“The dog of a Saganaw asks for mercy,” said a voice from within the bomb-proof, and speaking in the dialect of the Ottawas.  “His pale flag bespeaks the quailing of his heart, and his attitude denotes the timidity of the hind.  His warriors are like himself, and even now upon their knees they call upon their Manitou to preserve them from the vengeance of the red-skins.  But mercy is not for dogs like these.  Now is the time to make our tomahawks warm in their blood; and every head that we count shall be a scalp upon our war poles.”

As he ceased, one universal and portentous yell burst from the fiend-like band; and again the weapons of death were fiercely brandished around the heads of the stupified soldiers who had fallen into their power.

“What can they be about?” anxiously exclaimed Captain Erskine, in the midst of this deafening clamour, to his subaltern.—­“Quiet, man; damn you, quiet, or I’ll cut you down,” he pursued, addressing one of his soldiers, whose impatience caused him to bring his musket half up to the shoulder.  And again he turned his head in the direction of the fort:—­“Thank God, here it comes at last,—­I feared my signal had not been noticed.”

While he yet spoke, the loud roaring of a cannon from the ramparts was heard, and a shower of grape-shot passed over the heads of the detachment, and was seen tearing up the earth around the bomb-proof, and scattering fragments of stone and wood into the air.  The men simultaneously and unbidden gave three cheers.

In an instant the scene was changed.  As if moved by some mechanical impulse, the fierce band that lined the bomb-proof sank below the surface, and were no longer visible, while the warriors in the forest again sought shelter behind the trees.  The captured soldiers were also liberated without injury, so sudden and startling had been the terror produced in the savages by the lightning flash that announced its heavy messengers of destruction.  Discharge after discharge succeeded without intermission; but the guns had been levelled so high, to prevent injury to their own men, they had little other effect than to keep the Indians from the attack.  The rush of bullets through the close forest, and the crashing of trees and branches as they fell with startling force upon each other, were, with the peals of artillery, the only noises now to be heard; for not a yell, not a word was uttered by the Indians after the first discharge; and but for the certainty that existed in every mind, it might have been supposed the whole of them had retired.

“Now is your time,” cried Captain Erskine; “bring in the litter to the rear, and stoop as much as possible to avoid the shot.”

The poor half-strangled fellows, however, instead of obeying the order of their captain, looked round in every direction for the enemy by whom they had been so rudely handled, and who had glided from them almost as imperceptibly and swiftly as they had first approached.  It seemed as if they apprehended that any attempt to remove the body would be visited by those fierce devils with the same appalling and ferocious threatenings.