night, at the dead hour of midnight, a band of savage Chickasaws attacked Freeland Station. The moon was shining brightly, but they crept up noiselessly through the shadows to the very gates of the fort. They finally unlocked its bars and were pushing through the opening, when the quick ear of Robertson, who was sleeping near by, caught the sound of danger. He shouted a cry of alarm. A shot from his rifle rang out on the still night air. His comrades within the fort grasped their guns and fired from every cabin door. It was a sharp contest, but the Indians were finally routed and driven from the fort.
In the early spring they attacked the station at Nashborough in almost overwhelming numbers. They forced their way nearly to the gates of the old fort, located near the present corner of Market and Church streets, intercepting the retreat of many of the settlers. There was a desperate struggle for possession of the fort. At an opportune moment, the pack of powerful watch-dogs and hounds in the fort was turned loose, attacked the Indians fiercely, and greatly aided in repelling the onslaught. Both sides lost heavily, but the fort and settlement were saved.
