one for a bivoucE The ground,
[ had been covered with a light snow'the
day before, which had partially melted,
saturating the earth with moisture. As
night' came en it grew more and more
chill. Crystals of ice began to skirn''oVer
the little puddles and stiffen the wet ground.
The soldier standing or lying, had his
choice between a quicking snow, or a free
zing bog. The troops had for some days
been,On short allowance ; and as the, wet
and haff-starved wretches crowded round
the watch-fires;' happy 'was the man, who
could find a dry comfortable big to sit on,
and a chunk to support his freezing feet.
: Under these circumstances our heroine;'
who was less used to cold and wet than
her companions, and whose feelings made
their canipany', distasteful; determined to
keep in Motion, and went to Col. Oldham
to aslc the privilege,, of acting as n:scout;
for itwria , ruinorect among the - militia that
they • were not more than 115 or' 20 miles
from the•Mictrai ' villages . ; that thp*l Creek
behind' them "was a bran& Of the St. Mcl
ry's and that Si: Clair thoughttlie Indiaad
who had beetil'seen north of the creek When
the army', first carneiti.:Sight Of if, wore
the advaneed 4intrd of the • body of sava
geS.''''Wheri,MCCrtie Made the request sta
ted; lOldhatit readibr ; &ante& 'it :" adding
that 'the 'commander-in-dhief had ordered
the ret4test: ctiro"to be taken to prevent
*tirptiiiei.•,and hhd direeted•the • woods to'
,Neutral in . Politics,:
be thoroughly searched. He thereforecau
tioned theyonng,soldier to be noiseless 4
w - iliclitul; to iiSe the .rifle only in case of
absolute necessity, and to trust to speed or
the hunting knife in case of\ danger. "A
eelectbody ofregulars under papt.Slough,"
added the Colonel, "is to take, a position a
mile : in litlVance of us, as a' still farther
precautiOn; take your range 'to the left;
Move slowly, So as to come to them 'about
midnight,' then turn on your track again
and be in the camp for morning muster."
. Dora started upon her solitary way, ha
ving first learned the Nvo tclicry-the thrill
of the little owl—by means of which the
Sdbuts were to low one another. How
calm . her feelings as -she moved through 1 ,
those solemn woods, catching now and
then a sight of the half-starred,
ed heavens, through the leafless branches.
A week had changed the girl into a wo
man. She had risked her life to save her
brother's honor, as much:from the wreck=
lessness of her Irish blood and beckwood
breeding, as from any higher Impulse ; but
now' she felt a serious heroism strengthen-'
ing every limb, sending a nobler lith into
every fibre. -Love in her true nature was
not that selfish passion which binds to one
fellow-being; . it, was that divine power;
which, opening the spiritual eyes, and,
changing all nature, binds to all through
She went upon her path silently, watch
fully—not for her own sake, not because
Gray's-life might depend upon her care,
but because his life and all other lives a
'round-- heroilight -hang .uporLit.....L
We need not follow her through those
tedious hours. She was fearless, because,
little as she had heard of religiOn, she knew
by a sense just developed, that God was.,
with her. Towards midnight she'drew to
the outpost ; gliding from tree to tree, she
approached the warfire—no one was by it,
the logs had burned to cinders and were
Startled by this discretion she was doubt
ing whether to return direct to the militia
camp, or retrace her steps as directed by
the Col., when a hand was laid on her
shoulder. She turned, and by the light of
mouldering embers beheld an Indian, his
finger on his lips. For an instant the wo
man unmanned her. During that instant ,
her rifle and knife were taken. She bow
ed her head in bitter silence, awaiting . the
tomahawk. The Indian, in equal silence,
took her by the arm and led her away ;
he plainly thought he had caught a cow
ard. After a little while the low whit - Ming
of a fox was heard, her companion repea
ted it, and in a few moments more they
stood amid a band of savages.
A short talk in Indian followed ; her,
hands were then bound behind her back,',
and she was tied lo a tree, With, a signifi
cantgesturawhich told her that a word, a
weOlden - aim her a OA skull. It was
perfect darknes. But:near her . she heard
tlie sound of some one breathing heavily,'
as if asleep or gagged. Her heart grew
light with the hope of a
selfish at times are the best of us. 'At last
an Indian, bearing a torch drew near; and
as the welcome light brought the world
back to her, 'she saw' not only one, but
eight captives each'bound to his tree.
Some wore the careless dress of the mil-
itia,others the uniform of the United States.;
and as the torch-bearer drew nearer to
where she stood, examining the hands oil
the captives, or inquirin.. a as to St. Clair's
strength and position, andas not only forMs
but features grew distinct in the glare, Do
ra recognized witira kind of horrid joy the,'
person tine lace of Gi•cy.
had been one of the volunteers under
Capt. 'Slough. That officer had Aced
him and others upon the otaskirtsof his I
party as sentinels, having been convinced,
soon after taking up his positiono that the
savages were numerous in his Viemity.-1
Grey, like many unused to Indian tricks,
had been taken noiselessly ; some had fir-',
ed their guns and been killed.
Slotigh some time belbreDora reached
his watcl:fire; finding clear proof of the:
enemy's foree - in these - freqUent captures,
had- returned to make his report. to Gen.
Dora's first sensation was a horrid joy
as we have said ; but the horror soon out
weighed 'the joy: She: could have died
and Smiled in death; itS worst pang would
have been that-her: brother after all was
not savedii Should' die !. ' A
faintness never. felt before in her young
limbs; came over them. EXeitement; hor
ror, cold, fatigue , had weakened botl(spul
and body When Mechecuriaqua, for the
torch-bearer was the LittloTUrtle hitrisplf----
caMe to the tree where they had tied her,
'she was hanging lifeless in her bonds.
The chief looked amazed the pale lips
showed no shamming ; lte ,laughed
ly in scorn of the long knife who had been
scared to death--7-or .was'it the faintness of
a Wound 7 fle . ordered the belt which held
her to , the:tree, to be 10, tied, tho wrists
to be set free, and. laying lholjody - npen:
the earth;threw open the hunting shirt 'to,
disCoVer. A grunt of extraerdinnry
tenishment burst front - I:. the group of bind
ing sealplOClts, for one 'glance showed the,
sex of the captive. At that,moment came
messengers who. reported :the White . arMy
alarnied and in motion ;'for:Slongh on his
way in had infOrMed Col; oldliaiii,thilf the
foe were near in force; and, theYSliould s
eertainlY.lio attached. in the Morning or
sooner,and thiekingthe srtine froM
tho;repOrtS Of hi . 4 . ipieS, had, 'detached' scy
end sniall pititieS ttic,
AT. ONI DaLLAti, A YCA.II, J . t ADVAN C E .
The Little Turtle, who knew of St. Clitir's
habit of getting his men under mans beflire
day-light and then . dismissing them_-ter
breakfast, had planned,—What ho
performed,—a surprise between, daybreak
and sun-rise, when all would beguard ;
but this information, that St. Clair was a
larmed and in motion, made him fear his
\dole plan abortive., Hastily directing a
follower to send a squaw to the young pale
face, he at once left to re-arrange
his red-men. One captive and that a Wo
man, was of.small interest compared with
ho news just delivered, and Dora, still
Isensible, was left, "deserted on the icy
At last, life painfully came again ;
ten recollection ; she moved; she was
:fee ; she tried to pierce the darkness, but t
could not. Where was she? How came,
she free? Presently she heard that heavy
breathing. again. Reassured, she rose,
and, directed by the sound reached the
tree where she thought Grey was tied;
and whispering in the captives ear .that it,
was a friend, with trembling fingers she
took the gag from his mouth. She had
been right;, it was he. A few minutes
more and lie too was at liberty. Ile had
seen the body of a captive laid on the
ground not far from him, but had not seen
the face amid the circle of savages. Deep,
was his gratitude and joy to find his deliv
er to be his dearest friend ; but how much
deeper the joy of that deliver.
And now they would have freed the oth
ers, but again. a torch was seen ; the
squaws were • grumbling on their wayin
search of the pale face. Not knowing
iihiaci they ` - agent;—the — two - Americans
glided away. •
They took, fortunately for them, the ve
ry opposite direction from that which they
would have taken had they known the
points of the compass, and so went direct
,ly north. It was fortunate for them,he
cauSe the Indians, when Little Turtle had
Int length prevailed in the council soon af
ter midnight, had drawn' in close about the
devoted army,' and when Dora first saw
by the stars-the direction they had taken,
they were far behind the foe. They then
changed their course, and judging the sav
ages were •between them and their com
rades, made a detour to ' the West until,
shortly before day , break, they struck the
creel" on which St. Clair had encamped,
but some distance below him. This they
crossed, to escape any flanking party of
red-men ; and soon heard the drums of the
regiments, then about being disbanded for
"Thank God, they arc alive and up,"
cried Grey. "Slough gave the alarm, and
the old man will have the red-skins now
in spite of his crutches. "• And Slough laid
given the alarm, but to heedless cars. He
had reported to Gen. Butler, as was pro
per, his owni conviction and that of Col.
Oldham, that the enemy was before them
in great - force, and" would attack in the
morning or earlier. Butler; an old Indian I
trader and hunter, despised the regulars
with whoM he acted, whenever Indians I
were concerned : the militia he despised
for their insubiardination ; St. Clair he de
spised also, as a worn-out invalid. Indeed
they were nett at that time on speaking
terms. Slough and Oldham, communica
ted nothing definite; only their own con- I
victions, What were they worth ? But
ler sent no word to St. Clair; took no'
measures to prevent a surprise. A braVe
man himself, he would have felt like a
coward to alarm the whole army on such
grounds. llis courage Cost ninny
Had St. Clair received the accounts
Slough and Oldham, he would have at
tacked the Indians, and Mecheeunaqua's
plans would have failed. •
As Grey and his comrade drew nearer
to the army they moved with greater
stealth and care. Day had now lirirlv bro.
ken.' Presently, far" to their left, were
heard yells, shouts, rifles, and that sea-like
sound of -many feet shaking the earth.
In a moment more the drums beat again.,
and in front of the fugitives the clash and
hubbub of jhe ranks forming suddenly rose
on the frosty ail. • .
"It is the attack"—said Grey, '
—"but -what arc those sounds to the left 1"
"The yell of the savages 4 - the cries of
. Kentuckians," answen.eti ' McCrca, "the
militia has been driven hack." •
Dora was right. Oldham; Waiting for
ordet's, •had •taken no 'efficient steps to ,pre
vent it Surprise. His Corps, were taken
untiwarc., and rushing baCk 'lrPon the reg
ulars throw 'all into conftislon and art the
day. We need net . folloW' ;he details of
the battle; they' are known but too
When the fugitives of our tale rertehed the
field all Was eonftision. The surVivor'S
of MeCren's company • were - scattered
wherever there was shelter. Kirkwood
was, killed. Throuh - the 'dreadful car
nafre of those' threel tours and a half, the
friends, 'seizing the Mans of the fallen,
fought aide by side. At last the word!
spread,that the troops Were to retreat.
4 4 fite a drew Of bullocks," as a spectator
St`iyS, 4 , the survivors pressed' 10. the right.
In the 'press, Dora flaind her Self alone:
She StrUggled forward With whatWasthe't
the &Tair of terror, he was net'there
she ittoviiroid the hastening crowd Nl;itllwhat 7
mcn deciped the 'apathy of cOwardice,. l
butt she could net sec liana ; sheturned rind .
strove aridly to stem the:: flunian torrent,
tualdie'Wittilii4*(l6c the fnmall`ritti'ltil of
titirsdiWc, tOri•eat bore
lieu ,Bong -c• Once '.lnord'Obe presS'6o'
C[c , vb. An!, Pioneer, 11:150.
NUMB'EIt", 4 „.
'ward ; 'ho was strong,' active-7L--ho' was , in
the adVance s She ran till her limbs,'Whieh
had not rested : for so, many limn* failed
her, and she sunk b' the roadside: '..The
flying troops 'Stilt huriaed by--4ineni wo
men, and boys—some on foot; some (it*.
&d ••horses. The yells' of the foo-Who,
stooping to sc.:hip those they,slew, followed
slowly, were just Wilde. Amid' theclowd
of terrified runners she could. see no:form
like his., The tide 'of - life ' that' had once . ~
before that morning, again floWed baelt ,
ward. ' The hideous scalp-shrieks 'dreiv
nearer, she closed her eyes and resigried
hei'sclf once more to death. ' ~.
A hand was laid, on her shoulder. "She
looked, sprang vp 7 --.4t was Grey, but So ,_
deathly pale 'she scarcely knew hith ; •
what was it A wound, a ball through the.-' , •
shoulder ; his dress was dripping -with
blood. He had sought his saviour of the
morning-in front and ar re ; had pressed 0
too near the enemy, a rifle had sped its
ball dose to his heart. In an instant Do
ra's wearied limbs seemed rested, even as
Grey sank exhausted) by her side. Scalp.
screams came nearer. She gave one glance
at him—he was senseless ; one at the
chances of escape near by, which her Own.
fate had never led her to look at.' Snow
still covered the earth, but here and there ,
were batches of bare leaves. !At a little
distance was an old moss grown tree-skel
fallen half a century before. Many
it,,time had Dora hidden in ~such in her
childhood., Afew step carried her
it was, as she guessed s ,
hollow. She re
turned ; lifted with her whole life-energy
thehody pfhint she loved, and bore it to
the rotten log. With difficulty she
brought back his senses by the help of the
snow around them ; bound his wound ; ..
pointed out his danger and only place of
refuge; and just as the Indians appeared
in the road almost beside them, filled the •
open end of their hiding-place with the
leaves that had before hidden within it from
November winds. .
It was a happy thought thus to push_
those within out, rather than to draw upi
those that lay about the opening. Dora,
and he whom she had twice saved, .lay . •
feet to feet, unable to' speak ; • but though
speech was denied them, hearing was not.
They heard steps ; voises ; . nearer and
nearer they came ; IoW, t uttural sounds
were heard just over theM. Presently two
or more Indians, invited by the mossy scat,
sat down over their beads, then they heard
a gurgle, as Alio whiskey canteen of some
dead regular was applied to savage lips,
then laughter and yells ; presently a white
man's voice—perhaps. Simon Girty'S, he
is said to have !been there''---asked what
was in that log they were on. The tipsy
Indian stuck his hand into the hollow and
answered "leaves, leaves."-
F]re long :the love_ of -blood out grew that
of the fire 7 water, and the green log cover
ed• less palpitating lea ts. Then came the
sounds of the returning victors, and then
the silence of night. The fugitives ven
' tuned forth. The cold, earth-mouldering
wood had stopped Grey's bleeding, but he
1 1 was still weak from the blood he had lost.
They both needed food ; they had not eat
ror twenty-four hOUrs—Dora silently
disappeared. She went to the battle-field
and procured some flour, meat, and spirits
from the slain, for many of the army, in
the absence of
legale supplies, had provided
'illegal. She tore off the im-seen dead
1 men's linen to, make bandages for him that
lived. She' took their coats for his bed.
Four days passed. The Indians, load
ed with scalps and spoils, had gone north
ward. The whites were getting their
breaths and spinning their ' yarns in forts
Hamilton and Washington. The vultures,
' and the buzzards, and the carrion crows,
possess - ed the battle-field. Grey, , his
strength almost restored, had gone out to
look at the traces of death, while his coin
rade, having now,for the first time dared
to light a fire, prepared some civilized, food,.
I The young officer wandered some way to= .
wards the ground-44 the engagement, till
I warned by weakness- he turned again.—
Sauntering along, in that luxury of lazi
ness, known . only to the valetudinarian, he
saw, suddenly a figure before him. , It was McCrea, whein lur4iod left over the kettle,
only so dart' . ';'OI4SSQ(.I !. ' ' 7
tsWhere, " ,'`did' you get That 1"
. cried he: '-- ' ' - . . .
"Ha ! you know me !" said the ether,
with a savage; wreddeSS gravity, thatni
tonished Grey, beyond' rtieastire. , • '7
"Know you, my dear: John,
'I have' tea,
Son to know 'you. But why thisintraiquer
ado'? Is breakfast ready 1" '
,McCrea. stared - With an air of 'one
liadmet A, madman : "Who itie you'?"
said he; 4 s.licke have you seen me 7' ."':
• • Grey tboUghtthe gay young woodsman
playing,a Part, in his joy, for their'safety . ;
so putting On a part hirnself, - he'repll44H .
"You're mad; John—raving crazy.: ' Ottr '
escapes, our wounds, our 64:n.1 . 1,411,g; ,our
freeziwr,-havC turned your head,. John:,'
must breed yeti, my boy." ' • " '.' `,',,'
The boy—it was'John; : himself-46M
stupefied. He had froth - his hiding:44w
gone back to Cincinnati-4ad'learned thal-
John McCrea had niarehed with his &Mi._
panylitid . guessed. 'his Sister's sacrifice' - '
and when' the breath of d4fliat xeliLchettiii .
--stung into . .., Heroism by • d • , .-4,447 , ~,.,
shame and fearliad gone. nrsoi( h :,,
to die if she Were deadi; '''"- 0 ' f'Ar, .
tIVO to redeem her .. 314(t," ''
, , •
Grey'S iast worost.
*Stoic 6,lAfc ofl3f'
1 , ,