in
January 16th, 2003
Piercing yells rended the trees and shrubbery around the ruins of the village and alarmed the
British soldiers. Then some frighteningly painted Huron warriors broke cover with hatchets raised
high above their heads. Some Huron fired their muskets into the mob of red uniforms. The British
fell into their fire drills and aimed shots towards the Indians, but most of them were cut down by
hatchets, knives, and clubs after they fired their first shots and began to reload. The officers
drew out their sabers from scabbards and pistols from belts. Some infantryman took cover in the
ruined huts of the village but were soon found by tomahawks and knives. Gradually it became a
terrible battle of pistols, tomahawks, knives, swords, and rifle butts. The red man watched with
keen eyes all the carnage from his hut. The combat was moving towards the center of the village. The
red man heard the pained cries of the Red-Coats and his thoughts returned to the day his village was
raided. When the fighting finally made its way to the outside of his hut he decided his course of
action. These beleagured British men were not his allies nor his enemies, but he held a long grudge
against the Huron and Iroquois, and he was not a stranger to them in battle. He strapped his quiver across his back, grabbed his bow, and dropped his tomahawk and knife into his belt. With a loud warcry he ran out into the throng!
Major Habbukuk Meyard shouted his orders from atop his tan horse in a near mouth-foaming
rage. The Indians had seemingly come out of nowhere, totally destroying his plans for the column of
well-trained men. His saber was red and his first pistol spent on a Huron. He saw many red uniformed
soldiers hewn by hatchets and killed with muskets on that fateful day. He drew another flint-lock
from his belt and shouted at his guards to take up shooting positions. Yells of savage blood-lust mingled with shouts of "FIRE!" and "CHARGE!". He shot down a warrior that ran
wildly at him with ax high over his head at only five paces. He was slowly being seperated by the
fighting from his guards and officers. Then, as the Major finished loading another pistol, he was
swamped by ten savages. He slew two with pistol and saber but the rest dragged him down from his horse and it bolted away into the wilderness with fright. The Major was locked in combat with the largest of the warriors with the rest closing in for the kill. Then the great warrior sighed and dropped his tomahawk, as if tired with all the brutal blood-shed, then fell heavily forward onto Meyard with a hawk fletched arrow stuck deep in his menacingly painted back. Then the circle of seven remaining Huron warriors looked away from Meyard and their dead leader towards the origin of the shot. "La Mohawk! La Terribles Mohawk!", they cried even as more brown feathered arrows fell among them, for he was a bitter enemy even in his younger days. Then Meyard saw his salvation. A brawny man in buckskin clothes was running his direction while at the same time firing at least fifteen arrows a minute with awe inspiring accuracy. Two of his attackers took shafts through the throat and another fell with a cry and an arrow in his chest. The red bowman then shoved his bow into something strapped to his back and from his belt withdrew a long knife and keen tomahawk. He chased the four survivors away from Meyard and kept on running after them into the
trees. He heaved the heavy body of the Indian leader off of his waist and staggered to his feet after taking up his sword and one remaining loaded pistol. He looked into the trees after the red man and his quarry. "Thank the Lord in Heaven for such blessing as is now bestowed upon me."
The red man wasn't even sweating but the four men he chased were getting tired enough that he could
hear their heavy breathing. One had fired his rifle over his shoulder at him, missing and striking a
tree, a sign of being worn down. One was lagging now, his first chance! He tomahawk hummed as it
flew in a spinning arc into the Huron's back. The red man jerked the blade free as he ran past the
body without slowing his pursuit of the remaining three. Suddenly, without the red man noticing, one of the three veered off and hid behind a tree. He waited silently with tomahawk ready to hew the red man's face. He saw him run by and swung out into..... open air! A sense of cold dread fell over the
Huron just before the red man's long knife blade killed him. The two others got off lightly from
their comrade's sacrifice. The buckskin clad man then walked backed to the village clearing to find
near total annihilation of the British fighting force.
The host of men was meant to reinforce the defenders of Fort Edward before the French General Clarion's army arrived. All of the Huron warparty had fled, leaving a grisly reminder in the form of terrible destruction for others to take care in the woods just below the border in what in some years would be Canada. The red man saw an officer sitting in the grass with a map
inside the ring of huts. Five paces from him five soldiers were attempting a fire. The soldiers watched him with cautious eyes as drew a handful of grass from the forest floor and wiped off his soiled blades. When he came to sit with them one picked up his rifle and prepared a shot at the stranger. This was answered, quick as lightining, by the Indian dropping his ax and knife and drawing an arrow tight on his bow. This encouraged the other three to cock their rifles and the fifth, who lay wounded on the ground, pointed a pistol. The highest ranking soldier began his firing command but was cut off by Major Meyard running over to them and shouting,"Lower your arms, fools! I owe this man my life! Sir, words cannot explain my gratitude for your actions in the day's terrible battle." "Gratitude is hardly needed, 'sir'," the red man replied in fine, clear English to the surprise of the
Britishmen, "My charge merely led me in your direction. All that I saw was a large Huron with his tomahawk raised above his head. And he was the easiest target of the ten warriors. As I ran after the three cowards that were left, I thought the man had slain you, but obviously not. I dare say that I might accept your gratitude, if it is all that you offer. I could use drink but a great amount of deer and duck awaits us in my hut." The seven men, with the wounded soul helped by two companions, began walking under the stars to the red man's hovel to have a small feast of stewed duck and venison.
See more stories by Joseph
