Then one night in 1711 a great many appeared, asking
for food. Still the white people had no suspicion of evil, and many
Indians were allowed even to spend the night in their houses.
The Pale-faces slept peacefully, but for the Redmen there was
little rest. They waited impatiently for the dawn. At length the
first streaks of light shivered across the sky, and from the woods
came a loud fierce war whoop. It was answered by the Indians within
the settlements, and with tomahawk in one hand and firebrand in
the other they fell upon the still sleeping settlers.
They spared neither man nor woman, neither the old nor the young;
and when they could find no more to slay they set fire to the houses.
Then those who had hidden themselves were forced to flee from the
flames, only to fall beneath the tomahawk. The Swiss and Germans
round New Berne and the Huguenots of Bath were the chief sufferers.
But the wonder is that any white men escaped. For their cruel
work at an end, and the settlements nought but flaming ruins, the
Indians marched through the woods seeking any who had escaped,
gathering at length to a spot arranged beforehand. Here they drank
"fire water," rejoicing savagely over their victory. Then drunk
with brandy and with blood they staggered forth again to continue
their horrible labours. For three days the slaughter lasted, for
three days the forests rang with terrifying war cries, and village
after village was laid in ashes.
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