The sight of them so enraged Simon, the
armorer, who was now generally recognized as commandant, that he
determined to sally forth at the head of a strong party and bring about
a decisive battle, which he had no doubt would result in a victory for
the whites.
Although he could muster but about fifty able-bodied men, so sadly had
fever and lack of proper food ravaged the garrison, the old soldier,
who held the fighting qualities of the savages in great contempt,
deemed this number amply sufficient for his purpose, and marched forth
confidently at their head. They met with no enemy until they had
nearly reached the shell mound, and were preparing to charge upon the
savages, who still remained gathered about it.
Suddenly the whites found themselves completely surrounded by a great
number of Indians, who seemed to spring, as though by magic, from every
bush and from behind every tree. So secretly had their approach been
made that the first notice Simon and those with him had of the ambush
into which they had fallen, was a vast discharge of arrows and spears
into their ranks. These were accompanied by such blood-curdling yells
that they affected the white men almost as fearfully as the roar of
their own artillery had terrified the savages in the morning.
Rallying from their first panic, they made a desperate attempt to force
their way back to the fort, and struggled like men who knew their lives
were at stake.
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