As I heard the last echo of the cannons, saw the flashes of the muskets, and beheld the blood-crazed Shawnee, I heard footsteps.
I saw two distant shadows approaching; could it be one of the neighbors that had escaped the pain of the Indian tomahawk, or was it a Shawnee that could, as some say, hear my heart beating.
As I slipped away from the attack I had just witnessed, I began to run, as fast as I could, through the thick pine, over the sharp rocks that waited below the surface of the creek bed.
As I felt the rocks cut through my feet, I realized that I could either risk the wait for darkness of night and make my way softly through the woods, or continue to travel, no matter the cost.
Darkness was soon to consume the woods that had become so evil at the hands of the Shawnee. I soon decided to rest in the dark shadows of the woods with which I was so familiar.
As I dreamed about what had happened, I awoke to the sound of footsteps close to the boulder I had crawled under to try to get some rest. I felt the cold, dark grasp of a Redman.
As I was captured and dragged through the woods, I caught a glimpse of distant shadows. I heard the sound of gunfire.
I now foolishly believed I was being rescued, perhaps by some of my friends, family or neighbors that had escaped.
Soon after the gun fire rang through the pines, the ground was stained crimson. Looking below, I realized I was surrounded by dead townspeople, and by dead Shawnee.
Among the dead was one James McHenry. I am James McHenry.