One of the most striking features of the in Wyoming Valley, in July, 1778, was the number of extraordinary individual escapes on the part of the fleeing and panic-stricken settlers. There is no episode in American history marked by so many singular, and, indeed, almost inexplainable incidents, in this respect, as was that disaster which swept over one of the fairest spots that sun ever shone upon.  
In the battle there were, on the side, about two hundred and thirty men, and seventy old people, boys, civil , and other volunteers, embracing six companies, which were at Forty Fort, where the families from the east side of the Susquehanna had taken refuge.
 
A young man, slight of frame and weak of body, was chased by several Indians, one of whom was almost close enough to throw his tomahawk. The , despite his fleetness, was losing ground, when Zebulon Butler, one of the last to leave the field, by him on horseback. The fugitive caught the tail of the animal, and thus helped, made good progress. But the , knowing he could not keep his hold long, continued the chase.
 
Sure enough, the poor fellow speedily lost his hold, and was about to give up, when he caught sight of a drunken soldier, lying in the wheat-fields. As Colonel Butler went by, he shouted to the stupid fellow to fire at the Indians. He roused up, rubbed his eyes, and pointing his wabbling in the direction where he supposed his pursuers to be, let fly.
 
The leading dropped dead, and his companions, supposing there was an in front, turned and ran for life, while the fugitive pitched forward on the ground and was saved. Unfortunately, however, this soldier was not the only patriot at Wyoming on that day.
 
A wealthy settler, finding a party of Indians at his heels, did his utmost to throw them off his trail, but failed, and was in despair.
 
While still struggling forward he came upon the trunk of a large hollow tree, into which he crept. Knowing the red men would soon be along, he remained quiet for several hours, scarcely daring to move a limb.
 
By and by he heard footsteps, and to his , several warriors actually sat down on the log itself. The of their voices, as they talked together, was audible, and he saw no way by which he could escape discovery.
 
The opening in the log through which he had crawled was in plain sight of the Indians, who stooped down and peered in.
 
The fugitive saw the painted faces, as they strained their eyes to pierce the gloom, and he was certain they would detect him as soon as they became used to the darkness.
 
But shortly after he crawled into the refuge a spider his web across the opening, and the quick eye of the warriors it. With good reason they accepted it as a proof that no one had taken refuge there, and they accordingly left.
 
The , whose history we have set out to give, behind the rocks in the woods, and tremblingly listened to the approaching footsteps, that all believed were those of Indians.
 
The was already strong enough in the to hide them from the observation of any who might stray to that section, and a fight was almost certain to be the result of detection.
 
It was noticeable that Habakkuk McEwen took more precaution against discovery than the African, or even the ladies. He lay flat on his face, where no one could see him unless he passed directly by the spot.
 
He kept whispering to the others to be quiet, and to "scrooch" lower, for the Indians are proverbial for their keen sightedness.
 
The curiosity of the ladies got the better of their , and each one peered cautiously from behind the sheltering rock. Aunt Peggy Maggie and Eva to keep out of sight, but all the time she was thrusting her own head forward and drawing it back again in a way that was more likely to attract attention to herself than if she remained .
 
"If you girls ain't more careful, some of the scand'lous villains—"
 
At that instant Eva Brainerd sprang to her feet with a faint scream, and, to the horror of her friends, leaped nimbly upon the rock, then down to the ground, and ran like a in the direction whence came the , and where the outlines of a dark figure were dimly observed.
 
"Oh, it's papa! my own papa!" exclaimed the girl, who was caught in the arms of her no less delighted parent, and pressed to his breast.
 
"Heaven be thanked!" exclaimed Mr. Brainerd, kissing and embracing the fond child again and again, and then, holding her hand in his, he............