that, perhaps, the Injuns, not finding me in the wigwam, might lie in wait round about it, expecting my return, and so delay the attack upon friend Ashburn’s house; whereby I might have time to reach him, and warn him of his danger again; and this idea prevailed with me, so that I rose me up again, and, with little Peter at my side, I ran back again, until I had reached this very field; when Peter gave me to know the Injuns were hard by.  Thee don’t know little Peter, friend; truly, he has the strongest nose for an Injun thee ever saw.  Does thee not fear how he whines and snuffs along the grass?  Now, friend, were it not that this is a bloody spot that Peter remembers well, because of the wicked deeds he saw performed, I would know by his whining, as truly as if he were to open his mouth and say as much in words, that there were evil Injuns nigh at hand, and that it behooved me to be up and a-doing.  Well, friend, as I was saying,—­it was with such words as these that little Peter told me that mischief was nigh; and, truly, I had scarce time to hide me in the corn, which was then in the ear, before I heard the direful yells with which the bloodthirsty creatures, who were then round about the house, woke up its frighted inmates.  Verily, friend, I will not shock thee by telling thee what I heard and saw.  There was a fate on the family, and even on the animals that looked to it for protection.  Neither horse nor cow gave them the alarm; and even the house-dog slept so soundly, that the enemies dragged loose brush into the porch and fired it, before any one but themselves dreamed of danger.  It was when the flames burst out that the warwhoop was sounded; and when the eyes of the sleepers opened, it was only to see themselves surrounded by flames and raging Shawnees.  Then, friend,” continued Nathan, speaking with a faltering and low voice, graduated for the ears of Roland, for whom alone the story was intended, though others caught here and there some of its dismal revealments, “then, thee may think, there was rushing out of men, women, and children, with the cracking of rifles, the crashing of hatchets, the plunge of knives, with yells and shrieks such as would turn thee spirit into ice and water to hear.  It was a fearful massacre; but, friend, fearful as it was, these eyes of mine had looked on one more dreadful before:  thee would not believe it, friend, but thee knows not what them see who have spent their lives on the Injun border.—­Well, friend,” continued the narrator, after this brief digression, “while they were murdering the stronger, I saw the weakest of all,—­the old grandam, with the youngest babe in her arms, come flying into the corn; and she had reached this very tree that has fallen but now, as if to remind me of the story, when the pursuer,—­for it was but a single man they sent in chase of the poor feeble old woman, caught up with her, and struck her down with his tomahawk.  Then, friend,—­for, truly, I saw it all in the light of the fire, being scarce two rods off,—­he snatched the poor babe from the dying woman’s arms, and struck it with the same bloody hatchet,—­”