So we had moved our mining camp,
And struck across the plain;
'Twas prairie for a thousand miles,
And level as the main.

We only touched its western edge
Upon our march that day;
And rode across an outlying plain,
That swept in like a bay.

To north and south and west of us
The mountains rose around;
While to the eastward, far away,
There stretched the level ground.
Will rode a little in advance,

Down to a water-course;
We saw him give a sudden start,
And then rein in his horse.

"What is it?" "Indians, look ye there, Five men are lying dead,

And each of them with scalp-lock torn All bloody from his head.

"The women, too, have all been killed, And little children, see

Them lying there, all gashed and hacked
In wanton cruelty."

Two waggons had been overturned,
And lay upon the ground;
While farming tools and implements
Were scattered all around.

"I surely hear a voice," said Will,
Advancing with his horse,
Amid the bushes and the scrub
That lined the water-course.

And then he gave a sudden cry,
We all turned round to see;
A little child, of three years old,
Was standing by a tree.

A little girl, with sunny hair

All clustering round her head; "Oh, p'ease to waken my mamma!” The little creature said.

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"She's s'eeping there, is my mamma,

In there, below the tree;

I've said to her, Wake up, mamma!' But she won't wake for me.

"I's hungry, too; my name is May,
Please waken my mamma!"

So spoke the child, we all drew near,
And this is what we saw :

Beneath the shelter of the tree,

A woman lay at rest;

All still and pale, in death's long sleep, An arrow in her breast.

Will leapt from off his horse, and led
The little child away;

He seemed to claim her as his own,
And watched her all that day.

The others had a mournful task,
The burial of the dead;

We dug a trench, where, one by one,
The massacred we laid.

And bitter thoughts were in our hearts, Our words were fierce and few; With muttered vows of vengeance dire, Against the savage crew.

Then gathered we the scattered goods, One of the waggons took,

Four of our horses put to draw,

And then we left the brook.

Will's little charge was loath to leave,
"Where's my mamma?" she said;
She did not seem to comprehend,
When told that she was dead.

At last she ceased to ask for her,
On this assurance given:

"Poor little May, your mother dear
Is gone to God, in heaven!"

"Up there?" she said, and pointed up, "I know, oh, yes, I know;

Mamma oft told me about heaven,
If I love Christ I'll go.

"And all of us, if we is good,
Are 'ou good, Will?" she said
"Not what I should be, little May,
Not good, I am afraid."

"Oh, but 'ou must be good, and 'ou
Must always say 'ou's prayer;
'Cause when I goes to be in heaven,
I wis' 'ou to be there.

"Will, does 'ou always say 'ou's prayer?
Does 'ou's mamma teach 'ou?
And does 'ou always say it now,

Just as she told 'ou to?"

"She taught me, May; she taught me well,

But I have not done right."

"Oh, I is sorry, but 'ou'll say

'Ou's prayer with me to-night?"

"I will," said he; "God bless you, child, I'll pray to be forgiven;

And then, perhaps, when I am dead,
I'll be with you in heaven."

At last the evening shadows fell,

And, mid the fading light,

We pitched our camp upon the plain,
And settled for the night.

"Come here," we heard the voice of May;
"Come here, all of 'ou there,
For Will and I is goin' to kneel,
And say our evenin' prayer.

"And all of 'ou has got to kneel,
'Ou must do what I say;
For I am goin' to be mamma,
And 'ou must all obey."

And then the little creature said,
As she was kneeling there:

"Oh, gentle Jesus, meek and mild,"
The infant's simple prayer.

And Will, too, he had got to kneel,
And say the very same;

Then after him, and one by one

The others also came.

It was a strange and touching scene,
No single cheek was dry;

It led our thoughts to bygone days,
Brought tears to every eye.

And bearded men grew young again,
And new-born thoughts arose ;
And many a cry went up to God
Before we sought repose.

And hearts that groaned beneath sin's yoke
That night flung off their load;

May was an infant messenger

Had come to us from God.

Ere morn the sentry gave alarm,
"Indians!" he whispered low;
"Indians!" was passed from man to man,
We woke to face the foe.

It was a struggle, wild and grim,
A fierce and fearful fight;

Sure was the aim, and strong the stroke,
That met our foes that night.

No mercy given by them or us,
No cries for quarter there;
Theirs fiendish cruelty, and ours
The courage of despair.

We were outnumbered, three to one,

The fight was fierce and long ;

But he whose arm God's power doth nerve,

Is stronger than the strong.

Our cause was just, our hearts were bold,

We'd die, but never yield.

At last the fight was o'er, and we
Had swept them from the field.

We did not wait to count their slain,
When dawned the morning gray;
We gathered up our own, and left
The place at break of day.

For three of us were wounded sore,
And four of us were dead;

And little May was one, she lay

An arrow through her head.