The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1869-04-06

/ sorrowful tale connected with it.
Long ago, when the settlers lived In
ear of the Indians, who often came
Town the river to rob and kill, a fort
vas built mean the town, and there
he people hurried for protection the
moment an alarm was given.
Between this fort and the town
stands the old tree, which was a Wig
,rous young oak at the time the story
begins.
For a long while the settlers had
been at peace, and began TO think |
that the Indians would never come
again, for their last repulse had been
a most disastrous one.
But one autumn day, when the men
were busy harvesting in the fields, a
boy, who had been fishing, came flying
home, pale and frightened. to report
that the Indians were coming in a
whole fleet of canoes. padding down
the 'long river of pines, as they
called the Connecticut.
Then the panic began, and all hur
ried to the fort. taking their women
and children, their cattle, and as
much of their precious harvest as
they could gather in that short time.
The inmates of a few solitary houses
on the outskirts of the town were left
to their fate, for there was no time to
warn them, except by the bell.
Some of the women fed to the fort,
leaving the men who were away In the
fields, or on the hills, tc defend them
selves as they knew now.
Some hid in the woods, fearing to
try to reach the fort, for the canoes
were very near now, and the keen
eyed savages could see the fugitives.
In one Of these lonely houses lived
John Kilburn and his twelve year
old daughter, Matty. who kept house
for him like a notable little woman as
| she was.
On that sad day John was looking
after his sheep at the foot of Fall
| Mountain, and Matty alone at home.
| He did not hear the bell. but he saw
| the Indians thought Of his dear little
girl all alone in the solitary house,
and leaving his sheep to their fate, he
ran home through by-ways, hoping to
reach the settlement before the fight
! began. He knew it would be bloody
net forgotten their last defeat, and
1
their conquerers.
They were already on shore. when
John Kilburn, breathless and ex-
hausted, reached his house to find
brave little Matty preparing to defend
| herself, with his gun in her hand and
the dogs at her side.
/" Why didn't you run to the fort, !"
child?' he painted, as she let him in.
. [ waited for you; knew you'd
come, and now We'll go together, she
said. showing him her pockets full of
the few precious things they owned; a
little money, her mothers gold beads,
the silver spoons and the queer, big
watch, which her father only wore on
Sundays.
Away they ran. leaving the dogs
behind, lest they should berray them.
1t was not far, but when they
reached the hill that lay between
them and the fort, they saw that it
was too late to get in, for the fight
had begun.
CHANGING back, they also saw that
retreat was cut eff, for some of the
Indians were already skulking about
their house,
John KilburE was a brave man,
but he trembled as be stood there
among the bushes, so helpless in the
midst OF his relentless enemies. He
trembled not for himself, but for the
little girl who chung to him, full OF
faith that he could save her from
every danger.
A shout from the hills made him
look up to see party of settlers,
armed with sickles, scythes and guns
charging down upon the Indians,
intent upon fighting their way to the
fort.
If he were alone, John could join
them and do good service with his
gun; but Matty could do nothing, and
would only impede his steps and en-
danger herself.
He thought a minute, then swung
himself up into the oak under which
they had passed. Leaning down, he
drew the child after him, aud without
a word let her carefully down into a
deep hollow, made by the breaking of
a great limb struck by lightning some
years before.
The tree had decayed inwardly.
while outwardly it looked hale and
strong, for young shoots had sprung
i
| the hole with thick, green branches.
" Aren't you coming, too, fatherY'
asked Matty, looking up from her
dark hiding place.
" No, dear, I'm going to fight; you
are safe here; no one knows Of the
hole but me. Keep a good heart, my
lass, and trust to father" answered
John, leaning down to kiss the brave
little face that looked at him from the
green gloom.
Matty let him go without word :;
1 for those perilous times taught stern
lessons even to the children. She sat
quite still, said her prayers with all
| her heart, and waited patiently for
father.
All that afternoon and night, shots
rang from fort and forest, flames rose
from the lonely farm houses, and
blood flowed. But by dawn the fight
was over, and the Indians skunk away,
defeated.
John Kilburn was MORALLY wound
ed, and only reached the fort to die,
| trying vainly to tell something which
kept him from departing in peace.
No one understood his broken
words, his imploring looks and feeble
| gestures toward the hill
They thought he tried to tell them
that Matty was carried off by the
Ineians; and he died with his secret
fear darkening his last hour.
| Nor many days no one ventured to
leave the fort, fearing to be surprised
blythe Indians, so poor Matty's cries
were unheard; and when at last the
men ventured to return to their work.
all was still under the oak, and the
rustling leaves could not tell them of
the pale little face lying dead in the
green gloom.
A long while after the last fight,