The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1890-03-19
HENNEssY,s LAST EIGHT.
A Vivid Account of the Brave Pats En-
counter with the Cheyennes-How
He Welded His Winchester.

He Welded His Winchester.
Quite direct runs the old trail south
ward from Arkansas City, Kas., to Ok
lahoma City. Along this trail the
travellers eager eye beholds a monu-
ment erected out of the native stone.
Here lies the body of brave Pat Hen
messy, who was murdered by the Chev-
enne Indians in 1876. Many are the
tales told of Pat and his many narrow
escapes from the red devils of the
plains. Of these it is not the purpose
to speak at present, but to record his
last great fight, where Pat proved
himself very Gatling-gun of death TO
his implacable foes. Pat is we'll re-
membered as an old-time Fort Sill
freighter, and at the time of his tragi-
cal death was on his way from Cald-
well, Kas., to the fort with six wagons
and three trail wagons. With him
were three men. One of these, a ten
derfoot from Boston, had great de-
sire to kill an Indian. John Korison
was his name. He little knew how
soon he would get more killing than
he wanted and undergo an exper-
ience seldom equaled in border trage-
dies.
One afternoon, shortly after they
had gone into camp, they were attack
ed by band of 800 or 400 Cheyenne
braves with all the suddenness and
terrible ferocity peculiar to Indian
warfare. Hennessy saw them coming
and instantly ordered the men to run
for a canon just west of the trail. They
misunderstood the direction, and in
stead of west took the trail north. The
mistake hastened their DOOM With
wild yells of savage-delight the In
dians circled around the three men.
Korison was left behind in the race.
He saw Indians on every side. No
chance of escape, death certain His
alarm was over. The tenderfoot was
a man. With rapidity that indicated
a previous training he raised his Win
chester and fired into the Indians with
shots so quick they almost seemed one
Deadly shooting, too, for five painted
warriors had gone down, their death
cry ringing out and mingling with the
dog-like snarls of several who were
wounded. The Indians returned the
fire and the three white men fell.
Old Pat saw the fight from his re-
treat in the rocks. His mind had un-
dergone great change in regard to
the man from Boston, and as the say
ages rushed to scalp the three fallen
men his own deadly Winchester came
to his shoulder, the sights caught the
dusky form of big Indian just in the
act of scalping Korison. The rifle
belched forth its messenger of death,
and a red fiend sprang high into the
air, then sank down still and dead. 1t
was not that fiend of the plains, Black
Scar, but another redskin, who, rush
ing onward to try for the scalp of Kor-
ison, met his own well-deserved fate
from the sure aim of Pat. With wells
of fury, the Indians left the three pros
trate forms to attack their more formi-
dable enemy, and from the belts of
three bucks there dangled the scalps
of three whites.
Hennessy was well prepared for de-
fense-an immense rock behind, rocks
at the side and in front also, which was
the only point at which an attack could
be made, and there over the rock
cleaned with deadly menace his six
teen-shot Winchester. Swift now and
hot the fight. Over 800 against one.
but that one cool, determined and des-
perate-a host in himself Into the
advancing horde go rifle balls on er-
rands of death, killing and wounding
as they tear through the red ranks.
With insane courage the savages rush
up within ten yards of the rock. Pat
no longer sights his gun; he rests it on
rock, cocks it with one hand and
pulls the lever and trigger with the
other, and point blank into the red
devils he sends an almost continuous
stream of leaden balls. They wayer,
break, retreat, but only for a mo-
ment.
The chief has been killed, but Black
Scar takes command, waves aloft the
scalp of Korison, points to the dead
braves, calls for vengeance, and orders
the fight to be renewed. This time
the attack is made in front and at both
sides. If they can scale the rocks at
the sides Pat will be at their mercy.
From the death-dealing point in front
the good old Winchester again pours
forth its terrible destruction, and at
the loud command of Black Scar they
surge around in front, face to face with
their desperate foe. Pats revolver,
self-cocker, does deadly work, fired
into the yelling mass ten feet away,
the last load gone, and again the Win
chester, at close range, covers the
ground with dead and dying. The red
monsters are forced back from that
death-vomiting rock, back from a sin
gle gun, back from one man, back
from brave Pat Hennessy.
In few moments the whole band
would have fled, when suddenly the
firing ceased. Pats gun had become
so dirty and hot by such constant firing
that, horrible to relate, while attempt
ing to put in a cartridge it stuck fast
and could not be forced either in OF
out. The Indians supposed he was out
of ammunition, and with savage yells
rushed in to secure their prize. Pat
met them with dubbed gun, and
broken heads and bones were plenty
as they came within sweep of his strong
arms in the death struggle; but those
behind still pressed on, and he was soon
overpowered and secured. Infuriated
at the loss of SO many of their number,
they took poor Pat, tore his scalp from
his head, bound him to one of his own
wagon wheels, emptied sacks of oats
around him and set him on fire. Just
as they commenced their devilish tor
ture and dance around their victim
they heard shot echo from the dis
tance. The alarm was raised that the
soldiers were coming, and the stam-
pede at once began, Picking up the
wounded and some of the dead the
Indians mounted their horses and
scampered off.
There he was buried next day by
some other freighters. The bodies of
thirty dead Indians were also found
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