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Updated: May 5, 2025
Murphy, clubbing his rifle, was bawling to his comrade, Elerson: "To hell wid this, Davey! Av we don't pull foot we're a pair o' dead ducks!" "For God's sake, Boyd!" I shouted. "Break through there beside the Yellow Moth!"
"Silence!" roared Mount, glaring at him, while Murphy and Elerson, dropping their armfuls of pelts, came across the road to the bank where I sat. "I will not be silent!" screamed the man, rocking to and fro on the ground. "I did not do that! I know nothing of what that packet holds! A Mohawk runner gave it to me I mean that I found it on the trail "
And now it was two o'clock in the afternoon; Sir George had already set out with Magdalen Brant to Varicks' by way of Stoner's; Elerson and Mount stood by the door, waiting to pilot me towards Gansevoort's distant outposts; the noon sunshine filled the deserted house and fell across the table where I sat, reading over my instructions from Schuyler ere I committed the paper to the flames.
"Phwat's this?" he inquired of Elerson "a Frinch cooroor, or maybe a Sac shquaw in a buck's shirrt?" "Don't introduce him to me," said Mount to Elerson; "he'll try to kiss my hand, and I hate ceremony." "Quit foolin'," said Elerson, as the two big, over-grown boys seized each other and began a rough-and-tumble frolic.
The effect of the shot was amazing; the savage stopped short in mid-career as though he had come into collision with a stone wall; then Elerson fired, knocking him flat, head doubled under his naked shoulders, feet trailing across a rotting log. "Save ye're powther, Dave!" sang out Murphy. "Sure he was clean kilt as he shtood there. Lave a dead man take his own time to fall!"
I aimed a blow at the red-coated officer, but my rifle stock broke off across the skull of an Indian; and I began to beat a path toward Boyd with the steel barrel of my weapon, Murphy and Elerson raging forward beside me in such a very whirlwind of half-crazed fury that the Indians gave way and leaped aside, trying to shoot at us.
"Advance officer!" rang out the summons; a torch blazed, throwing a red glare around us; a red-faced old officer in brown and scarlet walked up and took the packet of papers which I extended. "Are you Captain Ormond?" he asked, curiously, glancing at the endorsement on my papers. I replied that I was, and named Murphy, Elerson, and Mount as my scout.
I stood at salute as our Major and Captain Simpson strode by; grinned ever so little as Boyd came swinging along, his naked cutlass drawn, scarlet fringes tossing on his painted cape. He whispered as he passed: "Murphy and Elerson took two scalps last night. They're drying on hoops in the barracks. Look and see if they be truly Seneca."
"Where the devil are their log works?" demanded Major Parr, using his field glasses. "I can see naught but green on that ridge ahead." Boyd painted at the crest; but our Major could see nothing; and I called to Timothy Murphy and Dave Elerson to climb trees and spy out if the works were still occupied.
Freed from his death-grip, I stood breathing convulsively, hands clinched, one foot on my fallen rifle. An Indian ran past me, chased by Elerson and Murphy, but the savage dodged into the underbrush, shrieking, "Oonah! Oonah! Oonah!" and Elerson came back, waving his deer-hide cap. Everywhere Tories, Royal Greens, and Indians were running into the woods; the wailing cry, "Oonah!
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