The Poetry Corner

How They Brought Aid to Bryan's Station

By Madison Julius Cawein

During the siege of Bryan's Station, Kentucky, August 16, 1782, Nicholas Tomlinson and Thomas Bell, two inhabitants of the Fort, undertook to ride through the besieging Indian and Tory lines to Lexington, Ky., for aid. It happened also during this siege that the pioneer women of the Fort, when the water supply was exhausted, heroically carried water from a spring, at a considerable distance outside the palisades of the Station, to its inmates, under the very guns of the enemy. With saddles girt and reins held fast, Our rifles well in front, at last Tom Bell and I were mounted. The gate swung wide. We said, "Good-bye." No time for talk had Bell and I. One said, "God speed!" another, "Fly!" Then out we galloped. Live or die, We felt each moment counted. The trace, the buffaloes had worn, Stretched broad before us; and the corn And cane through which it wended, We knew for acres from the gate Hid Indian guile and Tory hate. We rode with hearts that seemed to wait For instant death; and on our fate The Station's fate depended. No rifle cracked. No creature stirred, As on towards Lexington we spurred Unflinchingly together. We reached the woods: no savage shout Of all the wild Wyandotte rout And Shawanese had yet rung out: But now and then an Indian scout Showed here a face and feather. We rode expecting death each stride From thicket depth or tree-trunk side, Where some red foe might huddle - For well we knew that renegade, The blood-stained Girty, had not stayed His fiends from us, who rode for aid, - The dastard he who had betrayed The pioneers of Ruddle. And when an arrow grazed my hair I did not turn, I did not spare To spur as men spur warward: A war-whoop rang this side a rock: Then painted faces swarmed, to block Our way, with brandished tomahawk And rifle: then a shout, a shock - And we again rode forward. They followed; but 'twas no great while Before from them by some long mile Of forest we were sundered. We galloped on. I'd lost my gun; And Bell, whose girth had come undone, Rode saddleless. The summer sun Was up when into Lexington Side unto side we thundered. Too late. For Todd had left that day With many men. Decoyed away To Hoy's by some false story. And we must after. Bryan's needs Said, "On!" although our gallant steeds Were blown - Enough! we must do deeds! Must follow where our duty leads, Be it to death or glory. 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.