Chapter IV

Unsated with horror and carnage,
Their arms all bedabbled with gore,
The foemen, with purpose determined,
Assembled the block-house before,
And their leader exclaimed, “Ho! John Lewis!
The Mingos are here at the door.

“The mystery-men of our nation
Declare that the blood you have shed
Has fallen so fastly and freely
The white clover flowers have grown red;
And that never will safety be with us
Till you are a prisoner or dead.

“So keep us not waiting, old panther;
Come forth from your log-bounded lair!
If in quiet you choose to surrender,
Your life at the least we will spare;
But refuse, and the scalping-knife bloody
Shall circle ere long in your hair.”

“Cowards all,” answered Lewis; “now mark me.
Beside me are good-rifles three;
I can sight on the bead true as ever,
My wife she can load, do you see?
You may war upon children and women,
Beware how you war upon me.”

They rushed on the block-house in anger;
They rushed on the block-house in vain;
Swift sped the round ball from the rifle—
The foremost invader was slain;
And ere they could bear back the fallen,
The dead of the foemen were twain.

So, firmly and sternly he fought them,
And steadily, six hours and more;
And often they rushed to the combat,
And often in terror forbore;
But never they wounded John Lewis,
Who slew of their number a score.

Ah, woe to your white hair, old hunter,
When powder and bullet be done;
You shall die by the slowest of tortures
When these shall the battle have won.
Look then to your Maker for mercy,
The Mingo will surely have none.