I was sitting directly alongside of him, holding the baby, when the attack burst on us.  It was sundown, and I was staring with all my eyes at Silas Dunlap who was just in the final act of dying.  His wife, Sarah, had one hand resting on his forehead.  Both she and her Aunt Martha were crying softly.  And then it came—­explosions and bullets from hundreds of rifles.  Clear around from east to west, by way of the north, they had strung out in half a circle and were pumping lead in our position.  Everybody in the rifle pit flattened down.  Lots of the younger children set up a-squalling, and it kept the women busy hushing them.  Some of the women screamed at first, but not many.

Thousands of shots must haven rained in on us in the next few minutes.  How I wanted to crawl out to the trench under the wagons where our men were keeping up a steady but irregular fire!  Each was shooting on his own whenever he saw a man to pull trigger on.  But mother suspected me, for she made me crouch down and keep right on holding the baby.

I was just taking a look at Silas Dunlap—­he was still quivering—­when the little Castleton baby was killed.  Dorothy Castleton, herself only about ten, was holding it, so that it was killed in her arms.  She was not hurt at all.  I heard them talking about it, and they conjectured that the bullet must have struck high on one of the wagons and been deflected down into the rifle pit.  It was just an accident, they said, and that except for such accidents we were safe where we were.

When I looked again Silas Dunlap was dead, and I suffered distinct disappointment in being cheated out of witnessing that particular event.  I had never been lucky enough to see a man actually die before my eyes.

Dorothy Castleton got hysterics over what had happened, and yelled and screamed for a long time and she set Mrs. Hastings going again.  Altogether such a row was raised that father sent Watt Cummings crawling back to us to find out what was the matter.

Well along into twilight the heavy firing ceased, although there were scattering shots during the night.  Two of our men were wounded in this second attack, and were brought into the rifle pit.  Bill Tyler was killed instantly, and they buried him, Silas Dunlap, and the Castleton baby, in the dark alongside of the others.

All during the night men relieved one another at sinking the well deeper; but the only sign of water they got was damp sand.  Some of the men fetched a few pails of water from the spring, but were fired upon, and they gave it up when Jeremy Hopkins had his left hand shot off at the wrist.

Next morning, the third day, it was hotter and dryer than ever.  We awoke thirsty, and there was no cooking.  So dry were our mouths that we could not eat.  I tried a piece of stale bread mother gave me, but had to give it up.  The firing rose and fell.  Sometimes there were hundreds shooting into the camp.  At other times came lulls in which not a shot was fired.  Father was continually cautioning our men not to waste shots because we were running short of ammunition.