The way was wild and often barred By trees and rocks; and it was hard To keep our hearts from sinking; But thoughts of those we'd left behind Gave strength to muscle and to mind To help us onward through the blind Deep woods. And often we would find Ourselves of loved ones thinking.
The hot stockade. No water left. The fierce attack. All hope bereft The powder-grimed defender. The war-cry and the groan of pain. All day the slanting arrow-rain Of fire from the corn and cane. The stern defence, but all in vain. And then at last--surrender.
But not for Bryan's!--no! too well Must they remember what befell At Ruddle's and take warning. So thought we as, all dust and sweat, We rode with faces forward set, And came to Station Boone while yet An hour from noon ... We had not let Our horses rest since morning.
Here Ellis met us with his men. They did not stop nor tarry then. That little band of lions; But setting out at once with aid, Right well you know how unafraid They charged the Indian ambuscade, And through a storm of bullets made Their entrance into Bryan's.
And that is all I have to tell. No more the Huron's hideous yell Sounds to assault and slaughter.-- Perhaps to us some praise is due; But we are men, accustomed to Such dangers, which we often woo. Much more is due our women who Brought to the Station--water.