cannon, but had tried to
utilize a wooden one. They yelled and hooted and mocked at this
piece and dared the garrison to fire it. Sullivan, who was in charge
of the cannon, bided his time. When the soldiers were massed closely
together and making another rush for the stockade-fence Sullivan
turned loose the little "bulldog," spreading consternation and
destruction in the British ranks.

"Stand back! Stand back!" Capt. Pratt was heard to yell. "By God!
there's no wood about that gun."

After this the besiegers withdrew for a breathing spell. At this
early stage of the siege the Indians were seen to board Sullivan's
pirogue, and it was soon discovered they were carrying the cannon
balls from the boat to the top of the bluff. In their simple minds
they had conceived a happy thought. They procured a white-oak log
probably a foot in diameter, split it through the middle and
hollowed out the inside with their tomahawks. Then with iron chains
and bars, which they took from Reihart's blacksmith shop, they bound
and securely fastened the sides together. They dragged the
improvised cannon nearer to the Fort, placed it on two logs and
weighted it down with stones. A heavy charge of powder and ball was
then rammed into the wooden gun. The soldiers, though much
interested in the manoeuvre, moved back to a safe distance, while
many of the Indians crowded round the new weapon. The torch was
applied; there was a red flash--boom! The hillside was shaken by the
tremendous explosion, and when the smoke lifted from the scene the
naked forms of the Indians could be seen writhing in agony on the
ground. Not a vestige of the wooden gun remained. The iron chains
had proved terrible death-dealing missiles to the Indians near the
gun. The Indians now took to their natural methods of warfare. They
hid in the long grass, in the deserted cabins, behind the trees and
up in the branches. Not an Indian was visible, but the rain of
bullets pattered steadily against the block-house. Every bush and
every tree spouted little puffs of white smoke, and the leaden
messengers of Death whistled through the air.

After another unsuccessful effort to destroy a section of the
stockade-fence the soldiers had retired. Their red jackets made them
a conspicuous mark for the sharp-eyed settlers. Capt. Pratt had been
shot through the thigh. He suffered great pain, and was deeply
chagrined by the surprising and formidable defense of the garrison
which he had been