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Title: With Washington in the west : A soldier boy's battles in the wilderness
Author: Stratemeyer, Edward
Language: English
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EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS
Old Glory Series
_Six Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA.
FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS.
UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES.
THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE.
UNDER MacARTHUR IN LUZON.
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THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE.
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.
TRUE TO HIMSELF.
RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE.
OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH.
TO ALASKA FOR GOLD.
THE YOUNG AUCTIONEER.
BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRICIAN.
SHORTHAND TOM, THE REPORTER.
FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN.
Soldiers of Fortune Series
_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
ON TO PEKIN.
UNDER THE MIKADO’S FLAG.
AT THE FALL OF PORT ARTHUR.
UNDER TOGO FOR JAPAN.
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_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY.
AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
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_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST.
MARCHING ON NIAGARA.
THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS.
AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL.
ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC.
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_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
LOST ON THE ORINOCO.
THE YOUNG VOLCANO EXPLORERS.
YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE ISTHMUS.
YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE AMAZON.
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_Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume_ $1.25.
DAVE PORTER AT OAK HALL.
* * * * *
TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN. _Price_ $1.25.
BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON. _Price_ $1.25.
JOE, THE SURVEYOR. _Price_ $1.00.
LARRY, THE WANDERER. _Price_ $1.00.
[Illustration: Col. Washington was in the thickest of the fight.--_Page
278._]
Colonial Series
WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST
OR
A SOLDIER BOY’S BATTLES IN THE
WILDERNESS
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of “On to Pekin,” “Between Boer and Briton,” “Old Glory
Series,” “Colonial Series,” “Pan-American Series,” “Great
American Industries Series,” “American Boys’
Life of William McKinley,” etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE_
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY LEE AND SHEPARD
_All rights reserved_
WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH
Norwood, Mass.
U.S.A.
PREFACE
“WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST” is a complete story in itself, but forms
the first of several volumes to be known by the general title of
“Colonial Series.”
The main character of the book is David Morris, the son of a hardy
pioneer who first settles near Will’s Creek (now the town of
Cumberland, Virginia), and later on establishes a trading-post on one
of the numerous tributaries of the Ohio River.
As a boy David becomes acquainted with George Washington, then but a
young man of seventeen. Washington is at work, surveying tracts of land
in the beautiful Shenandoah valley, and David is glad enough to go with
him as an assistant. Together they ford the rivers and creeks, and
climb the mountains, and they do not separate until the ill health of
Lawrence Washington compels his brother to return home.
The coming of the English traders into the valley of the Ohio was
viewed with suspicion by the French, and it was not long before
these traders were served with notices to quit. A notice reaching
Mr. Morris, he turned it over to his son, who was to take it to the
Virginia authorities and learn whether or not it must be respected.
On his way eastward David falls in with the Virginia Rangers, who are
under the command of Washington, and learns that there is practically
a state of war between the English and French in America. Several
trading-posts have been attacked and this being so the youth becomes
anxious to return to his father, and throws in his fortunes with
Washington as a young soldier. Then follows the march to Great Meadows,
the defence of Fort Necessity, and the news that Mr. Morris’ post has
been captured by the French and the trader taken prisoner.
Chafing to learn what has become of his parent, David remains at the
home of his uncle until the next Spring, when General Braddock arrives
with his troops from England. Another campaign against the French is
now opened and once again the youth becomes a soldier boy, to witness
Braddock’s bitter defeat and Washington’s masterly effort to save the
remnant of the army from annihilation.
In the preparation of the historical portions of this work numerous
authorities have been consulted, including the Writings of Washington,
biographies by a great number of more or less well-known authors, and
several colonial histories and books of record. For this reason the
author trusts that it is free from any error sufficient to hurt its
usefulness. As a story the writer hopes it will find equal favor with
the many which have preceded it from his pen.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
NEWARK, N. J.,
_May 20, 1901_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HOMESTEAD IN THE CLEARING 1
II. WHITE BUFFALO BRINGS NEWS 10
III. IN THE FOREST 21
IV. DEER SHOOTING BY MOONLIGHT 31
V. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 41
VI. GEORGE WASHINGTON THE SURVEYOR 54
VII. THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAIN GAP 64
VIII. ON TO ANNAPOLIS 74
IX. A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS 83
X. AN UNSUCCESSFUL MISSION 93
XI. DAVE BECOMES WASHINGTON’S ASSISTANT 102
XII. SURVEYING ALONG THE SHENANDOAH 111
XIII. A BEAR HUNT 119
XIV. HOME COMING IN THE SNOW 129
XV. THE SITUATION BETWEEN THE ENGLISH, FRENCH, AND INDIANS 138
XVI. DAVE’S DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST 146
XVII. CARRIED DOWN THE RIVER 154
XVIII. DAVE VISITS AN INDIAN VILLAGE 163
XIX. THE TRADING-POST ON THE KINOTAH 172
XX. AN ALARMING DISCOVERY 181
XXI. THE DEFENCE OF THE TRADING-POST 191
XXII. WASHINGTON’S MISSION TO FRENCH CREEK 201
XXIII. AN INDIAN’S TREACHERY 210
XXIV. WASHINGTON AT WILL’S CREEK 219
XXV. SOLDIERS OF THE WILDERNESS 229
XXVI. THE RETREAT TO FORT NECESSITY 239
XXVII. BATTLE AT GREAT MEADOWS 249
XXVIII. THE FALL OF THE TRADING-POST 259
XXIX. BRADDOCK’S DEFEAT AND FALL 268
XXX. FIGHTING IN THE FOREST 278
XXXI. FATHER AND SON 286
XXXII. BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD--CONCLUSION 295
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Col. Washington was in the thickest of the fight (278) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Like a flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward 42
“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?” 86
An instant later the bear discovered them 127
“The white men are welcome to Nancoke” 169
“Stop, do not murder him!” 215
“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon 252
“Father!” was all Dave could say 293
CHAPTER I
THE HOMESTEAD IN THE CLEARING
“Uncle Joe, an Indian is coming this way, down the Creek trail.”
“An Indian, Dave! Can you make out who it is?”
“Not yet. He’s in the shadow of the hemlocks.” The youth pointed along
the brushwood bordering the watercourse. “There! do you see him?”
“I do. He is trailing a gun, too, and wears white feathers. It must be
White Buffalo.”
“White Buffalo! Oh, Uncle Joe, do you think he’d be able to get back so
soon?--over the mountains and rivers, and all?”
“These redskins can travel swift enough when they want to, Dave, and
like as not your father told him to bring the word back as quick as he
could.” Joseph Morris continued to keep his eyes fixed on the trail,
which wound in and out under the low-drooping trees. “Yes, it’s White
Buffalo, and he’s coming straight for our cabin.”
“I hope he brings good news,” went on Dave Morris. “Shall I go and
tell Aunt Lucy? More than likely he’ll want something to eat--they all
do when they come here.”
“Yes, tell her to fix up a good supper for the redskin, and tell her,
too, to get that new dress goods I bought at Winchester last week out
of the way. If she doesn’t White Buffalo will surely want some of it
for himself or his squaw--he can’t hold back on bright colors--although
he’s not half so much of a beggar as some of them.”
“I will. But, Uncle Joe, you’ll bring him right up to the cabin, won’t
you? I’m so impatient to hear from father.”
“Yes, I’ll bring him right up.”
“It seems an age since father went away,” added Dave Morris.
With these words the boy turned away from the bank of the creek and,
axe in hand--for he had been helping his uncle cut down some scrub
timber on the edge of a small clearing--moved quickly through a patch
of corn and then into a belt of timberland composed of beautiful
walnut, hickory, and mountain ash. Beyond the belt was a second
clearing, long and narrow, spread out upon both banks of a brook
flowing into the creek previously mentioned. In the midst of this was
a rude but comfortable log cabin, long, low, and narrow, the eaves at
one end coming down in a porch-like roof to shelter the kitchen door.
There were four rooms in this home in the wilderness and all upon the
ground floor, the upper floor under the roof tree being little more
than a loft in which to store certain winter supplies.
David Morris was a youth of fourteen, tall, strong, and by no means
ill looking. His manner was open and frank, and this disposition made
for him ready friends wherever he went. Since earliest childhood he
had been used to a life in the open, and this made him appear somewhat
older than his years. He could plow a field or cut down a tree almost
as well as a man, and he was far from being ignorant of the use of
firearms. Indeed, the winter before, he had gone out hunting with old
Sam Barringford, one of the best of the hunters and trappers in the
Virginia valley, and had acquitted himself in a manner to earn the
ardent praise of that individual. As a matter of fact, Dave would
rather have gone hunting and fishing any time than stick to the work on
the farm, but he knew his duty to his uncle and his aunt and did not
seek to evade it.
Dave’s taste for woods and waters--for hunting, trapping and
fishing--came to the lad naturally. His grandfather had been of New
Jersey stock, and had drifted into Pennsylvania with the thrifty German
pioneers who afterward did so much to make that great state what it is
to-day. But old Ezra Morris could not remain in sight of the farms and
plantations and had gone on south-westward, into what was then termed
the great Virginia valley, between the Shenandoah and the upper Potomac
Rivers. Here he had built himself a cabin, and it was here that James
Morris, the father of Dave, was born and raised. The surroundings were
wild, and the majority of neighbors--if those living half a mile or
more away could be called such--were Indians.
Although Ezra Morris always sought to be fair with the red men, others
in that district cheated the Indians in numerous ways, and as a result
the Indians arose one wintry night and slew nearly all the settlers
for miles around. Among the victims were Ezra Morris and his wife; and
the son James, then a boy of twelve, barely escaped by hiding in a
snow-bank behind the cabin. He was found in the woods two days later,
nearly frozen to death, and was taken to Winchester by parties living
there. At Winchester was his brother Joseph, several years older, who
was visiting at the time, and thus escaped the horrors of the massacre.
For several years after this Joseph and James Morris remained in and
around Winchester, then a frontier post of considerable importance,
and during that time the elder brother married Lucy Smiley, who had
just come over from England with her brother, who was in the employ
of William Fairfax of Belvoir. Several years later James Morris also
married, and both families settled near what was called Will’s Creek,
not a great distance from the present city of Cumberland. It was here
that Dave was born and also his cousins, Rodney, Henry, and little Nell.
At first all went well with both families, but one day Rodney Morris
had a bad fall from a tree which injured his leg and rendered him lame.
This was a great misfortune, for the young man had been a much needed
help to his father and his uncle, but a greater trial followed in the
sudden and unexpected death of James Morris’ wife, who was taken with a
chill one Saturday noon and expired on the following Sunday morning.
This blow almost stunned both the husband and the son, and it may truly
be said that the former never got over it. As soon after the funeral
as possible the father placed his son in his brother’s care and took
to the woods, and none of his folks saw him for nearly a year. When
he returned his pale and haggard face showed plainly that even in the
depths of the wilderness beyond the Blue Ridge he had not been able to
get away from his great grief.
During his wanderings James Morris had gone West as far as a stream of
water called by the Indians Kinotah. He described the river as very
lovely and one upon which a trader with a little means might set up a
trading-post to great advantage. One particular spot, which he named
Ella Dell, in memory of his wife, continually haunted him, and he told
his brother and his son that some day he intended to go back to it. He
reported that the Indians were now very friendly and that many of those
who had conducted the massacre of years gone by were dead.
Neither of the brothers was blessed with much money, and the
opportunities for making any were small, so the idea of opening
a trading-post had, for the time being, to be abandoned. All the
Morrises, with the exception of Rodney the cripple, worked hard on
the farm, and even Rodney did what he could to keep himself employed.
During this time Henry Morris made a trip as far East as Annapolis, and
on returning told of a stop-off at Lawrence Washington’s magnificent
estate at Mount Vernon, so called in honor of Admiral Vernon, under
whom Lawrence Washington had served in West Indian waters.
“They are a fine people, those Washingtons,” Henry Morris had declared.
“Mr. Lawrence Washington is a thorough gentleman, and his brother
George is as nice a boy as any in these parts. And, oh, what a
plantation they’ve got! Nearly a thousand slaves, and so many horses
I couldn’t count them. I can tell you a place like that is something
worth while.”
“The Washingtons have always been rich,” had been Joseph Morris’
answer. “And Lawrence Washington lost nothing by marrying William
Fairfax’s daughter. Those families own more land than they know what to
do with.”
“Old Lord Fairfax was there,” Henry had continued. “He takes a great
interest in George Washington. George is learning surveying at school,
and Lord Fairfax said he might give him the work of surveying his
estate some day.” And so the talk had run on, for in those days Lord
Fairfax was a personage of great importance in that neighborhood, and
the Washingtons were also well known.
One day there came a sudden and unexpected windfall to the Morrises. A
distant relative who lived in New Jersey died and left to each brother
the sum of twelve hundred pounds--about six thousand dollars--and also
a quantity of household goods, cattle and horses. At once James Morris
journeyed to New Jersey after the fortune, going both for himself and
as his brother’s legally appointed agent. This trip in those days
was a long one, and had to be made on horseback for the greater part
of the distance. The mission took four months, and when Dave’s father
returned he brought with him a train of sixteen pack-saddle horses,
some carrying furniture which had originally come from England and
which could not be duplicated in the colonies.
As soon as the furniture and other effects had been left at the cabin
near Will’s Creek, James Morris had announced his intention of using
his part of the inheritance in establishing a trading business with the
Indians on the Kinotah. “I know there is money to be made in it,” was
the way he reasoned to his brother. “A good deal more money than is to
be made here at farming.”
The idea pleased Joseph Morris, but he was loath to go further into the
wilderness with his wife and his little daughter, and with a son who
was a cripple, and after a long conference it was decided that James
Morris should start out alone, using a thousand pounds belonging to
both, and also the pack horses, and leaving Dave with his uncle.
It grieved Dave to be left behind, yet, as his father thought it best,
he did not complain, only begging that he might be permitted to join
his parent at the trading-post at some time not too far in the future.
To this the father had promised that the lad might make the trip during
the year following, if all went well.
The hopeful pioneer had fitted out his trading expedition at
Winchester, with goods brought from Annapolis, and with his pack horses
loaded with trinkets, bright colored blankets and cloths, and other
things dear to the heart and eye of the red men, had set off for the
great “Western Country” as some people of that time called the western
portion of Pennsylvania. Here the virgin forests were almost trackless,
the only trails being those of the Indians and the deer and other wild
animals. Bridges there were none, and every river had to be either
forded or swum, and the journey through the vast mountain gaps was
perilous in the extreme. The party consisted of James Morris, two old
hunters known as Tony and Putty, and half a dozen Indians under the
leadership of White Buffalo. It was agreed that as soon as the Kinotah
was reached and the trading-post established White Buffalo should be
sent back with the news.
CHAPTER II
WHITE BUFFALO BRINGS NEWS
When Dave entered the cabin homestead he found his Aunt Lucy and his
cousin Rodney, the cripple, hard at work making tallow candles, the
only kind of light used about the place after sundown. Over a fire in
the dooryard hung a kettle full of soft tallow and on the kitchen floor
rested the metal moulds for forming the candles after the wicks had
been placed in from end to end. The best of the candles were made in
this manner, but Rodney was making a commoner sort by simply dipping
wicks into the fat and hanging them up to harden, repeating this
process until the prospective lights were of the desired thickness.
“Why, Dave, what brings you back so soon?” cried Mrs. Morris, somewhat
startled at his unexpected appearance. “I didn’t blow the horn for
supper.”
“White Buffalo is coming, and Uncle Joe told me to tell you that he
would probably be hungry, and for you to get those new dress goods out
of the way before the redskin saw ’em. If you don’t he’ll most likely
tell you he dreamed you gave them to him for his squaw, or something
like that.”
“Mercy on us, White Buffalo! Yes, I will get them out of sight, every
one! He is a good-enough Indian, but, oh, every one of ’em is such a
beggar! What did he say of your father, Dave?”
“I didn’t see him to talk to, Aunt Lucy--I came away before he came up.
But Uncle Joe said he would bring him right up to the cabin. Shall I
help clear the kitchen floor?”
“Yes, we are about done for to-day, and Rodney is more than tired, I
can see that plainly. Rodney, you just go and rest yourself on the bed,
Dave and I can get this mess out of the way in a jiffy.”
“I’m willing enough,” answered Rodney, with a deep drawn sigh, and
rising from his rush-seated chair he hobbled out of the kitchen to the
next room.
“Do you want me to kill anything for supper--a couple of chickens or
ducks?” queried Dave, as he began gathering up the still warm candle
moulds.
“No; Henry shot a deer right after dinner--down by the old salt
lick--dropped him, so he said, without the least bit of trouble. He’s
down at the shed now dressing it. We can have that,--and I’ll make
some corn cakes--the kind those Indians like. You had better bring me
in some more wood. I’ll take care of the rest of the candles. And tell
Henry to fetch along a nice piece of that deer meat, and a jug of that
yellow apple cider.” And so speaking Mrs. Morris bustled around at a
lively rate, that she might have the kitchen in order when her husband
appeared with their Indian guest.
At the cattle shed, a rude affair of rough logs and tree branches, Dave
found his cousin Henry tacking up the deer-skin to dry and tan in the
sun. Henry was a short, stout youth and a good deal of the same turn of
mind as his mother.
“I’ll bring up a good-enough piece of meat for any redskin,” he said,
after listening to Dave. “I’m glad White Buffalo has come, although I
didn’t expect to see him for a fortnight, or until the next new moon.
Everything must have gone along swimmingly with your father.”
“I hope so, Henry.”
In a few minutes Henry brought up the venison, and Dave followed with
the extra wood, and soon Mrs. Morris had a roaring fire with which to
prepare the evening repast. There was, of course, no stove, only a rude
brick oven, and the meat was placed on a spit to broil, the oven being
used for the corn cakes and for other things the lady of the cabin
wished to bake. From chains overhead hung a pot and an iron kettle with
water, and also a smaller kettle in which Mrs. Morris brewed herself
some tea. As the cooking progressed most of the smoke went up the
broad chimney but some came into the kitchen, and the ceiling, where
hung numerous things to dry, was covered with soot in consequence.
The table was bare of linen or oilcloth, but scrubbed to a snowy
whiteness. Plates were laid for all, but at the place to be occupied by
White Buffalo a short bench was drawn up, that the Indian chief might
eat from the level of his lap should he prefer to do so. The knives
and forks, the latter quite new, were of iron, and Joseph Morris, like
many other old pioneers, preferred to use his pocket-knife when cutting
food. Napkins there were none, but a bucket of water stood in a corner
and above it was a towel hung on a cow-horn, for the use of anyone
who wished to keep his fingers or mouth clean. And yet this cabin was
furnished as well as those of thousands of other pioneers.
The supper was well under way when Joseph Morris appeared at the
edge of the homestead clearing side by side with White Buffalo, who
slackened his pace to a dignified walk when approaching the cabin.
The Indian was of the tribe of Delawares, tall, thin, and as straight
as an arrow. His eyes were black and bright, and his mouth showed a
set of teeth as clean and polished as those of a wolf. His headgear
consisted principally of white feathers, tipped with yellow to imitate
gold, and over his shoulder he carried a small blanket of buffalo hide,
dyed white with yellow spots, the spots being somewhat in the shape
of wolves’ heads. This signified, in the Indian language, that he was
White Buffalo, son of Yellow Wolf, a former powerful chief of the
Delawares.
As the Indian came up Dave ran out to meet him and shake his hand. “I
am very glad to see White Buffalo,” he said. “I hope you bring good
news of my father,” and he pressed the red man’s hand warmly.
“How-how!” answered the Indian in return, meaning, “how do you do?”
Then he looked at Dave steadily for a few seconds. “The white boy’s
father was well when I left him, eight sleeps ago. He must still be
well,” he went on.
“I am glad to hear that, White Buffalo. Did he find the spot he visited
before?”
At this question a proud look came into the Indian’s face. “Yes, he
found the spot, but not alone. White Buffalo was told how the place
looked, and he hunted it up for the white boy’s father.”
“White Buffalo has brought a long letter from your father,” put in
Joseph Morris. “I know you are impatient to read it, so you may do so
before we have supper,” and he handed the communication to his nephew.
Then he led the Indian into the cabin, where Mrs. Morris and the others
greeted him as warmly as had Dave, for all but little Nell knew the old
chief well and liked him.
The letter from James Morris was straight to the point and
characteristic of the man, and ran, in part, as follows:
“The journey to this spot was a hard one. We had great difficulty in
crossing the rivers, and at one of the fords Bess, a good black mare,
lost her footing and was drowned before we could catch her and take
off her packs.
“Two days before we reached the Kinotah we came upon a band of very
dirty Indians under the leadership of Fox Head, a Miami. They begged
for many things and we had at last to drive them off. I got two of
White Buffalo’s braves to trail them for several miles, and they
brought back word that Fox Head was very bitter against me. Fearing
an attack that night I moved our camp to the south of the regular
trail, but the Miamis have not appeared since.
“In consequence of moving from the trail I lost the lay of the land
for twenty-four hours, and had to call on White Buffalo to aid me in
locating the Kinotah. This he did with great ease, and by high noon
the day following we reached the point I have named Ella Dell, and
before night were hard at work establishing our trading camp.
“At present our post consists of a strong log cabin built in the
shape of a cross, and is located in the angle formed by the Kinotah
and a creek I have called Indian Brook, for the Indians use it
greatly when in quest of fish. Game is plentiful and I have arranged
it so that Tony and Putty can go out and shoot. The Indians are
already bringing in their hides and furs, but a good deal of what
they have is old and I have given them to understand that I want only
that which is new and of the best. I believe that by next year the
trade will be a well paying one.
“I am sorely in need of a number of things, and on another sheet have
made out a list. If you will buy them at Winchester or Annapolis and
pack them well on two horses, White Buffalo has agreed to bring them
to me without delay. To the list you can add anything new which you
may see and which you think would be attractive for trading purposes.
“Give my best wish and love to all, and tell Dave that I think of
him constantly and that I trust all goes well until we meet. Perhaps
when White Buffalo makes another trip I will write him personally,
but just now my hands are too full, and I am writing this while the
others are sleeping.
“Before closing, I must mention that the French are pushing into this
territory fast, and that I heard from two of the Indians that they
consider this land as belonging to them. I always considered that it
belonged to our colonies. As yet I have not met any of the French
traders, but have been told that a number of them are located further
west, on the Ohio River. Unless this question of whose land it really
is, is settled soon, it may bring serious difficulties in the future.”
Dave read the letter with deep interest, not once but several times.
Communications of this sort were not common in those days, and each
letter received was treasured for a long while afterward. He wished his
father had written to him personally, but understanding the situation,
did not complain.
When he entered the kitchen he found the family and White Buffalo
assembled around the table. Placing the letter on a shelf he slipped
into his own seat. A moment of silence followed, and then Joseph
Morris offered a humble prayer and gave thanks to God for the food of
which they were about to partake. During this White Buffalo sat as
motionless as a statue, nor did he speak a word while the food was
handed around. He ate from the bench, and if he wanted a thing took it,
otherwise he simply motioned it away.
The meal over, Joseph Morris brought forth some of his best tobacco
and filled a new clay pipe, one of the red variety with a long stem.
He took a few puffs, then handed the pipe to White Buffalo who did the
same. Then the Indian produced his own pipe and went through the same
performance. After this both smoked freely, and the tongue of White
Buffalo loosened readily.
“I have seen many places which were fair to look upon, but none more
fair than Ella Dell,” said he. “In days to come the spot will bring
many doubloons to the pockets of the Morrises. The game love the spot,
the deer and the fish cannot stay away from it, and the river makes
sweet music as it passes it by.”
“Yes, my brother told us of it before,” answered Joseph Morris. “It was
continually in his mind. I sincerely trust we can make our title good
to it. But what do you know of the French around there?”
At this the brow of White Buffalo clouded. “The French are not my
friends, nor are they the friends of the English who have gone toward
the setting sun. The French would keep that fair land for themselves,
and send away both the English and the Indians. Sooner or later there
will be war because of this.”
“War!” cried Dave.
The Indian nodded gravely. “The French and the English are at peace,
but when they buried the hatchet many moons ago none of the great
warriors spoke of the lands between here and the Father of Waters,” he
went on, meaning by Father of Waters the Mississippi River. “I have
heard the story from White Thunder, and also from Tanacharisson, the
Half-king. The French have sailed upon the Father of Waters and claim
all the lands which drain therein; the English claim this land because
of a treaty made many winters ago with the Iroquois. And the Indian who
lives upon the land, what of him, with his squaw and his pappoose? If
the French or the English take the land he will have nothing, and he
and his squaw and his pappoose can starve. Yes, the hatchet will be dug
up again.”
“It sounds reasonable, White Buffalo,” answered Joseph Morris, after a
thoughtful pause. “But if war should come because of this, I think the
Indians ought to stand in with the English.”
“White Buffalo will stand with his white friends. But he cannot speak
for those of other tribes. Many will fight with those who promise the
most, for we are but children when it comes to dealing with the white
man. I have lived with you long and I know you better than do most of
my people. The Indian is wise, but his wisdom is of the woods and not
of books. The white man can cheat him if he will, and the Indian will
be none the wiser.”
Here the conversation changed and Joseph Morris went over the list his
brother had sent him. Before retiring that night it was decided that he
should depart for Winchester and Annapolis the next day, leaving White
Buffalo to remain at the cabin until his return.
“Can’t I go with you and help buy those things?” asked Dave of his
uncle.
“Would you like to go very much, Dave?”
“I would.”
“Then you shall go. And now let us off to bed, for it is growing late.”
A few minutes later the occupants of the cabin retired, leaving White
Buffalo to make himself comfortable, as suited him, on the kitchen
floor in front of the dying fire.
CHAPTER III
IN THE FOREST
Dave and his cousin Henry occupied a small bedroom at the north end of
the cabin. Like the other apartments, this was unplastered excepting
for some clay stuck in the chinks to keep out the wind. The room
boasted of one window, a foot and a half square, and fitted with a
heavy wooden shutter, to be closed in winter, or when there was danger
of an attack.
Three-quarters of the floor space was taken up by the heavy four-posted
bedstead, built of black walnut and hickory and almost as hard and
as heavy as iron. The bed was corded with rawhide, on which rested a
mattress of straw and a long pillow filled with chicken feathers. In
front of the bed, and directly under the window, ran a bench the length
of the room, and above was a row of pegs upon which the boys could hang
their clothing. The ceiling was so low that the boys could jump up and
touch it with ease.
By the time the boys had said their prayers and retired, a deep
silence had fallen on the cabin and its surroundings, broken only by
the faint gurgling of the brook as it tumbled along over the rocks
and the soft fall breeze as it swept through the forest beyond the
clearing, sending the golden leaves down in showers. Presently the moon
shone over the top of the distant mountains, tipping the brook here and
there with silver. The shining of the orb of night seemed to displease
the wolves, and soon one and another let up a lonely howl, ending in a
chorus which was truly dismal. But those in the cabin were used to such
sounds and were not disturbed. White Buffalo uttered a long sigh and
then began to snore, as if in answer to the beasts outside.
The moon still hung low in the heavens, as if loath to give place to
the rising sun, when Joseph Morris arose, followed by his wife, and set
about preparing the morning meal. White Buffalo was already up and sat
on the doorstep, cutting out a wooden trinket with his knife. With this
trinket he intended to make friends with little Nell, who so far, had
proved rather afraid of him.
“White Buffalo make little Nell a wooden pappoose,” he said, when the
six-year-old came from her bedroom and shyly approached to see what he
was doing. “Little Nell can dress the pappoose and make much play.”
“Oh, a doll!” cried the girl, and much of her shyness vanished. She
looked it over. “Why, it hasn’t any arms!”
“White Buffalo make arms by-me-by, and feet, too. Make arms and feet
fast with sticks, so little Nell can move them and make head fast with
stick, too, so pappoose can look over shoulder and all around. Heap big
pappoose then, much proud!”
“That will be nice,” answered Nell and smiled frankly into the Indian’s
face. Then the two consulted about the length of the legs and arms
to be put on the doll, and before breakfast was ready they were firm
friends. When finished the doll was decidedly crude and had a strong
Indian expression on its straight-nosed face, but this Nell did not
seem to mind. She possessed but few toys and this was her first doll,
and she cherished it accordingly.
Joseph Morris felt that he would have to go direct to Annapolis for the
majority of the things his brother wished, so preparations for such a
journey were made. Such a trip was quite an event, and Henry Morris
was sent around to several of the neighbors, who might desire some
commission executed in town. Annapolis was rapidly becoming a place of
considerable importance, with a growing trade in tobacco, hemp, and
other commodities.
It was a cool, crisp day when Joseph Morris and Dave set out on their
journey. They were on horseback, and several neighbors came to see them
off and incidentally to load them with further commissions, which had
been forgotten until the last moment.
“Take care of yourself, Joseph,” said Mrs. Morris, on parting. “And you
be careful, too, Dave,” and then she kissed both her husband and her
nephew affectionately. Little Nell also came in for a hug and a kiss,
and the others for a handshake.
The distance to the trading-post at Will’s Creek was three miles, and
the distance from the post to Winchester, then nothing but another
frontier post, was about forty-five miles. But the wagon road from one
place to the other had not yet been cut through, and the trail ran in
and out along the river and through the forest, making the distance to
be traversed at least sixty miles. The mountain pass was a difficult
one and at one point ran around the edge of a cliff forty to fifty feet
high. Here a tumble for man or beast to the jagged rocks below would
have meant instant death.
But Dave thought of none of these perils as he rode beside his uncle
or directly behind him. He had a good mount and a good rifle, and his
aunt had fairly stuffed their saddle bags with good things to be eaten
on the way. The lad saw nothing but a grand outing ahead and whistled
cheerily in consequence.
Mr. Morris was more thoughtful and so pre-occupied that he scarcely
noticed Dave’s rendering of “The Pirate’s Lady, Oh!” and of “Lucy
Locket Lost Her Pocket,” afterward known universally as “Yankee
Doodle.” The tunes were whistled half a dozen times, and then of a
sudden the lad turned to his relative.
“Uncle Joe, what are you so silent about? You haven’t spoken since we
passed the old fish hole.”
“Is that so, Dave?” was the answer. “Well, to tell the truth I was
thinking of many things--of the articles we are to buy and where I
could probably get them cheapest, and of the talk we had with White
Buffalo about the trouble with the French.”
“Do you think we will have trouble with the French?”
“I cannot see how it can be avoided. As I understand it, when the
treaty of peace was signed at Aix-la-Chapelle nothing was said about
the English and French possessions in western America. Now the French
discoverers have sailed down the Ohio and the Mississippi, and
consequently they may claim the land by right of discovery, especially
when they realize the value for trading-posts and for cattle and farm
lands.”
“But can they claim the land when they sail only on the _water_?”
“They hold that a discoverer sailing along an unknown river can lay
claim to all lands drained by that river, or by creeks flowing into it.
But this is absurd when it comes to such a stream as the Mississippi
which is the basin for miles and miles of territory, or even with such
a river as the Ohio.”
“When did they discover the Mississippi?”
“About seventy-five years ago one Padre Marquette sailed down the
stream for several hundred miles, in company with a friend named
Joliet. They were French subjects and took possession, so-styled, in
the name of the King of France.”
“But what about our claim?”
“Well, to tell the truth, our claim isn’t much better than that of
the French. In 1741 the commissioners from Virginia, Maryland and
Pennsylvania met a number of head chiefs of the Six Nations, and the
Indians, for four hundred pounds, gave up all their claims to the land
lying this side of the Mississippi.”
“Well, that claim ought to be all right, it seems to me.”
“It is all right for the land this side of the Alleghany Mountains, but
as for the other I doubt if the Six Nations had any right to deed it
away. They never lived on it and the story that they once conquered it
is only a tradition.”
“Well, who does the land belong to?”
“To the Indians first, and then to the white people who establish
themselves on it. As to what nation shall rule, our country and France
will have to settle that between them.”
“Then war must surely come?”
“Probably; although the folks in Europe may have enough of fighting for
the present. Very few have forgotten the hardships of the last struggle
or the distress which followed. For myself, I do not wish to live to
see another war, either with the Indians or the French.”
“Have the French any regular settlement on the Ohio and the
Mississippi?”
“I don’t know of any settlement on the Mississippi, but their fur
traders are on the upper Ohio, Sam Barringford met several of them when
he was on a hunt with White Buffalo. He said they were a lawless set,
some of them half-breeds, and they would get the Indians drunk on rum
and then literally rob them of their pelts. I shouldn’t be surprised if
the Indians rose up some time and wiped them all out in revenge.”
“If the French traders are that sort do you think they will bring
trouble to father?”
“They are not all that sort. Here and there you will find a good-enough
fellow. As to bringing trouble, though, that’s another question. You
know when an Indian goes on the warpath he is apt to get excited and
then perhaps one trader will look just as black to him as another. But
your father didn’t go to trade in rum, and he expected to give the
redskins honest value for their hides, so they may remain his friends
even if they do rise.”
“I think war is a dreadful thing, Uncle Joe, and I can’t see why
civilized nations should fight each other. It’s bad enough for the
redskins to do that.”
“True enough, Dave, but I imagine there will be fighting to the end of
time. It’s a sort of court of last resort, you know; first folks argue,
then they make demands, and at last they fight, and there doesn’t seem
to be any help for it. But it’s truly a pity England and France can’t
agree--they’ve pitched into each other so many times.”
The pair had now reached the end of the trail beside the creek and for
the time being the conversation came to an end. There was a small brook
to ford and then the side of a hill to climb. Here the giant trees sent
their roots sprawling in all directions and they had to proceed with
care lest one of the steeds might stumble and break a leg. The forest
was dense, for a woodman’s axe had never yet entered it, and in some
spots the gloom was intense while at others the faint rays of sunshine
piercing the boughs above served only to intensify the darkness. In
spots the trail was very damp and the trees covered with fungi, in
other places there were patches of green moss as soft as the most
delicate carpet. Here and there the boughs hung so low they had to lift
them to get past.
“What a solitude!” remarked Joseph Morris, as they came to a halt in
a glade surrounded by stately walnuts. They held up their heads to
listen. Not a sound broke the stillness close around them. From afar
came the songs of birds and the chant of some swamp frogs. Around them
floated butterflies of various hues, and presently came a cluster of
honey bees, heading for an old tree they had just passed. At once all
else was forgotten by Joseph Morris but the bees.
“A bee tree, Dave!” he cried. “See, we are in luck for once!”
“A bee tree, true enough!” echoed the youth. “It ought to be pretty
well filled with honey by this time, too. Of course you’ll mark it,
Uncle Joe.”
“To be sure, although I shouldn’t forget it very easily--being so close
to this opening and so near to the trail. But we’ll mark it, so that
nobody else can claim it between now and the time we come for the
honey.”
Approaching the tree with caution Joseph Morris noticed the bees go
into an opening just above the lower branches. His experienced eye told
him that there was here a hive of considerable size with a good many
pounds of honey in it. He marked the tree with care, so that it now
became his property by right of discovery.
“We’ll gather in that honey just as soon as we return from Annapolis,”
he said. “It will please mother I’m sure, for we are short on sweets
for this winter.”
And then they proceeded once more on their way.
CHAPTER IV
DEER SHOOTING BY MOONLIGHT
Night found Dave and his uncle at the cabin of a settler named Risley,
an Englishman who had come to the neighborhood a year before. Visitors
were far from frequent in those days and the newcomers were made
heartily welcome by the farmer and his wife. The former insisted on
helping them care for their horses, while the latter bustled about to
prepare a substantial meal for their benefit.
“It does one good to set eyes on another face,” remarked Uriah Risley,
when they were gathered around his rough-hewn table, partaking of a
stew in an iron pot set in their midst. “It is so different here from
life in Sussex, where we came from. The good wife thought she should
die of loneliness when we first settled. But now she is somewhat used
to it. Is that not so, Catherine?”
“Truly it is, Uriah,” answered the spouse. “In dear Lenfield Glen we
had neighbors by the score, and the smoke of a hundred chimneys went up
of a sunrise; here we have nothing but trees and water and blue sky
until I am weary of gazing upon it all.”
“It won’t be so for many years,” put in Joseph Morris. “The settlers
are coming in more and more every year.”
“I’ve heard some talk of a company being started to take up the lands
in the West,” said Uriah Risley. “I believe Lord Fairfax and others are
behind the scheme.”
“To get ahead of the French?”
“Aye. I’d like to see the thing go through, too--’twould bring more
faces to this district.”
“I cannot say that I object to the solitude, so long as the Indians do
not molest us,” said Joseph Morris. “I love the woods and the lonely
rivers--I have grown so used to them that they seem part of my life.”
Uriah Risley nodded to show he understood. “I believe you. But
Catherine and I are used to having friends around. Why, the poor wife
nearly cried her eyes out the first night we were here--nay, nay, do
not deny it, for it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Caddy. She said the
mountains and the tall, black-looking trees seemed to fairly press in
on her.”
“And they do that--at times,” answered Joseph Morris. “I know the
feeling. But it will pass away, Mistress Risley, and you will get to
love the trees as you love the furniture of your house--and know them
just as well.”
The supper was not a dainty affair, but the riders were hungry and
ate long and heartily. After the meal Dave insisted upon helping Mrs.
Risley get in the wood and water, while his uncle and the owner of the
cabin sat by the doorstep smoking and talking.
The moon was rising over the distant trees when of a sudden Joseph
Morris leaped up and reached for his rifle, which he had placed behind
the kitchen door, “A deer--down at the end of the clearing, where the
brook makes a turn!” he whispered. “If you don’t make a noise perhaps I
can bring him down.”
“It’s a long shot,” returned Uriah Risley, who was no marksman at all,
measured by the proficiency of the old pioneers. “I can scarcely see
the animal.”
“I see him,” put in Dave. “There, he is turning up the brook!”
By this time Joseph Morris had his rifle and was examining the
flint-lock. The weapon was in good condition for use, and he tiptoed
his way out of the cabin, and crouching low, made for a stump standing
fifty feet closer to the brook.
“Let us keep in the shadow,” whispered Dave, who wished to give his
uncle all the advantage possible, and the Englishman, his wife, and the
boy huddled up in the sheltered doorway. A silence of several minutes
followed. Joseph Morris had gained the stump and was on his knees
behind it, with his rifle barrel leveled across the top.
“I don’t see the deer anymore,” came in a husky tone from Uriah Risley.
“He must have got frightened and run away.”
“No, he is there, behind the brush,” answered Dave. “Hist! here he
comes!”
All became silent, and Mrs. Risley breathed hard in anticipation
of hearing the rifle go off. Step by step the deer came out of the
shadow of the forest until the brookside was gained. For a moment it
disappeared, behind some brush, then came into view at the other end.
Its head was down and only its back could be seen.
Dave looked at his uncle. Joseph Morris still rested behind the stump
as motionless as a statue. Presently he let out a short, sharp, hissing
whistle. Instantly the head of the deer came up, and the animal was all
attention, staring in the direction from whence the sound had come.
Bang! The shot from the rifle echoed and re-echoed through the night
air and across the distant mountain. The deer gave a mighty leap
into the air, then fell with a splash into the brook and lay kicking
convulsively.
“Good! You’ve got him!” shouted Dave, and ran down the clearing with
his uncle behind him and the Risleys bringing up the rear. By the
time they reached the game the deer had ceased to kick and was calmly
breathing its last, with eyes wide open in painful wonder. They hauled
the animal out of the brook, and Joseph Morris speedily put it out of
its misery by cutting its throat.
“A fine shot!” remarked Dave. “Straight through the neck. It’s
something to be proud of--especially in this uncertain light.”
“A remarkable shot!” cried Uriah Risley. “I couldn’t do that if I
practised a thousand years! And you took your time, too.”
“The brush hid him a bit and I wanted him to raise his head,” explained
Mr. Morris. “Yes, it was a good shot, but I’ve seen plenty equal to it.
You can have venison for a week now, and longer.”
“Don’t you want the meat?”
“No, I’ll take the skin and leave the meat to you for your hospitality
to Dave and me. Perhaps we’ll stop again on our return from Annapolis.”
“Do, and we’ll do our best by you,” put in Mrs. Risley. “I’ve been
longing for some fresh venison these three weeks back, but Uriah was
not equal to bringing a deer down.”
“You should practice more with your rifle,” said Joseph Morris, to the
cabin owner. “A pound or two spent on powder and ball is often well
invested. Dave, here, I am proud to say, can shoot almost as well as
myself, and so can my own boys at home.”
“I will take the advice,” answered Uriah Risley. “For such deer meat as
this is certainly worth some shillings, not to speak of the worth of
the hide.”
The game was brought up to the house, and by the light of a pitch pine
torch, the Morrises skinned it and then turned the carcass over to the
Risleys.
“Don’t leave it outside,” said Joseph Morris. “This is the night for
wolves to be around, and they will make short work of the meat if once
they get at it.” And the meat was hung up at the roof of a cattle shed
adjoining the cabin.
The Risley homestead boasted of but two rooms, the living apartment
and a small bedroom. Under such conditions there was nothing for Dave
and his uncle to do but to wrap themselves in their blankets and make
themselves comfortable before the kitchen fire. But this was no new
experience for them and Dave slept as soundly as though in his corded
bed at home. Once during the night he heard the wolves at the cattle
shed, but they soon went off disappointed, and did not return.
The Morrises expected to make an early start, but Mrs. Risley would not
hear of their leaving without a substantial breakfast and they had
to sit down while she made them some pancakes and broiled a fish her
husband had caught in the brook the day before. To these were added
some blackberry jam and some coffee. The Englishman apologized that he
could not offer his visitors any ale.
“I miss my measure for meals sadly,” he observed. “But we have none in
the wood and no pot-house handy, so I have to rest content without it.”
“Water is good enough for me,” answered Joseph Morris. “I care for no
liquor, saving it be a hot toddy when I have been in the wet and cold
and am afraid of taking sick.”
The day was bright and the weather warmer than it had been, and Mr.
Morris and Dave rode off in the best of spirits, the Risleys watching
them until a bend in the trail hid them from view. To the Risleys the
visit was an event to be remembered. Perhaps no other white person
would visit the lonely cabin for weeks and perhaps not even a red man
would cross the threshold.
As the Morrises approached Winchester the cabins of the pioneers
increased, until several could be seen at a time, far up on the
mountain sides, or set snug in the valley below. Winchester was a
fairly large trading-post, and here, at certain times in the year the
hunters, trappers and farmers did considerable business.
When they entered the place they found that a band of Indians had come
in several hours before. The red men had brought in the fruits of their
summer hunt, which they were exchanging for metal and glass ornaments,
highly colored but cheap blankets and cloths, and liquor and sugar.
The two latter articles were in active demand, and many of the Indians
insisted on carrying the rum on the inside instead of in bottles, and
this made them exceedingly noisy. Here and there a brave partly under
the influence of drink would become quarrelsome, but the majority
indulged in nothing more dangerous than singing, whooping and dancing.
“Much drink, much good jolly time,” said one red man, as he rolled
up to Dave and caught the youth by both shoulders. Then he insisted
upon rubbing his nose against Dave’s, a not unusual Indian token of
friendship.
“You’d be better to leave the drink alone,” returned Dave, in disgust,
as he tried to release himself.
“White man’s fire-water heap good,” grunted the Indian. “Make Turtle
Foot feel young again.”
“You may think so, but I don’t. Now let me go.”
“White boy no go yet. White boy drink with Turtle Foot. Feel like big
brave. See!”
As the Indian concluded he pulled from under his blanket a large bottle
still half full of rum. Holding tight to Dave with one hand, he held
the bottle in the other and pulled the cork with his teeth. Then he
shoved the liquor to the lad.
“Take drink--heap good fire-water,” he grunted. “Turtle Foot
treat--Indian big heart.”
“Thank you, but I don’t wish to drink,” said Dave, as calmly as he
could. He was alone with the red man, his uncle having gone inside the
post, leaving him in care of the horses. Near at hand were half a dozen
other Indians all whooping as if trying to split somebody’s ears.
“White boy must drink with Turtle Foot,” insisted the red man in an
ugly manner.
“I won’t--and that’s an end on it!” cried Dave, his temper rising. “Now
let me go I tell you!” And he gave the Indian a shove that sent him
sprawling flat on his back. At once the other Indians stopped whooping
and set up a roar at the expense of their fallen companion.
“Turtle Foot has lost his legs,” said one, in the Miami tongue. “He is
as a pappoose in the hands of the white boy.”
“Turtle Foot cannot drink fire-water like we can,” said another. “And
he cannot make the white boy drink. He had better return to the squaws
and sell his fire-water for a bracelet,” and then another roar went up.
With a snort like that of an angry beast, Turtle Foot turned over on
the ground and scrambled to his feet. Fearing trouble, Dave started for
the doorway to the trading-post. Then he thought of the horses tied
some distance away and hesitated, fearing to leave them unwatched. In
another moment Turtle Foot staggered up to him and caught him again by
the arm.
“White boy shall pay!” he cried, in a rage, and now one hand slid under
his blanket and came forth again clutching a long hunting knife.
CHAPTER V
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
It must be confessed that Dave was both startled and dismayed by the
sudden turn affairs had taken. He had not wished to quarrel with Turtle
Foot from the start, but the half drunken Indian was one of those
persistent fellows who could not be avoided.
“Put down that knife!” he said, in as steady a voice as he could
command. “Put it down!” And then he caught hold of the red man’s
wrist and held on with all his strength. At once the fellow began to
struggle, and Indian and boy swayed back and forth in front of the
trading-post. The other Indians looked on in expectancy, but nobody
tried to stop Turtle Foot in his evil intention to injure the youth.
Strange as it may appear, Dave did not think to cry out until it was
too late, and even if he had done so, it is doubtful if he would have
been heard above the general uproar the Indians were making. He felt
himself pressed back against a stockade and then his foot slipped in a
puddle of water and he went down on his knees. Instantly the Indian’s
hand left his arm and glided to his throat and the red man held the
knife aloft in front of his eyes.
“Consarn you!”
The exclamation came very much in the nature of an explosion, and was
followed by the leap of a white man directly behind the Indian. Like a
flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward by his hair and his hunting knife
twisted from his grasp. Then the newcomer raised the Indian bodily over
his head, rushed across the roadway, and threw the fellow into a ditch,
where he went to the bottom with a loud splash.
“Thar, you miserable critter, lie thar and cool off! If you ever dare
to tech this lad ag’in I’ll split your wizen fer you! The idee of you
a-coming to the post to git rum and then cutting up sech a shindy as
this! Clar out with you afore I kick you so full of holes your own
squaw won’t know you! And you other redskins, you behave yourselves, or
I’ll cut loose, and thar will be some tall shooting and knifing going
on, I’ll warrant you!” And the speaker ended with a fist shaking that
made the Indians retreat in all directions. They knew the man who spoke
and knew he meant all that he said.
“Sam Barringford!” ejaculated Dave, joyfully, as he arose to his feet.
“I’m mighty glad you came.”
[Illustration: Like a flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward.--_Page
42._]
“I’m glad myself, Dave,” returned the old hunter. “But tell me, what
made him so sot ag’in you?”
“He got mad because I wouldn’t drink with him.”
“Did, hey? Wall, Turtle Foot always was a fool, and he’s a heap
wuss when he’s in liquor.” Sam Barringford looked over to where the
Indian was extricating himself from the mud. “Mind what I told you!”
he shouted. “Git right away from here! You can come back for your
knife to-morrow. I’ll leave it with Seth Crosby!” And not daring
to remonstrate Turtle Foot limped down the trail away from the
trading-post.
Sam Barringford was a typical hunter and trapper of that period, and
well known throughout the whole of the Virginia valley, both to the
whites and the red men. He was a man of fifty, tall, broad-shouldered,
and with muscles of iron. His hair was long, as was his beard, and from
under a shaggy pair of eyebrows peered a pair of black eyes as sharp
as those of some wild beast. The look of his face was one of decision,
yet not unpleasant, and his voice had a peculiar drawl to it that was
whimsical in the extreme.
The hunter was dressed in buckskin, with a wide fringe to his leggings.
On his feet he wore a pair of Indian moccasins, and on his head rested
a coonskin cap with the tail falling over his back. Around his waist
was a broad belt containing a hunting knife and a horn of powder, shot
and ball, and across his back was slung a rifle which he had nicknamed
Old Trusty, as good a piece of firearm as to be found anywhere.
“The Injuns are as foolish as some white folks when it comes to rum,”
was Barringford’s comment, as he and Dave walked to where the horses
were tied up. “They know it hurts ’em, and yet they won’t leave it
alone. Ain’t here alone, are you?”
“No, Uncle Joe is inside the post. He left me to watch the horses. We
are on our way to Annapolis to buy some things for father.”
“Then he’s settled on the Kinotah? I’m glad to hear of that, lad. He
ought to do well. I shall hunt him up the next time I git out to that
region. Took Tony and Putty with him, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“Them twins is all right and rattlin’ good shots to boot. He’ll do well
if he treats the Injuns half right--and I know he will.”
“But what do you think of the French, Sam?”
The old hunter shook his head slowly. “Ain’t no telling what them
garlic eaters will do--their mind ain’t the same two days. I’ve heard
tell they claim the whole Ohio valley. But they might as well claim the
whole airth and done with it.”
“I’ve been talking with Uncle Joe about it and he is afraid the peace
won’t last. Nothing was said about Lake Erie or the Ohio valley in the
treaty.”
“Then the French will make trouble, if they can git the Injuns to side
with them--and I suppose they can, or, at least, they can git some of
them--those up around the lakes. You see the Frenchman is the slickest
talker on airth and he can make the redskin believe a whole lot what
ain’t so.”
The old hunter and Dave continued to discuss the subject for a while
longer, and then Joseph Morris came out of the trading-post in a hurry,
having just heard that an Indian had attacked his nephew.
“What was it all about?” he questioned, and when told showed how much
he was disturbed. “The rascal! He ought not to be allowed near the
post! He might have killed you had not Sam come up. Sam, I owe you one
for that,” he went on, warmly, catching the trapper by the hands.
“I suppose Turtle Foot will remember me, if ever we meet again,” said
Dave.
“No doubt on that, lad,” answered Barringford. “But when you do meet
him put on a bold front, and my word on it, he’ll sneak in double-quick
order.”
The frolics of the Indians had now been resumed, and a number of
backwoodsmen had come in to have a good time also. Some of these
fellows were half-breeds and many wore the dress of their red
brethren. They were a wild, lawless crowd and, on the whole, more to be
feared than the Indians themselves. Soon the liquor was flowing freely,
the Indians were dancing and whooping madly, and the backwoodsmen
were shouting themselves hoarse and shooting their firearms into the
night air. This orgy kept up until two o’clock in the morning, when it
died away gradually, the Indians slinking off into the woods and the
backwoodsmen dropping wherever it was convenient in drunken slumber.
Joseph Morris had secured accommodations for himself and Dave at a
cabin close to the post, and hither they retired, leaving their horses
in care of Sam Barringford, who tethered them to a tree in the woods
and went to sleep beside them as innocently and as free from care as a
child. When the carousal in the village broke up some of the Indians
came toward Barringford, but as soon as they recognized the old hunter
they took great pains to leave him undisturbed.
Dave slept but little that night previous to the end of the noise, and
he sat for a long while at the cabin window looking at what was going
on in the moonlight. He had witnessed such a scene before, when a white
man and an Indian had been seriously hurt, and he anticipated similar
results now. But this anticipation was not fulfilled, for with all
the shooting, leaping, shoving and wrestling nobody was injured, and
the most that anybody suffered was the tearing of his clothing. One
backwoodsman who had refused to pay for liquor for his friends was
ridden on a sharp rail, but this act was carried out more in fun than
as a punishment.
When Dave came out in the morning and walked toward the trading-post
and around it he felt somewhat astonished at the turn affairs had
taken. One backwoodsman had aroused another, and all had stolen off as
meekly and quietly as had the red men several hours before. The post
was almost deserted in consequence and appeared more lonely than ever.
“It’s a way those fellows have,” said one of the traders to Dave. “They
go out into the woods for weeks at a time and you never see hide nor
hair of ’em. Then of a sudden the Indians come in and the half-breeds
and the rest follow, and they kick up such a shindy as you saw. It
seems they have got to break loose--they jest can’t help themselves.
And they don’t mean no harm by it neither--at least the most of ’em
don’t. That Turtle Foot is an exception, and if he don’t look out he’ll
get a knife in his back some day.”
Sam Barringford was bound for the home of Lord Fairfax, but had
business at Winchester which would keep him at the post for a day
longer, so he had to part with the Morrises when they resumed their
journey, much as he would like to have accompanied them, for he was
strongly attached to Dave.
“Lord Fairfax is a great hunter, you know,” he explained. “But his
style is the English one--behind the hounds. Now he wants to git right
out in the woods after big game, and he’s offered me a pistole a day
for my services, and I’ve closed with him for a month. It’s not bad
pay in these times, and he says he may make it more, if I show him
something worth bringing down, and I think I can.” And Joseph Morris
agreed that it was a good offer, for a pistole in those days was worth
about three dollars and sixty cents.
“Is Lord Fairfax going alone?” asked Dave.
“No, he is going to take Lawrence Washington and several others with
him. I am calculating on a fine time, for my lord is a good liver and
has the finest horses in this section of the country.”
“I know he has a fine estate,” put in Joseph Morris.
“Nothing finer. I read some of the reports that young George Washington
brought in--you know he surveyed the tract for Lord Fairfax. He noted
down all about the soil and the timber, and the water power and all. I
can tell you that young fellow is a smart one. I don’t wonder that they
have made him a public surveyor. Lord Fairfax is sure a surveyor from
England couldn’t have been more accurate.”
“I should like to see a surveyor at work,” said Dave. “It’s always been
a good deal of a mystery to me how they measured land, especially from
one hill or mountain to another.”
“Perhaps you’ll meet Washington on your way to Annapolis, lad; he’s
out somewhere in the neighborhood of the Shenandoah, surveying a grant
of land for a man named Burger. The north end of the grant lies at
Heckwell’s Creek.”
“We intended to cross near Heckwell’s,” said Joseph Morris. “How is the
river?”
“Very low now and you’ll have no trouble;” and after a few words more
the friends parted, and the Morrises continued on their journey.
The route was now directly eastward, across the broad and fertile
valley of the beautiful Shenandoah, the name of which, in the Indian
tongue, means, “Daughter of the Stars.” Here the forests were still
immense, but broken by wide patches of luxuriant grass and “islands” of
wild flowers, some of which were still in bloom. The scene was truly
entrancing, and often Joseph Morris would call a halt and point out
one object or another of special interest.
“How people can box themselves up in a city when they might come forth
to enjoy something like this is past my understanding,” he said once.
“Was ever air purer or sweeter, or music more full of melody than that
which yonder birds are giving us? And listen to the murmur of that
brook as it trickles along through the brush and over the rocks; it is
a psalm in itself.”
“It certainly is grand, Uncle Joe. If only a painter could set it all
down on canvas and show it to the folks that live in such a city as
London!”
“Aye, but he couldn’t, for the breath of the life that is here would
be missing. To me every tree and bush, and patch of grass, can talk as
well as can yonder brook and the birds. And what painter could put that
talk in his picture, or that feeling that comes over one as he stands
here under such a blue sky? No, it’s not possible, and painters must
know it, unless they be truly conceited.”
At midday they came to a halt under the wide-spreading branches of
a gigantic oak, a veritable monarch of the forest, standing like a
sentinel on a grassy knoll overlooking a wide creek flowing into the
Shenandoah several miles beyond. For the last hour the trail had been
uncertain, with many wet and slippery spots to avoid, and they had
moved forward slowly and with care.
Both felt like eating something warm, and while Mr. Morris got out the
provisions, Dave stirred round with a hatchet with which to cut some
firewood. There was little on the knoll and he descended and walked
over an opening to where grew some brush. Here lay a fallen tree with
several dry branches well suited to his purpose.
Dave was hard at work chopping off one of the branches when a noise
coming from the woods beyond the brush attracted his attention. There
was a cry and then a thrashing around of a human being.
“Hullo, what’s up there?” he called out, and leaving the fallen tree,
started in the direction from whence the sounds proceeded. Running
through a strip of the woods, he reached a series of rocks where there
was another open patch with a spring.
Just as Dave came to the opening a gun went off, and as the smoke
cleared away the first thing he saw was a snake twirling and twisting
on the ground in its death agonies. Several other snakes were close by,
and in their midst was a young man who was doing his best to get away
from the reptiles.
Dave had often encountered snakes on the farm, so he was not as
frightened as he might otherwise have been. As the young man started
to club one of the reptiles with the stock of his gun, Dave aimed a
blow with his hatchet at another, and in a few seconds two more of the
snakes were put in a condition where they could do no further harm.
Then the young man and the boy attacked the remaining snakes, but these
glided away between the rocks, and in less than five minutes after it
had begun the battle was over and the snakes had departed to return no
more.
“That was warm work,” remarked Dave, as he wiped the bloody hatchet on
the grass. “Did that first snake bite you?”
“He struck at my boot, but the leather was too thick for him,” was the
answer, delivered in quite a cool tone considering the excitement which
had just passed. “I must thank you for coming to my assistance.”
“You were lucky to escape so easily. I know a man who got in a nest of
snakes like that and was bitten three times.”
“I was somewhat on my guard, as it happens. I imagined there might be
snakes around these rocks. But I had to come here.”
“Had to come here?”
“Yes. You see, I am surveying this tract of land.”
“Oh, then you are Mr. George Washington, the public surveyor?” cried
Dave.
“I am.”
CHAPTER VI
GEORGE WASHINGTON THE SURVEYOR
At the time Dave Morris first met George Washington, the future
President of the United States and “Father of His Country,” as he has
affectionately been called, was about nineteen years of age. He was
tall, well proportioned, muscular and athletic and showed well the
advantages of his temperate mode of living. His eyes were blue and
penetrating, and his face, while not severe, showed a quiet reserve and
a dignity that made him what he soon after became--a natural leader of
men.
It was on the 22d day of February, 1732, that George Washington first
saw the light of day, in an old family homestead on Bridges Creek, near
where that stream empties into the Potomac river. The homestead was an
old-fashioned affair, with sloping roofs coming almost to the ground
and with a wide and substantial chimney at each end. It had come into
the possession of Colonel John Washington, the future President’s great
grandfather years before, and upon the colonel’s death had been left
in the family. It was a beautiful spot, but in later years was allowed
to go to decay.
The father of the future President was named Augustine, and he was
married twice. By his first marriage he had a son Lawrence, of whom we
shall hear more later, and several other children. His second marriage
was to Mary, the daughter of Colonel Ball, and by this he had George
and three other sons and two daughters. Thus it will be seen that the
Washington family was quite an extensive one.
George was still a small boy when his father gave up the homestead at
Bridges Creek, and moved to a place opposite Fredericksburg, on a bit
of rising ground bordering the Rappahannock. The family were well to
do, and, as was the custom of many rich folk, Lawrence, the oldest son,
was sent to England to be educated. But George had no such advantage,
and his first schooling was obtained at a modest country school of the
neighborhood, kept by a Mr. Hobby, who was both schoolmaster and parish
sexton.
At school George proved a quick and diligent scholar, and there are
still preserved some of his copy and other books in which he wrote
and ciphered, showing a neatness and orderliness which followed him
all through life. He even wrote out for himself a series of Rules of
Conduct, which are to-day models of etiquette. He was a champion
runner, jumper and swimmer, and many anecdotes have been told showing
how he won contests, and how he brought to grief the bully of the
school. In those days the wars with the Indians were fresh in the
public mind, and Washington with his school fellows played Indians
and soldiers, with wooden guns and rude bows and arrows of their own
making. Once such play ended in a grand fight that became real, and
then Washington did his best to separate the contestants. After the
fight was over the schoolmaster called the boys together and asked
for an explanation. Each of the boys took his own part, declaring the
others in the wrong. In despair the teacher called on Washington, and
asked what he knew of the matter. At once Washington stood up and spoke
like a lawyer in court, giving the details with great clearness and
showing how one was about as much to blame as another, and pleading
that the boys be forgiven all around, as they had not meant to make
the fight real when they started. The school teacher agreed to let the
matter drop if the boys would promise to fight no more, and this the
lads did, and separated with a cheer for Washington and with their
general good feeling restored.
When Lawrence Washington returned from England, a well educated and
highly polished young man of twenty-one, the mother country was
having a great deal of trouble with Spain, who had interfered with her
commerce on the high seas. This led to the raising of some troops for
a campaign in the West Indies, and George’s elder brother obtained
a captain’s commission and served under Admiral Vernon and General
Wentworth for nearly two years. This service filled George, who was but
eight years old, with military fervor, and he forthwith organized the
schoolboys into a military company and drilled them on the green--the
foundation stone of his great military leadership of the future.
When George was eleven years of age his father died, leaving him to the
tender care of his mother and his two older half-brothers. The youth
had now outgrown the advantages of the school kept by Mr. Hobby, and
consequently was sent to live at Bridges Creek, with his half-brother
Augustine, who was married and had settled there. Here George attended
a school kept by a Mr. Williams, and was as diligent as ever in his
studies, although always preferring those of the more practical kind,
reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, history and the making out of
bills, accounts and the like. He also studied surveying, and often went
out for practice in this art, so that he might master it thoroughly.
In the meantime, he did not forget his athletic exercises and his
horsemanship, and it was said that he could ride as well and throw a
stone as far as anybody of his age.
Shortly after his father’s death, Lawrence Washington had married the
daughter of William Fairfax, who was then living in Virginia, and
managing the large estates of his cousin, Lord Fairfax,--estates which
lay upon both sides of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Lawrence had settled
at Mount Vernon, named, as told before, after his old commander, and he
was now an influential member of the community, belonging to the House
of Burgesses, and acting as adjutant-general of the district. Here
George was a frequent visitor, and here he became at one time possessed
with a desire to join the navy, his brother’s visitors filling him
with stories of the glories of such a life. A midshipman’s warrant was
obtained for him, his baggage was packed, and all was made ready for
his departure. But at the last moment Mrs. Washington broke down and
begged her son to remain at home.
“But how can I refuse now I have enlisted?” said George.
“If you go you will break your mother’s heart,” was the sobbed-out
answer.
At this George stood for several minutes in deep silence. A struggle
was going on in his breast. At last he caught his mother around the
neck.
“I will stay at home,” he said, softly. “I can’t go away and see you
suffer.”
His baggage was brought ashore, the midshipman’s warrant annulled, and
George returned to school. Some few called him a coward for this, but
he did not care, for his conscience told him that he had done what was
right.
When George gave up school and came to stay again at Mount Vernon he
was a frequent visitor at Belvoir, the home of the Fairfaxes, but a few
miles away. Here he had a companion in George Fairfax, the son of the
manager of the estate, and the two were often out hunting or fishing
together. In the meantime, Lord Fairfax, a nobleman of sixty, had come
on from England. He was a great hunter and often took the two Georges
with him behind his hounds. He took a special liking to Washington and
treated him very much as a son, and one day, learning that Washington
had studied surveying, asked to see some of the young man’s maps. These
were brought and inspected, and at the conclusion of the interview
Lord Fairfax made Washington an offer that he survey the estates, and
offered him from a doubloon to six pistoles per day, according to the
work accomplished. George Fairfax was to accompany the young surveyor.
The compact was made and the young surveyor, but sixteen years old,
and clad in plain buckskin and hunting shirt, started out, accompanied
by George Fairfax. At times they had attendants with them, but not
always. It was the month of March and the snow still lay deep in the
mountain passes, and the rivers were much swollen. The two traveled for
miles along the Shenandoah, making surveys and maps, the accuracy of
which are to-day beyond dispute. It was a life to which Washington was
unaccustomed, yet he never complained. For the most part they slept in
the open, in the “howling wilderness,” with only the canopy of stars
above them. Once they stopped at the cabin of a squatter and the vermin
in the bed drove George out in the middle of the night; again they were
out in their tent when a big storm came up and blew the tent to shreds
and sent their traps flying in all directions. Once Washington’s bed
caught fire and he would have been sadly burnt had not his companion
awakened him. He now met many Indians, and one day witnessed a war
dance, which, however, ended in nothing more than a drunk on the part
of the red men. They had to hunt a large portion of their food and had
to go hungry several times, when fish and game failed to appear. The
Indians were always suspicious of them, and viewed the doings of the
young surveyor with awe, and inspected the marks set up with exceeding
curiosity. “White man make mark what for?” asked one old Indian, and
when Washington tried to explain he went on: “Dis red man’s land,
white man no need to mark him,” and strode off in disgust and wrath.
That night George and his companion lay awake with their guns in their
hands, fearing the old Indian might come back to harm them, but the old
warrior did not reappear.
When the surveys were completed, Washington returned to Mount Vernon,
drew them up into proper shape, and presented them to Lord Fairfax. His
lordship was greatly pleased with the work done and listened closely to
all George had to tell him about the soil, the timber in the forests,
the currents of the streams, and other matters of importance.
“It was a great work for a young man like you, George,” he said. “A
great work. You ought to be a public surveyor.”
“I wouldn’t mind having the position,” answered Washington.
“Then you shall have it--if my influence counts for anything,” replied
Lord Fairfax.
Shortly after this his lordship called upon Lawrence Washington, and
the three talked it over between them. It was agreed that the opening
might prove of value to George in the future, for in the heads of older
men there was already a scheme for forming a company to develop the
region beyond the Blue Ridge.
“I shall give up Belvoir, go across the Blue Ridge and establish myself
at Greenway Court,” said Lord Fairfax. “Then when I am settled we
can perfect our schemes. George is honest, fearless, and has a sound
judgment in all things, and he will be the man we shall need. He ought
to become a public surveyor by all means. Then all his transactions
will have a legal standing and will go on record.” And so it was
settled.
Washington entered on his new duties with as much faithfulness as ever,
and soon he was overcrowded with work, for it was known that he was
thoroughly reliable, and there were very few surveyors, considering the
many grants of land which had to be mapped out. To him the days and
the months passed swiftly. When he needed a rest he either visited his
brother and mother, or else went to see Lord Fairfax at Greenway Court,
which became a noted resort for all sorts of visitors, who hunted and
danced to their hearts’ content. At Greenway Court Washington met many
in high life some of whom, when the War of the Revolution broke out,
remained his warmest friends, while others became his bitterest enemies.
One day a man named Burger came to Washington and asked him to survey
a grant of land near Heckwell’s Creek. Burger was a German who had
emigrated to Virginia from Pennsylvania, and he had met Washington
while the young surveyor was out for Lord Fairfax, and had helped carry
the baggage over a much swollen stream.
“I cannot pay you now, Mr. Washington,” said Burger, “but I will pay
you when I am settled down, take my word on it.”
“I will trust you willingly, Mr. Burger,” answered the young surveyor.
“I haven’t forgotten the service you rendered me a couple of years ago.
You can pay me when you can afford it.” And then he left for Heckwell’s
Creek, and went to work. He had been out two days, locating some former
landmarks which a storm had partly washed away, when he encountered the
nest of snakes, and fell in with Dave as just described.
CHAPTER VII
THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAIN GAP
Joseph Morris was now coming up, gun in hand, to learn the meaning of
the shot which had been fired. He looked with surprise at the dead
snakes and then at his nephew and the stranger.
“This is Mr. Washington, the surveyor,” said Dave, and then he added:
“This is my uncle, Mr. Joseph Morris. I am Dave Morris. We come from
back of Will’s Creek.”
“I have heard of the Morrises before,” said Washington, as he shook
hands with Joseph Morris.
“And I have heard of you, sir, and have met your brother Lawrence,”
answered Dave’s uncle. “You seem to have had a lively time of it,” he
continued, and kicked one of the snakes with his foot to make sure that
it was dead.
“Yes, I did have. But your nephew came to my aid, and between us we
made short work of the reptiles. Master David, I owe you my thanks, and
more.”
Washington bowed as he spoke, and Dave bowed in return. “It wasn’t
much I did,” said the youth. “You frightened them pretty well when you
fired that shot. It’s lucky you had your gun in hand.”
At this the surveyor smiled faintly. “I was out trying to stir up some
dinner,” he said. “You see, I left all my traps over at Denton’s and I
did not wish to go back until to-morrow. I thought it would be easy to
pick up a bird or two, or a pair of squirrels.”
“If that is the case, will you not come and eat with us?” said Mr.
Morris. “We were just preparing our midday meal. We have a-plenty and
you will be heartily welcome.”
At first Washington demurred, not wishing to intrude, but soon he saw
that the invitation was genuine, and he consented to join the Morrises.
“I left some of my surveying outfit behind yonder rocks,” he said. “I
will bring them over and then help with your fire,” and this he did,
and soon he and Dave were bringing in armfuls of wood. In half an hour
the meal was ready and the three sat down to partake of it.
At first there was a reserve upon both sides, as was natural, but as
the eating progressed all warmed up and then the talk flowed freely.
Washington told of the work he was doing for Mr. Burger and what he
had done for some men Mr. Morris knew, and the latter related how
Dave’s father had gone west and established a trading-post on the
Kinotah, and how he and Dave were now on their way to purchase some
goods needed by the trader. From this the conversation branched off
to the difficulty with the French and the Indians, and Joseph Morris
asked Washington if he knew how matters stood in political circles with
regard to these difficulties.
“Matters are not very promising,” answered the surveyor. “I heard
some guests at Greenway Court talking strongly of another war. But I
sincerely trust it does not come.”
“Will the Indians side with us if war does come?”
“My brother thinks they will and so does Mr. Fairfax, and so do some of
the hunters and traders who have been among them. But the Indian is an
uncertain creature, often moved more by impulse than reason, and there
is no telling how he will stand when it comes to striking a blow.”
The meal over, Washington saw that Dave was curious to learn something
of the method of surveying, and so brought forth his outfit and
explained the uses of the various instruments. The youth was deeply
interested and listened closely to all that was said.
“I wouldn’t mind being a surveyor myself,” he remarked. “That is, if I
could make a living at it.”
“You could do that readily enough if you could command the work,”
answered Washington. “But it is no child’s play, especially in the
mountains. In a week or two I expect to have some work to do which will
be exceedingly hazardous.”
“And what will it be?”
“Do you see yonder mountain, over near the split?”
“I do.”
“I must survey along the face of that mountain and through the gap to
the north-east, and around the mountain torrent running there. That
will mean rough work and dangerous climbing.”
“It would just suit me!” cried Dave. “I wish I could go along. Don’t
you want some help?”
“My regular man will be with me. He is now over at Denton’s after
another chain, for he lost one in the river.”
“I have been to the tops of a dozen mountains,” went on Dave. “I like
climbing very well, and it never makes me the least bit dizzy.”
“That’s certainly in your favor,” said Washington, with a smile.
He liked Dave’s frankness--which frankness was a good deal like
Washington’s own.
Over an hour was thus spent in camp, and then with a handshake the
Morrises parted company with the surveyor, who went back to his search
for landmarks. Soon the camp utensils were repacked, and they were off,
to the best crossing place the river, in that vicinity, afforded.
“He’s a fine young man,” was Dave’s comment, as he urged his steed
forward, side by side with that of his uncle. “His face has a
thoroughly good look.”
“That it has, Dave, and his tongue is as honest as his face. I do
not wonder that folks like to do business with him. And he must be
uncommonly clever, too, to conduct surveys of estates worth thousands
of pounds.”
“I wish I could go and survey yonder mountain with him.”
“It might prove harder work than you anticipated.”
“I don’t care--I would like to do it anyway. Roughing it just suits me.
That’s why I would like to be out with father.”
“I’m afraid, Dave, you’ll never care to settle down to steady farming
life,” said Joseph Morris, with a sigh. “It’s plain to see you have
your father’s restless spirit in you.”
“Well, we can’t all be farmers, Uncle Joe. Some men must be restless
or the world would stand still. Columbus was restless and that is what
made him discover America and Captain John Smith was restless, too,
and that brought him to Virginia and made him fight for his footing.
I don’t think it’s right to find fault with restless men, as you call
them, if they do what is right.”
“I am not finding fault, my lad. Only I want to caution you against
breaking away from habits that are steady. A steady farmer, who attends
strictly to his work, is worth a dozen such men as those restless
backwoodsmen for instance, who came into Winchester and raised a row.”
“But if a fellow doesn’t like farming?”
“Then try to find something else to do. There are many openings, and
more are springing up. You might get into some business in the town.
How would you like to be bound out as an apprentice?”
“I’d hate that! I don’t want to live in town. I would like trading, or
surveying, or something like that--something that would let me travel
around, and yet something that I could make money at.”
“Well, those openings are not so many. But perhaps your father will
need you soon, and out in that wild country you’ll get all the open air
you’ll want.”
The Shenandoah passed, their course was now directly for the gap in
the mountains which Washington had pointed out. Here the trail soon
plunged into the gloom of the mountain forest, where the cedars and
hemlocks were so thick the two could scarcely see a rod before them.
The road was rough to such a degree that the horses often came to a
standstill and had to be led forward by hand. The soil was black and
thick with insects and they had to watch carefully for fear of stirring
up such a snake’s nest as had been left behind.
“Mr. Washington certainly will have a task surveying through here,”
remarked Dave, as they came to a halt to catch their breaths after
toiling up a rocky hill.
“Such a forest as this must be hundreds of years old,” returned Mr.
Morris. “Look at that stately tree for example. It flourished probably
even before your grandfather was born. What a story it could tell could
it speak!”
“Probably it could tell more of the Indians than they know themselves,
Uncle Joe. It’s too bad the redskins couldn’t keep a written history,
isn’t it? It would make interesting reading, I’m thinking.”
Nightfall found them still in the mountains and no habitation of any
sort in sight. Mr. Morris climbed a tree and took a long view of their
surroundings.
“I can see no cabin,” he said, on descending to the ground. “We shall
have to spend the night in the open.”
“I shan’t mind,” answered Dave. “Let us start up a roaring camp-fire
and make ourselves comfortable.”
Searching around, they found a clump of bushes ten or a dozen feet
in diameter. With the hatchet Dave cut out the center of the clump,
leaving an opening large enough for his uncle and himself to sleep in.
Over the top of the remaining brush he fastened a canvas they carried,
and on the bottom of the improvised shelter he scattered some small
cedar branches. The latter gave forth a clean and wholesome smell and
would serve to keep the sleepers from the damp ground.
“There, that ought to make a good bunking-out place,” he declared when
he had finished.
“It will, Dave.” The boy’s uncle smiled. “You were cut out for a life
in the open, no doubt of that.”
While the boy was working around the brush, Joseph Morris had started
the camp-fire. The dry cedar caught fire readily and soon the generous
blaze made the surroundings decidedly cheerful. At the river they had
paused long enough for Dave to hook a fine fish, and this they baked on
a flat stone, and ate with some corn bread, washing the meal down with
a drink from a nearby brook. Then the horses were cared for, and they
laid down to rest.
Dave was tired and hardly had his head touched the cedar boughs when he
dropped off into a profound slumber. Mr. Morris sat up a little longer,
to finish a pipe of tobacco he had lit and to replenish the fire. But
presently the pipe went out, the fire was fed with an extra billet of
wood, and he too turned in, and in five minutes was snoring lustily.
Left to itself, the fire burnt merrily, the new fuel causing the flames
to shoot up far above the brushwood. The light attracted several
magnificent deer to the vicinity and the timid creatures came closer
and closer in their curiosity. On the trail of the deer came a large
and powerful panther, empty in stomach and longing for a meal of
venison.
Closer and closer to the camp-fire came the deer, sniffing the air
suspiciously and eyeing the fascinating blaze with nervous wonder.
Then the burning logs fell in a heap and they shrank back, startled by
the noise, slight as it was. As the blaze went down the panther crept
closer and still closer. Its hungry eyes gleamed ferociously and its
jaws began to work convulsively. Step by step it came up at the rear of
the largest of the deer, closer and still closer. Now it squatted flat
on the ground and gathered itself for a leap. Several seconds passed,
and the deer turned, as if told by instinct that something was wrong.
Then came a swift whirr of a heavy body through the midnight air and
the panther landed on the deer and brought it to the ground.
CHAPTER VIII
ON TO ANNAPOLIS
Both Dave and his uncle awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in the
shelter of brush. The fire had died down so that they could see but
little around it, the moon had gone behind a dense mass of clouds.
“What was that?” cried the youth, as he reached for his gun, which had
been placed close at hand.
“I heard a snort of some kind,” answered Joseph Morris. “Perhaps some
wild beast has attacked the horses.”
He, too, caught up his weapon, and a bound took him outside. Then he
ran with all speed to where the steeds were tethered.
When Dave reached the side of the camp-fire he paused. He had been
about to follow his uncle, when a snort of pain, followed by a cracking
of bones, reached his ears. The sounds did not come from the direction
of the horses, but from a glade on the opposite side of the camp-fire.
Catching up a burning fagot, he hurried in the direction. The noise
continued, and soon he made out the form of the struggling deer as the
head and antlers were waved from side to side in an endeavor to pierce
the panther’s side.
“This way, Uncle Joe!” he cried. “A deer is fighting with some other
wild animal. I can’t make out what it is, it’s so dark.”
“The horses are safe!” came in reply from Joseph Morris. “Where is the
deer?”
“This way! I’m going to shoot the other beast.”
“No! wait! I am coming.”
Dave had raised his gun, but at the latter words he lowered his weapon.
In less than a minute his uncle was at his side.
“A painter!” ejaculated Joseph Morris. “And a big fellow at that. This
is a fight to the death. Let them have it out.”
“Do you suppose there are others around?”
“No. There might have been more deer, but they have taken to their
heels long ago. So far as I know, painters never travel together.”
“I suppose the painter has the best of it.”
“He hoped to have, or he wouldn’t have tackled the deer. But he may get
more than he bargained for.”
All this time the battle was going on furiously. In the semi-darkness
they could see little more than a turning over of first one body and
then another. Suddenly the panther shifted its hold from the deer’s
shoulder to its throat. But the movement, quick as it was, gave the
deer time to shift also and one of its sharp prongs was caught under
the panther’s hind legs, piercing the flesh for several inches and
causing the blood to flow freely.
Having turned over twice, the deer started to toss off its assailant.
It failed, and then attempted to run, hoping to dash the panther
against a nearby tree. But the panther clung as tightly as ever to
the deer’s throat, and before the tree was reached, it staggered for
want of wind and loss of blood, for its shoulder was horribly mangled.
Failing to reach the tree, it gathered itself up for a last effort
and struck up with its hind hoofs, gashing the panther deeply in the
lower portion of its body. Following this despairing kick it gave a
convulsive shudder and fell back lifeless.
For a few seconds after the deer breathed its last, the panther held
on. Then slowly its grip relaxed and it fell back, but with its stony
gaze still fixed upon its victim.
“The deer is dead,” cried Dave. “And see, the painter is sneaking away!
Shan’t I give him a shot now?”
“Wait! I don’t think he’ll go far,” answered Joseph Morris. “The deer
cut him up pretty well.”
The sounds of human voices now for the first time attracted the
attention of the panther, and taking its gaze from its lifeless prize
it looked in the direction of Dave and his uncle. Then it gave a snarl
of rage and dismay, and did its best to stand erect on its four short
legs. But the effort was too much and it collapsed almost immediately.
“He’s done for,” said Joseph Morris. “The deer must have ripped him
through and through. See, he can’t get up.”
Mr. Morris spoke the truth, the panther tried in vain to rise, at the
same time gasping for breath and snarling with pain and rage. Once it
took something of a step and Dave brought his gun up on a jump, but
before the weapon could be leveled the panther was down on its side and
stretching itself at full length.
“He is done for now,” said Joseph Morris. “It would be a waste of
powder and ball to fire on him. It was a battle royal, and it’s a pity
it wasn’t light enough for us to witness it in detail. Such a sight
isn’t to be met with every day, even in such a wilderness as this.”
Saying he would watch the panther, he sent Dave back to replenish the
fire and this the youth did so effectively that soon the glade was
nearly as light as day. By this time the panther was almost gone, yet
it was allowed to lay undisturbed for nearly half an hour before Joseph
Morris came up behind it and cut its throat with his hunting knife,
thus putting it out of its misery.
“I am glad the painter attacked the deer instead of us,” said Dave, as
he took a close look at the great cat-like creature and shivered. “What
a powerful beast, and what awful claws and teeth!”
“He’s an old one. If he had been younger the deer would never have been
able to turn on him. I think this is the first painter you’ve seen,
isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“They are getting thinned out around here, so Sam Barringford told me.”
“Do they generally attack such big game as deer?”
“Very often, although they usually feed on smaller animals. They lie
on the limbs of trees and drop down on anything passing beneath. Zeph
Tassot had a hand-to-hand fight with one, and he’s got that long scar
on his left cheek to show for it. Zeph jammed the painter in the throat
with his knife and they fought for ’most half an hour, when the beast
turned tail and hid among the rocks. Zeph ran for his life and didn’t
stop till he’d covered two miles or more. He says he never wants to set
eyes on a painter again.”
Uncle and nephew dragged the dead deer and the dead panther close to
the camp-fire, and then it was decided that one should remain on guard
while the other slept.
“The smell of blood may attract other wild beasts to the vicinity,”
said Joseph Morris. “We’ll keep an eye open for them, and also keep the
fire burning brightly.”
Dave turned in and slept for three hours. Then his uncle aroused him
and slumbered for the same length of time.
In the morning they skinned the deer and the panther and hung the pelts
in the rising sun to dry. For breakfast they tried a steak from the
panther and found it not unlike coarse beef to the taste. The remainder
of the panther meat was left behind, but they took with them all of the
deer meat they could conveniently carry.
That day saw them through the mountains and by nightfall they struck
a trail over which horses and wagons had traveled. They now pushed on
faster than ever, and did not rest until an hour after sunset, when
they had gained a small collection of houses called Berry’s Post. Here
they met a trader who willingly relieved them of their skins at a fair
price.
They were now coming into “civilization,” as Joseph Morris expressed
it. Plantations were to be seen on every hand, and they frequently
encountered the overseers and their slaves, for in those days half the
population of Virginia were colored people who were in bondage. Yet the
darkeys were a happy set and often they could hear them singing at a
distance as they worked in the corn and tobacco fields, or around the
immense barns and warehouses.
A storm had been brewing and the next day Joseph Morris and Dave lost
no time in riding straight on to Georgetown, on the beautiful Potomac.
The river was scarcely reached when it began to rain furiously and so
strong was the wind that to ferry across the stream was impossible.
Consequently they remained where they were until the afternoon of the
day following. By this time the wind went down sufficiently for them
to be ferried to the east bank of the stream, and then they set out
directly for Annapolis.
Riding was now easier than ever and they frequently met horsemen and
ladies out for pleasure, and occasionally a chariot would roll by with
the family arms blazoned on its side and its horseman and footman in
resplendent livery.
“That was the governor’s turnout,” whispered Joseph Morris once, after
a brilliant chariot drawn by four horses had swept by, sending a shower
of dust and dirt over them. “I can tell you he lives well.” Dave turned
around to catch a good look at the show, but a bend in the road already
hid it from view.
Not long after this came a yelping of hounds and a great pack burst
into view and behind them half a dozen hunters, including several city
dignitaries whom Joseph Morris knew by sight. With the gentlemen were
several colored servants, and all seemed to be in the highest spirits.
As they swept by, the Morrises learned that they were bound for the
woods beyond South River, on a grand fox hunt.
“They’ll have sport,” said Dave, gazing after the crowd. “But it won’t
be anything as thrilling as that deer and painter tussle in the dark.”
At last they came to the city gate and passing through made their way
to a respectable enough hostelry where accommodations were not high
priced. The tavern was a low, two-story affair, with many windows, all
filled with tiny panes of glass no larger than one’s hand. In front was
a low stoop, with a heavy railing, and above this stoop hung a rudely
carved wooden plough painted yellow, and underneath the sign, “Golden
Plough Inn, Kept by Theophilus Mangot. Good Fare at Reasonable Prices.”
Behind the tavern was a wide yard and a large barn, and from here came
several negro hostlers to take charge of their steeds.
“Right welcome, sirs,” said the host, coming out in shirt sleeves to
meet them. “Right welcome and just in time for the best of the rooms.”
“The best will depend upon the price you ask,” answered Joseph Morris
cautiously. “We want that which is good without being extravagant.”
“And I can give it you, sirs,” said Theophilus Mangot. “Come, I will
show you what I have, and then we’ll settle upon the price to your
satisfaction,” and he led the way inside.
CHAPTER IX
A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS
Inside the tavern all was life and jollity. In the tap-room, located at
the upper end of the hostelry but down two steps lower than the rest
of the building, a crowd of burly traders, farmers and sailors were
assembled, drinking, smoking and talking loudly. Occasionally a sailor
would burst into a song of the sea, and his mates would join in the
chorus, drowning out every other sound until the song came to an end
with a heavy thumping of glasses and mugs.
Beyond the tap-room was the parlor, a tidy place, with quaint furniture
brought from England sitting in rows along the walls. Here, in a
book-case, were a number of leather-bound volumes, and also a file
of the Spectator, a much-prized English periodical. There were also
several copies of a Maryland newspaper which had but lately made its
appearance and was languishing for want of support.
Next to the parlor came the dining hall, down one step, with a kitchen
in the rear. The hall was long and narrow and had a floor which was
well sanded and marked before meals into fancy shapes. The tables were
low and solid, the chairs broad and high-backed, and at the front was
a long settle, where one might rest and gaze out on the dusty highway.
On a shelf in the dining hall rested the wooden model of a ship, the
vessel in which Theophilus Mangot had come over from England. Beside
the ship was a small brass clock and a frame containing a hand-made map
of Annapolis and vicinity.
Dave saw but little of this until the next morning. For six shillings
his uncle hired a small but comfortable bed-chamber in the rear of the
inn, instairs, and to this they retired, after a bountiful supper which
both enjoyed. No sooner had Dave’s head touched the pillow than he sank
into slumber, and from this he did not awaken until the sun shone in at
the window.
Joseph Morris had already gone below, and the youth hastened to follow
him. But while he was dressing his attention was drawn to a fight
in the stable yard, between two of the negro hostlers. This was a
head-ramming contest, in which the slaves butted each other over and
over again until at last one apparently had enough of it, when he ran
away, leaving the victor to ha! ha! loudly.
“I would rather it were their heads than mine,” said Dave, after
telling his uncle of the affair. “It’s a wonder one of them wasn’t
killed.”
“They get used to it, by practice,” replied Joseph Morris. “I have seen
them fight for hours in that fashion and then give it up little the
worse for the sport.”
Dave’s uncle was to do his purchasing on King and Church streets,
two of the busiest thoroughfares of the town, and hither they went
immediately after breakfast. Several ships from England had come in
only a few days before, so the shops were well filled, and trading was
brisk on every hand. Ready money was often scarce, but the Assembly had
some years before made both tobacco and Indian corn a legal tender for
all debts, and these were readily accepted, at the rate of one penny a
pound for tobacco and twenty pence per bushel for corn. But with it all
the shop-keepers and others who had goods to sell preferred cash, and
Mr. Morris got many a good bargain in consequence.
One of the shops was close to the end of Church street, and while his
uncle was having some goods wrapped up and made otherwise ready for
transportation by horseback, the youth slipped down to the immense
wharves fronting Chesapeake Bay, to take a look at the stately ships,
with their towering masts and square yards, and the little boats of
all descriptions. Here the smell of tar and salt air was heavy, and
here large gangs of black and white laborers were toiling at their
tasks of loading and unloading tobacco, hemp, lumber, rum, molasses,
hardware, and a hundred and one other things.
“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?” asked one of the sailors at hand.
“If ye are there’s nary better craft nor the _Queen Mary_ lying yonder,
nor better master than Cap’n Ringdale who commands her.”
“Thank you, but I don’t care to be a sailor,” answered Dave. “I have
come in to do some trading, that’s all.”
“But you’d better ship,” went on the tar, and caught Dave by the arm.
“No.”
“Come and see our cap’n--he’ll treat ye well,” urged the sailor, trying
his best to became friendly. The ship was short of hands and Captain
Ringdale had promised his men ten shillings for each new man brought in.
“I don’t want to go--and I want you to let go of me!” cried Dave, and
at once grew suspicious, for he had heard of how men had been impressed
into service against their will.
[Illustration: “Looking for a chance to ship, lad?”--_Page 86._]
“Don’t grow alarmed, lad, I won’t hurt ye. Come, you’ll like the
cap’n, I know. Perhaps you never had the chance to look over a ship.
It’s a sight worth seeing, and will cost you nothing.”
“I said, let go of me,” exclaimed Dave, in more alarm than ever. “If
you don’t, I’ll call the watch.”
“You’re a troublesome lad truly!” answered the tar, and then gazed
around to see who else was in sight. Apparently satisfied that the
coast was clear, he suddenly stepped behind Dave and pinned his arms
fast to his side. Then he lifted the lad up bodily in his brawny grasp.
“You shall see the cap’n--whether you go or not,” he went on.
But if he imagined that Dave was to be taken thus easily, he soon found
out his mistake. In an instant the youth twisted his legs around those
of his assailant, so the latter could not budge a step--and there they
remained, one locked above, the other locked below.
“Let loose!” roared the tar. “Let loose, I say, or by my soul, I’ll
knock ye down!”
“Help! help!” cried Dave, shrilly. “Help! Watch!”
“Stow your calls, I say!”
“I will not! Help!”
Dave did his best to turn his head and look up the long dock. The
sailor did likewise, at the same time trying to loosen his legs, that
he might make off with the boy. A small boat was handy and once he had
Dave in this, he felt he could get off with the boy easily.
But now an answering shout came back, which filled the youth with joy
and brought dismay to the tar. Coming from the trading shop, Joseph
Morris had heard and recognized his nephew’s cry and was now running in
that direction.
“What’s the matter, Dave?” he shouted when he caught sight of his
nephew. “What’s the trouble?”
Hearing Dave called by name, the sailor at once let go his hold on the
youth and struck the lad in the side. To keep from falling Dave had to
step away, and thus freed, the tar lost no time in taking to his heels.
“That man wanted to carry me on board his ship,” answered the youth, as
he gazed after the sailor, who was now disappearing behind one of the
nearby warehouses.
“On board his ship?”
“Yes. First he asked me if I didn’t want to become a sailor. I told him
no, and then he caught me around the breast.”
“The rascal!” burst out Joseph Morris. “He wanted to impress you! I
thought it was safe here, or I should not have allowed you to come
alone. If I can catch him I’ll give him a piece of my mind, I’ll
warrant you!”
He ran toward the warehouse, and quite willing to see the sailor
punished, Dave went with him. But the tar had taken time by the
forelock, and when the warehouse was gained, he had disappeared
utterly, nor did a hunt of half an hour bring him to light.
The “scare” made Dave more cautious, and for the remainder of the time
spent in Annapolis he kept within sight of his uncle, especially when
down by the docks. With his uncle he boarded one of the merchantmen
lying at anchor in the bay and inspected the great ship from stem to
stern. From the captain of the merchantman they learned that sailors
were just then scarce and a good price had to be paid to get them to
sail in West Indian waters on account of the pirates.
“The minute you say West Indies to them they won’t sign articles at any
price,” said the captain. “The pirates are as thick as bees and when
they take a prize it’s either join them or walk the plank and not over
half an hour to make up your mind to it either.”
Three days were spent in Annapolis, and then, having purchased all the
things needed, and also several extra horses to carry the load, the
Morrises set off for home. With them for part of the distance went
a settler named Crosby, a whole-souled man of middle age, who by his
light-hearted talk did much to while the weary hours away.
“’Tis a great city, this Annapolis,” said Crosby. “And a good one
wherein to get rid of one’s loose money. Five days ago I had a well
filled purse, but between the drinking, and the card playing, and a
trip to the races at Marlboro ’tis little I have left. To-night there
was to be a play by an Englishman named Shakespeare, but I thought I
would not stay to it, for I’m not overly fond of make-believe things.”
“I’d like to see a play,” said Dave. “At the inn I saw a book of them
written by this same Shakespeare of whom you speak. It must be very
fine.”
“I saw a play at Annapolis several years ago,” put in Joseph Morris.
“It was a comedy called ‘The Sailor’s Lass,’ but it was not well
produced and the actors were hooted off the stage and bombarded with
stale cabbages.”
Our friends were to take the same road home by which they had come, and
proceeded as rapidly as the loads carried by the pack horses permitted.
These latter beasts were powerful animals and well broken, although one
large horse named Lovejoy had a habit of wandering away if not closely
watched.
The third day of the return journey found the Morrises climbing through
the Blue Ridge Mountains once more. Aaron Crosby was still with them,
although he expected to leave them when the Shenandoah was gained.
It was a warm day for this time of year, and Crosby ventured the
prediction that a storm was at hand. “We’ll catch it afore midnight,”
he said, and Joseph Morris agreed with him.
By nightfall the wind had freshened and the sky was heavily overcast.
They had tried to reach the cabin of a settler living in the
neighborhood, but before they could gain it, the rain came down in
torrents and they were glad enough to seek the first shelter at hand.
This proved to be a cliff of rocks, and here they found a cave-like
opening a score of feet in depth, and huddled beneath. At first they
thought to light a camp-fire, but the wind blew so furiously that the
scheme was abandoned.
“The fire would fly in all directions,” said Joseph Morris. “We would
get no benefit and there would be much danger.”
By ten in the evening the storm was at its worst. The rain came down in
sheets, while the fitful gusts of wind tore through the mountain gap
with a fierceness that threatened to uproot every bush and tree in its
path. Sometimes a tree would come down, with a booming and a crashing
to be heard distinctly for hundreds of yards away.
The horses had been tied up in a clump of bushes, but that was all that
could be done for them, excepting to strap the blankets tightly over
them, and also the loads, the latter being placed in the shelter of
some rocks.
At length, when the fury of the storm had subsided somewhat, Dave laid
down to sleep, and Aaron Crosby followed. Joseph Morris walked away
from the cliff to see if the horses were safe. He was gone about half
an hour and came back much disturbed.
“Lovejoy is gone and so is Fanny,” he said. “I’ve looked for them
everywhere but I can’t find any trace of them.”
CHAPTER X
AN UNSUCCESSFUL MISSION
“Fanny is gone?” cried Dave, and sprang up instantly, for the mare
mentioned was his own, given to him by his father, just before the
parent had departed from the farm at Will’s Creek. Fanny had been a pet
in the Morris family for years and Dave thought a great deal of her.
“Yes, she’s gone, and Lovejoy, too,” went on Joseph Morris. “I can’t
find trace of them anywhere.”
“They can’t be very far off,” put in Aaron Crosby. “For I looked after
all the animals not more than an hour ago, and they were well fastened.”
“Could they have been stolen?” asked Dave, with increased anxiety.
“I don’t think so,” said his uncle. “I haven’t seen anybody around,
have you?”
Neither Dave nor Crosby had, and the party came to the conclusion that
the horses must have broken away in their fright. But be that as it
might, they could not afford such a loss, and moreover Dave could not
bear to think of losing Fanny. Wet and dark as it was those who had
retired arose and a small camp-fire was lit in a sheltered corner, and
from this each provided himself with a torch.
The other steeds remained as they had been left, but not even a trace
of the halters which had held Fanny and Lovejoy could be found.
“If they broke away we ought to find the broken leathers,” said Dave,
soberly. “I don’t believe Fanny could slip the knot I tied for her. She
never did so before, and I’ve tied her up in the same way a hundred
times.”
“Both horses are worth some money,” said Joseph Morris, “not to speak
of that really fine saddle Dave has been using. Yes, we must find them
by all means, although I must confess I do not know how to begin the
search.”
With great care they examined the ground, the scattering rain wetting
them thoroughly in the meantime. At last they found something like
a trail which led to the northward, along the western slope of the
mountain.
“I can’t see anything to do but to follow this trail,” was Joseph
Morris’ comment. “But we need not all go. Mr. Crosby, will you look
after the other horses and our traps?”
“Assuredly,” answered Aaron Crosby. “But if you are not back by
daybreak, what then?”
“Then you might as well move on to Caspar’s place and leave our horses
and traps there. Tell Caspar that we will come for them soon.”
So it was arranged, and providing themselves with fresh torches, Joseph
Morris and Dave set out on the hunt. They went afoot, for the trail was
hilly, full of stones and uncertain, and they did not wish to run any
chances of a serious fall.
The storm was now letting up, but the furious downpour had left the
hillside exceedingly wet and slippery, while here and there was a
hollow filled with water. The wind still blew and this sent down the
water from the trees long after the rain had ceased.
Over a mile was covered and they were afraid they had lost the trail
when they came out upon a narrow ledge of rocks overlooking a shallow
but wide ravine between two of the hills. As they came into the open
Dave suddenly clutched his uncle by the arm.
“Put down the torch,” he cried. “Look!”
His own torch went down behind some brush, and that of Joseph Morris
quickly followed. Both gazed in the direction the lad was pointing out.
It was to the opposite side of the ravine, and there they saw a torch
waving slowly from one side to another as if the holder was looking
for a safe trail. The torch lit up the faces of two Indians, one
leading a horse and the other on a steed’s back.
“Two Indians!” cried Joseph Morris.
“Yes, and that first one is leading Fanny,” returned Dave. “See the
white foreleg and the spot on her face?”
“You are right, Dave. Can it be possible those rascals came up in the
darkness and stole the horses?”
“I don’t see how they could have them otherwise. Shall I call upon them
to halt?”
“No. We had better follow them up. If we call and they see we are on
foot, they may ride away from us.”
“But we have our guns.”
“I wouldn’t care to shoot even a redskin unless it was necessary, Dave.
Come, we’ll get after them at once.”
“But how are you going to cross the hollow? It’s as black as ink below
and maybe full of snakes.”
“We’ll have to go around--I see no other safe way. The Indians went
around.”
“But they have the horses.”
“True, but they can’t use them much in the mountains. Of course we’ll
have to hurry, or they’ll slip us.”
On they went again, Joseph Morris rightfully concluding that the trail
around the hollow was shaped very much like a horseshoe. They held
their torches close to the ground and in such a fashion that their
bodies were between the lights and the Indians.
About half the distance around the ravine was covered when Joseph
Morris, who was in the lead, gave a sudden cry of dismay. “We are in a
pickle truly!” he exclaimed. “There is an opening here both wide and
deep. I don’t see how we are to cross it.”
“Can’t we leap over?”
Mr. Morris shook his head. “I would not dare to risk it in the dark.”
“But the Indians must have gone over, and the horses, Uncle Joe.”
“I don’t see how they could. Let us brighten up the torches a bit and
look around. They can’t see the lights from this point.”
They swung the fagots vigorously and soon had lights which lit up
the scene for a considerable distance. Then commenced another close
examination of the ground.
“They came to this point, that is sure,” said Dave. “But I see no other
trail.”
“They passed over these rocks, Dave. Come, let us move to the left.”
Joseph Morris proceeded over the rocks with care, for the way was
uncertain and he did not wish to court a fall in that darkness. The
rocks and more brush passed, they came to the ravine again, but at a
point where there was a well defined trail leading downward.
“Found!” cried Dave. “See, here is the trail as plain as day.”
No more was said, and they plunged into the darkness of the ravine.
Here it was even wetter than it had been at the brink, and the bushes,
laden with water, struck them in the faces at almost every step. But
as they were already soaked this was no added discomfort, although the
water made Dave shiver with cold.
Fearing the Indians might reach some point where they would take to the
horses, they hurried onward with all speed. Soon they were out of the
hollow once more and moving to the point where Dave had discovered the
redskins.
They now learned why one of the Indians had been on foot and why both
were moving so slowly. The ground was full of treacherous holes and
soft spots and presently Joseph Morris went up to his knees in one of
these.
“A horse would have broken his leg here, were he on a swift walk,”
said he, while Dave helped him out of his difficulty. “It is almost
like a honeycomb.”
Presently the trail led away from the ravine and through a cedar grove.
This caused their hearts to sink within them, for they felt that a good
road could not be far off. They were not mistaken, and soon came out
upon it.
“This is the end,” groaned Joseph Morris.
“Yes, this is the end,” echoed Dave. “Oh, what luck! I suppose they
must be several miles away by this time.”
“True, unless they do not suspect that they are being followed.”
“Have you any idea where this road leads to?”
“Probably around the mountains and then westward, but not within ten
miles of the trail we shall follow.”
They talked the matter over and concluded to follow the road for
another mile or two, and set off on the fastest walk they could
command. It was a shale road, dry, firm, and even, and they covered the
distance quickly. But neither Indians nor horses appeared anywhere.
“We may as well give it up, Dave,” said Joseph Morris at last, as he
sank down on a rock to rest. “They have got a good start and to catch
them on foot is plainly out of the question.”
“Poor Fanny!” murmured the youth, sadly. “I don’t care so much for that
new horse, but I did love the little mare.”
“Yes, it’s too bad, lad, too bad truly. But it’s done, and there is
small comfort in weeping over it. We may as well go back. I know you
are tired, but if we don’t go back now, we’ll have to walk all the way
to Caspar’s place.”
They listened, there in the depth of the mountain woods, but the only
sound that reached their ears was the rain as it dripped down on the
rocks. They rested a little while, then turned back, each with a heavy
heart and much discouraged.
“We didn’t gain much on the trip after all,” was Dave’s comment. “The
horses are worth much more than those pelts we picked up.”
“True, Dave, but it can’t be helped. And you mustn’t forget that bee
tree. That’s worth something.”
“I’d like to know what redskins it was who took the horses.”
“We may find out some day--unless they drive them westward right away,”
answered Joseph Morris.
When they got back to the cliff they found Aaron Crosby sleeping
soundly in the very midst of the remaining animals. Without disturbing
him, they built a large camp-fire and set about drying their clothing.
Then they too lay down to rest, and soon Dave was in the land of
dreams.
CHAPTER XI
DAVE BECOMES WASHINGTON’S ASSISTANT
“Oh, how stiff I feel!”
It was Dave who uttered the exclamation, as he arose on the morning
following. The storm had cleared away, and the sun was coming up
brightly over the mountain top. The birds were singing gaily as if
they knew no care. Here and there the raindrops glistened like so many
diamonds.
Dave had slept longer than either of the others and he found breakfast,
including a hot pot of coffee, awaiting him. His uncle told him he had
better drink all of the coffee to warm up, and this he did. The air was
bracing and he was glad enough to sit with his back close to the fire,
to dry out the remaining moisture in his clothing.
“It’s too bad you missed the redskins,” said Crosby, when he had heard
their story. “It ain’t likely you’ll see ’em again, now.”
“I shall keep my eyes open,” answered Dave. “And I shan’t forget how
Fanny looks, I’ll promise you that.”
Breakfast was soon over, and then came the task of re-dividing the
loads brought along. At the start neither Dave’s steed nor that ridden
by Mr. Morris had carried aught but its rider, now every horse had to
carry a little more than formerly and one had to take Dave in addition.
“I’ll walk when we come to an extra hard bit of the trail,” said the
youth. “I don’t like to crowd a horse too much.”
Soon the party was on its way toward the Shenandoah. The storm had left
the sky a clear blue and the sun came out with an unexpected warmth
which was just then highly welcome to the Morrises, although Crosby
grumbled a little at the heat.
Because of the loads, the progress was slow, and in the middle of
the forenoon they halted by the side of a mountain stream, and while
the others rested Crosby went fishing and hooked several trout which
promised a fine meal for dinner. Then on they went once more, and did
not rest again until the bank of the swiftly flowing Shenandoah was
gained.
Dinner was at its height when Joseph Morris, chancing to look down the
river, saw a man approach with a tripod over his shoulder.
“Here comes Mr. Washington,” he said. “I suppose he is still surveying
around here.”
Soon the young surveyor was within hailing distance and Mr. Morris
called out a cheery good-day. Washington returned the salutation, and
coming closer recognized Crosby as a man he had met in Annapolis half a
dozen times.
“Thank you, but I have had my dinner,” he said, in answer to their
invitation to share in the repast. However, he sat down on a nearby
rock to talk.
“And how goes the surveying?” asked Joseph Morris.
“Very well, up to yesterday,” was the reply.
“Why, the storm did not come up until night,” put in Aaron Crosby.
“It wasn’t the storm hindered me. I have lost my assistant and cannot
get along very well alone.”
“Lost your assistant?” queried Joseph Morris. “What happened to him? He
wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“No. Early in the morning a negro came to tell him that his father was
sick and not expected to live, and that he must come home at once.
Under the circumstances there was nothing to do but to let him go, even
though he had engaged with me for six weeks longer. This has left me
alone and I must confess I hardly know how to manage.”
“It’s too bad,” said Mr. Morris. “Cannot you find another assistant
somewhere around here?”
“I do not know of anybody. I was up at Denton’s and over to Moran’s
but neither of those settlers could help me out. I was almost certain I
could get Moran’s son, but he has gone off on a hunt, and there is no
telling when he will be back.”
“Why not give me a chance, Mr. Washington?” cried Dave, impulsively. “I
would like to help you very much.”
At this enthusiastic outburst the surveyor smiled. “I was thinking
you might offer yourself the moment I saw you,” he said. “You see, I
haven’t forgotten what you said the other day, when I was showing you
my instruments.”
“I will work with you if my uncle will let me stay,” went on Dave,
readily. “In fact I would like nothing better. I’ve thought of it half
a dozen times since I’ve been to Annapolis.”
“As I said before, it is no easy task, David, and one must be careful
or run the risk of imperiling one’s life.”
“I would be careful. Uncle Joe knows I am a good climber--isn’t that
so, Uncle Joe?”
“Yes, Dave can climb well enough,” answered the uncle. He hesitated
a moment. “This is news to me and I scarcely know what to say, Mr.
Washington. Do you think the lad could do the work you wish of him?”
“I think so--after I have given him a few lessons. To be sure I should
prefer an experienced hand, but he looks as if he might learn quickly.”
“I’ll do my best,” put in Dave, and then he added: “What does the work
pay? Or perhaps you’d like to find out what I am worth first.”
“I gave my other helper six shillings a day and his board, and also a
horse when the animal was needed,” answered Washington. “I will give
you the same if you do the work properly.”
“I’ll take you up--if Uncle Joe will let me,” answered Dave, quickly.
It was the first chance he had ever had of earning money away from home.
“You wish the lad for six weeks,” questioned Joseph Morris.
“Yes, if he proves willing and obliging, and he looks as if he would.”
“Then I don’t know but that you might try it, Dave. That will give our
horses one less to carry, and you could stay at Denton’s until you fell
in with some other folks coming out our way, if you didn’t want to come
on alone.”
“I wouldn’t be afraid to come on alone, if I had a horse and my rifle.”
“It would be better to wait, for the snow might waylay you,” put in
Aaron Crosby.
The matter was discussed for over an hour and Joseph Morris asked many
questions concerning what Dave would be called on to do. “You see, his
father is out west and I have him in my care,” he explained. “I want
nothing to happen to him while he and his father are separated.”
The surveyor’s camp was close by, along with his horse, and he said he
had two other steeds at Denton’s, two miles away, where he had left
some of his traps. At Denton’s he had some extra clothing and said he
would lend Dave a greatcoat, should the weather get much colder. So
it was arranged that the youth should become Washington’s assistant,
starting that very afternoon.
“Take good care of yourself,” were Joseph Morris’ words on parting.
“And remember, we’ll look for you back at the end of the six weeks,”
and so nephew and uncle parted, and soon Mr. Morris and Aaron Crosby
were out of sight on the trail leading north-westward.
Dave found that the surveyor’s outfit was not a large one. There were
several wooden affairs called crosses, having fine grooves at the top
running at right angles to each other, several measuring chains, a
bundle of stakes and tall, thin poles painted white at the top, and a
good field glass, with measure and angle. There was also a portfolio of
drawing paper, with some drawings and with a mass of measuring tables
in the back, and compasses and pencils.
“Not so very many things,” was the lad’s comment.
“And yet we could measure our way around the world with them if we
wished,” returned the surveyor. And then, while they took up the traps
and moved, with the horse, towards the cabin owned by Christopher
Denton he explained how ordinary land surveying was very simple in
theory if not in practice.
“The whole basis of ground surveying is the triangle,” said Washington.
“No matter what the shape of the property to be surveyed is it must
first be divided up into triangles, or a triangle must be built up over
it.”
“But why a triangle?” asked Dave.
“Because a triangle is both safe and easy to measure. You will
understand this when we get to work.”
“But how can you survey over a big hill or a mountain?”
Washington smiled. “What do you do if you want to get to the other side
of the mountain?”
“Climb over it or go around?”
“And that is what the surveyor must do--measure over it, or measure
around it. Where the land is very uneven the best of surveyors
sometimes have to make a guess at allowances--but that is rare. Of
course in such a wild territory as this to split hairs would be
impossible, yet I try to be as accurate as circumstances permit.”
“Yes, I would want to be accurate, if I was a surveyor,” answered Dave.
As they pushed along the Shenandoah, Washington pointed out several
parcels of land which he had surveyed in days gone by. “It will not be
many years before this land will all be settled,” he said. “Towns will
spring up where there are now nothing but forests.”
Christopher Denton’s cabin was reached in the course of an hour, and
here Dave was provided with an extra coat and a good horse. Washington
wished to survey a tract of land six miles up the stream, and they took
with them all the camping outfit, for they did not expect to return to
Denton’s for several days or a week.
“How is it, can you prepare a meal?” asked the surveyor. “I did not
think to ask before.”
“I’ve prepared many a one for my uncle and my cousins,” answered Dave.
“I don’t know how my cooking will suit you.”
“I doubt if you can do worse than my other assistant,” laughed
Washington. “He burnt more than half of what was placed over the fire.”
“I can do better than that I am sure.”
“Then we ought to get along.”
Soon they were again on the road, but now both on horseback. The
surveyor knew the territory well and set such a brisk pace that Dave
had to push hard to keep up to him.
“You are a splendid rider,” the boy ventured. “I never saw anybody keep
his saddle so well.”
The praise appeared to please Washington. “Yes, I always loved riding,”
he made answer. “I used to climb in the saddle when I was five years
old. Once we had a fiery colt at home that nobody could manage. I got
on his back and rode him.”
“You did!”
“Yes, but it was a costly ride, for the colt got scared and plunged so
madly that he burst a blood vessel, and right after the ride he died.
After that I let the other colts alone,” concluded Washington.
CHAPTER XII
SURVEYING ALONG THE SHENANDOAH
On the whole Dave found his employer rather companionable, although at
times reserved and thoughtful. He soon learned that Washington was a
hard worker and that the more difficult the problem to be solved the
more the surveyor was interested. Once they were surveying in the midst
of a forest, with rough rocks on every side, and the lad felt almost
certain that the work must come to a standstill. But Washington kept
on as if nothing out of the usual confronted him, and in the end the
difficulty appeared to straighten itself out with scarcely an effort.
Dave soon learned how to carry the chains and call out the measurements
and how to set the stakes and poles, and this was almost the extent of
what he had to do. The weather remained fair, although it was gradually
growing colder and he was often glad enough, early in the morning or
late in the evening, to don the greatcoat Washington had loaned him.
But if the surveyor was engrossed in his work, he always kept his eyes
open and his wits about him, as Dave learned before he had been out a
week.
They were surveying a grant of land running along a brook flowing into
the Shenandoah, and in making some measurements and setting stakes the
lad was called upon to remove his boots and stockings and wade into a
swamp where the water was almost up to his knees. While Dave was thus
engaged Washington rested on a rock, doing an example in trigonometry
in a field-book he carried.
Presently, while Dave was pounding away at one of the stakes, the water
close to him was disturbed and of a sudden a large snapping turtle
appeared. It swam directly toward Dave, as if contemplating an attack
on the lad’s ankles or feet.
Dave had had a bitter experience with a small snapping turtle two
summers before and he had no desire to be attacked by this large
fellow, who looked both powerful and ugly.
“Go away!” he cried, loudly, and hit the water with one of his poles.
“Go away!”
Instead of going away, the snapping turtle came closer, until it was
within ten feet of the boy. Dave started to run, but was hampered by
the things he carried and made but slow progress.
At Dave’s first cry of alarm, Washington sprang to his feet and looked
in that direction. Had he had his rifle he would undoubtedly have shot
the snapping turtle dead, but the firearm was some distance away with
the rest of the traps, and to run for it would have taken too much time.
In his school days Washington had been a great lad to throw stones
and balls, and in contests of accuracy he had generally come off the
victor. Almost instinctively he now looked around for a stone, and
finding one to his taste, he snatched it up, took aim, and hurled it
forthwith with all his strength.
His old-time cunning had not deserted him and the sharp stone hit the
snapping turtle fairly and squarely on the head, with such force that
the creature was almost if not quite killed. It disappeared from view,
leaving only a ripple of water to mark its departure.
“Come ashore, quick!” called the surveyor to Dave, but that advice was
not necessary for, as said before, the youth was already running as
rapidly as his burden permitted. In the meantime Washington picked up
another stone, and when the turtle’s body reappeared hurled it forth
with as good aim as before. Then the turtle disappeared a second time,
and that was the last they saw of it until the next day, when they
found the dead body floating in the rushes at the edge of the swamp.
“I--I thought he had me sure!” gasped Dave, when he came out of the
swamp and threw down his traps. “Oh, but wasn’t he a big one!”
“That he was,” answered Washington, and took up a third stone. “I don’t
see anything more of him,” he added, after a pause.
“Nor I. That first throw paralyzed him I think and the second finished
him. I am thankful to you for coming to my aid,” went on Dave, warmly.
“I have only balanced our account,” answered the surveyor, with a
smile. “You helped me against the snakes, now I have aided you against
this turtle.”
“It’s too bad that turtle should turn up,” went on Dave, after he was
settled down. “I don’t much like to think of going back into that
swamp. There may be more of them there.”
“If you do go back put on your boots and take your gun, David. But,
wait awhile, perhaps I can arrange it to survey around the swamp. It
may take longer, but I do not wish to expose you to unnecessary peril.
If that snapper had taken off one of your toes you would have to walk
lame for the rest of your life.”
Washington told Dave to leave the stakes in the swamp as they were, and
then ordered measurements taken around the north shore of the swamp.
Dave went to work briskly, and by night the pair had worked their way
to another point and had laid out a new triangle, so that the lad would
have to go into the swamp only a short distance. This he did the next
day, with his boots on, and it was then that the dead snapping turtle
was discovered and hauled ashore.
The days followed each other in rapid succession, and after the
work around the swamp was completed, Washington said they must now
move up into the mountain gap, before the winter snows came to stop
all surveying. They went on foot, for horses in that wild section
would have been worse than useless. Each carried a heavy load, and
in addition the surveyor had two negroes from Denton’s “tote” along
supplies. The negroes remained with them for two days, assisting them
to put up a mountain shelter of logs and brush, and then left them.
Work for one or two days was not difficult, but on the third day they
moved out of the gap up the side of one of the mountains and along a
narrow cliff. Here was a grant of land hardly of any value excepting
for the timber on it, but it belonged to an English nobleman who was
anxious to have it surveyed and who had offered Washington a neat sum
to do the work.
“This is one of the difficult undertakings,” said Washington. “To lay
out a straight line is next to impossible, but we can do our best, and
there is no hurry, so long as the good weather lasts.”
The scenery, even for this time of year, was magnificent, and Dave
often paused to survey the surroundings. Here were acres upon acres
of cedar and hemlock as green as ever, and, in between, other trees,
either bare or covered with leaves turned to red and yellow. The
patches of wood were separated by the black rock, covered in many spots
by the vari-colored mosses, and giving birth to innumerable springs of
crystal water which flashed gaily in the sunshine.
Wild animals were also in evidence, and more than once a rabbit,
squirrel or fox crossed their path, and once they saw a herd of deer at
a distance and also a black bear. The bear interested Dave more than
anything and he wondered if they would ever meet face to face.
“If we do, I hope I have my gun handy,” he said to Washington.
“You’ll do better to leave the bear alone if he doesn’t harm you,” was
the surveyor’s advice. “For if your shot fails he will surely do his
best to hug you to death.”
The work proceeded along the cliff and then across a long hollow and
up the mountain again. One day it rained and this made climbing on the
day following difficult.
“You must be careful,” cautioned Washington, on starting out. “A false
step may cost you dear.”
They were soon hard at work, and Dave was finding his way around a
particularly steep bit of rocky ground when he heard a shout from his
employer. He could not make out what was said and while he listened the
shout was repeated.
Fearing that something had gone wrong, he crawled back the way he had
come and ran through the underbrush to where he had left Washington.
But the surveyor was nowhere in sight.
“Where are you?” he called. “What is the matter?”
“This way!” was the answer, delivered in a panting tone of voice. “This
way!”
Guided by the tones, Dave turned and ran in a new direction. Soon he
reached a series of rocks sloping down toward a deep ravine.
“Where are you?” he went on, still unable to see anything of Washington.
“Here I am--down the rocks!” was the low answer, and now, looking down,
Dave saw Washington far below, at the very edge of the ravine. He was
clinging fast to a small cedar, and the tree was so bent it looked as
if it might break at any instant and let him down into the abyss below.
“Oh! How did you get there?” burst out the boy. “What can I do for you?”
“Get a rope--or one of the chains,” answered Washington. “Be quick,
this tree won’t hold much longer,” and now he clutched at the rocks
with one hand while holding to the tree with the other.
No rope was at hand, and the nearest chain was several rods off, but
fear lent speed to Dave’s flying feet and soon he had the chain in his
hand, and then he ran back to the rocks as fast as he had come. By this
time the cedar tree was gradually loosening from the edge of the abyss
below and while Washington had his feet around it, he now clung to two
tiny crevices in the rocks above his head.
“Here is the chain, catch hold!” cried Dave, and paid it out to its
full length, while bracing himself to hold fast should Washington do as
suggested. Alas! the chain was several feet too short and the surveyor
could not reach it. Then with a crash the cedar tree snapped from its
rooting and landed with another crash at the bottom of the abyss, and
Washington was left at the edge of the rocks without other support than
the crevices to which he clung with might and main.
CHAPTER XIII
A BEAR HUNT
If Dave had been dismayed before, he was doubly so now, for he expected
each instant to see his employer lose his hold and follow the cedar
tree to the jagged rocks far below.
But even in that moment of peril Washington did not lose his presence
of mind. Still clinging to the rocks with all the strength of his
fingers he called to the youth to tie the end of the chain to one of
the poles which were not far away.
“Take the pole with the cross-piece,” he said. “And tie the chain well.”
Dave was quick to understand, and fairly flew to do as bidden. Then
when the chain was fast, he lowered it again, and also the pole, taking
care to keep a firm hold on the latter.
The chain now came within reach of the surveyor, but before he trusted
himself to it he looked up at the boy. “Are you well braced?” he
questioned.
“I am,” answered Dave. “One foot is against the rock and the other
against the tree. But I doubt, sir, if I can pull you up.”
“It will not be necessary so long as you can keep the pole and chain
from slipping,” answered Washington. “If you feel it getting away from
you, give me warning.”
Dave agreed, and the surveyor began to pull himself up with extreme
care, keeping one hand on the rocks the majority of the time. But the
youth was as good as his word and held fast, although the strain was
great, for Washington was large and of good weight.
In a few minutes the surveyor reached the end of the pole. He was now
within ten feet of the top of the slippery rocks and the most difficult
part of the climb was before him.
“You are sure you can hold the pole?” he asked. “I must now trust my
whole weight to it.”
“Yes, sir, I am sure. But you will have to be careful and not bend it,
or it may break.”
“I will have a care, David.”
Slowly Washington came up, hand over hand, and lying close on the
rocks. He moved only a few inches at a time. Presently he reached the
top with his fingers and drew himself to a place of safety. Dave gave a
long sigh of relief, and hauled up the pole and chain.
“That was a narrow escape,” was Washington’s comment, with something of
a shudder.
“Indeed it was, sir.”
“You did me a great service, David, and one I shall not forget, I
promise you.”
“It’s lucky I had the chain and pole. I don’t suppose you could have
held on to those rocks much longer.”
“You are right, lad.”
In a little while the surveying proceeded, and soon both were as hard
at work as ever. But for the remainder of the day Washington was in a
thoughtful mood and spoke but little.
Winter was coming, and on the day following a light flurry of snow
told the surveyor that he must hurry with his work or it would remain
unfinished that season.
“There is no use of our being caught in the mountains and snowed in,”
he said. “Besides, it would not do for me. My brother, Mr. Lawrence
Washington, is far from well, and I am anxious to be near him should he
grow worse.”
“Why, I heard he was going out hunting with Lord Fairfax,” said Dave.
“He thought of going, but I doubt if he will.”
Two days later, when they were finishing up the survey in the mountain
gap, there came another flurry of snow. With the white flakes flying
all around them, they worked from daylight to dusk with only a few
minutes’ rest for lunch.
“By to-morrow it may be too late to do anything,” said Washington.
They were encamped at the side of a cliff. Here they had found a fallen
hemlock and over this spread their canvas and some cedar boughs. There
were rocks on two sides of the shelter, keeping out a good share of the
wind and making it quite comfortable. Late as it was that night, they
piled extra cedar boughs on a third side, leaving only a narrow opening
for an entrance, and brought all their provisions inside.
“Now, if we are storm-bound we will not be so very badly off,” said the
surveyor.
“But I trust we are not storm-bound,” answered Dave. “We might be laid
up for several weeks.”
“Hardly, at this time of year. Were it later in the season I should get
out of the mountains with all speed.”
Being utterly worn out with the long day’s work, it did not take Dave
long to fall asleep and Washington soon followed. In the meantime
the wind fell and the snow continued to come down, more heavily than
before. This continued until shortly after midnight, when the storm
cleared away, and by three o’clock the stars were shining.
“David!” It was Washington calling, at the first light of day, and the
boy at once sprang up.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you been at our traps?”
“At the traps?” repeated the lad, in some confusion. “Why, what do you
mean?”
“The traps have been dragged outside and scattered in all directions.”
“Oh, Mr. Washington! No, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been asleep
all the night.”
Dave followed his employer outside and saw that what Washington said
was true--the traps were indeed scattered in all directions, and, what
was even of more importance, the entire supply of meat, fresh and
jerked, was missing.
“Who could have done this?” asked the youth. “I didn’t hear anybody
about the camp during the night.”
“Nor I, David. But it has been done, and we are out the larger portion
of our provisions.”
“Here are tracks in the snow, Mr. Washington. But they are the tracks
of some wild beast. Would a wild beast dare to come so close, and with
that camp-fire burning there?”
“A bear would--if he was hungry.”
“A bear! Do you think it was a bear made off with the meat?”
“I do not know what else to think, David. The provisions are gone, and
those are the only tracks leading from the camp.”
“But I see no tracks leading _to_ the camp,” went on Dave, looking
around in the snow.
“No, and that proves that the animal came here while it was snowing
and went away after it cleared off. The tracks made coming have been
covered up.”
“Think of a bear so close and both of us fast asleep!” said Dave, with
a shiver. “I suppose we can be thankful that he spared our lives.”
“A bear will not attack a man unless he finds it necessary. Had he been
very hungry and had there been no food around he might have pounced
upon us.”
“But what shall we do now? We haven’t a pound of meat left.”
At this Washington laughed. “I propose to go after my meat,” he said.
“And if I cannot get my meat back then I’ll try for the bear himself.”
“A bear hunt! Just the thing! You’ll let me go along, won’t you?”
“I don’t know whether it would be right or not, David. I promised your
uncle to take good care of you.”
“But if you leave me here alone, the bear may come back,” insisted the
youth.
“True, too--although I doubt if he will return. However, you can go
with me if you’ll promise to be careful and keep back when I tell you.”
“I’ll promise.”
Little more was said, and Dave bustled around to prepare breakfast,
which consisted principally of crackers and coffee and what was left
of some jam in the bottom of a jar. The meal over, they placed all
the traps in a hollow and over them put some brush and several heavy
stones. Then they set off, each with his rifle in hand, on the track of
the bear.
“It may prove a bootless chase,” said Washington, as they moved
forward. “That bear can readily climb where it will be impossible to
follow him.”
“But he has that meat to carry,” answered Dave. “That will hinder him
somewhat.”
“True.”
The trail of the bear led around the end of the cliff and then upward,
between the mountain forest and a cedar brake. Here the rocks, at
certain points, were almost bare, and more than once the footprints
were lost.
The sun was now coming out, making the melting snow glisten like
diamonds. It promised to be much warmer than formerly and Washington
rightly calculated that all the snow would melt before nightfall.
The cedar brake passed, the trail led through the forest, and down into
something of a hollow. At one point they saw that the bear had paused,
either to rest or to feast upon the stolen meat.
“I am of the opinion that from here on he carried the meat on the
inside,” remarked Washington. “It was the easier way.” This was said so
soberly that Dave felt compelled to laugh outright.
The bottom of the hollow gained, they followed a dried-up watercourse
for quarter of a mile, and then came to a series of rough rocks, with
dark hollows between. At once the surveyor called a halt and advised
Dave to be cautious.
“Yonder looks like a regular bear’s den,” he said; “And if that is so,
there may be a whole family of the animals around. Keep your eyes open,
and if you see anything don’t shoot until you are certain of your aim.”
[Illustration: An instant later the bear discovered them.--_Page 127._]
Having thus delivered himself, Washington led the advance from the
right, while Dave moved forward on the left. Step by step they came
closer to the rocks, each with his rifle raised, ready to shoot as soon
as it became necessary. The tracks were plain here and both felt
that the bear could not have gone beyond the wall of rocks further back.
Suddenly the surveyor halted and called softly to Dave to do the same.
He had caught sight of a large, black body crouching behind the first
of the rocks. An instant later the bear discovered them and gave a low,
savage growl, at the same time leaping on the rocks in full view of
both.
Crack! It was Washington’s rifle that spoke up first and his aim was
so true that the bear was hit fairly and squarely in the forehead and
badly stunned, though not mortally wounded. Then Dave fired, landing a
ball in the beast’s shoulder.
A fearful growling and snapping followed, and the bear tumbled from
the rock and rolled over and over. But it was still able to fight, and
regaining its legs, rushed toward Dave, who was not slow to retreat,
doing his best to reload his rifle as he ran.
“Keep out of his reach, David!” called out Washington. “Come this way
and let me get another shot at him!”
Dave heard the cry, but it was several seconds before he could veer
around in the surveyor’s direction, for the bear kept somewhat between
its two human enemies. But at last he got beside Washington, and then
the latter let drive a second time, now landing a bullet in the bear’s
vitals.
Two steps more, and the animal went down a second time and rolled over,
gasping and snarling in a horrible fashion. Seeing the beast was almost
done for Dave plucked up courage and ran close to it and let it have
a fourth bullet in the ear. This was the finishing touch, and the big
black bear gave a shudder and lay dead at their feet.
CHAPTER XIV
HOME COMING IN THE SNOW
“Good, that shot finished him,” cried Washington, as both he and Dave
hastened to reload their weapons. “What a fine specimen he is!”
“He’s the biggest black bear I’ve seen,” answered Dave. “His pelt will
be worth some money.”
“You shall have it, David. I think, all told, you richly deserve it.”
“I don’t see how?”
“I do. But come, let us look around and learn if there are any more
bears here.”
A half hour was spent in the vicinity of the rocks, but no other bears
appeared, nor did they see any new tracks. At last they concluded that
the dead animal must have been alone, and began to speculate upon what
should be done with the carcass.
“It’s too heavy to drag back to camp,” said Washington. “And if we
leave it here, the wolves will make short work of it.”
“Then why not skin the beast and cut out such of the meat as we can
use? We can put the meat in the hide and drag that home with ease, on
a cedar bough.”
This was sensible advice on Dave’s part, and soon they were at work
with the hunting knives they had brought along. Dave had imagined that
the surveyor would know little or nothing about skinning the animal,
but in this he was mistaken, for Washington had been on many a hunt
before, with Lord Fairfax, as previously mentioned.
Although they took along less than sixty pounds of the meat that and
the great bearskin proved a good load when strapped to a sweeping
cedar bough, and they had all they wanted to do dragging the prize
back to camp. By the time the shelter was gained, the sun was shining
more hotly than ever, and the water from the snow was running in all
directions.
“It will be too muddy to go surveying to-day,” announced Washington.
“So you can dress up the hide, if you wish, and then we will rest for a
big day’s work to-morrow.”
A week of clear weather followed the adventure with the bear, and
during that time the surveyor and Dave completed the tasks which had
brought them to the neighborhood. Then came a heavy fall of rain and
they moved down to the Shenandoah. Here, on a Sunday morning, two
negroes from the Washington home at Mount Vernon appeared, with
tidings that Lawrence Washington was quite ill and wished his brother
to return home without delay.
Much alarmed, George Washington prepared to start for Mount Vernon that
afternoon. With Dave and the negroes he journeyed to Denton’s and here
took leave of the youth, after paying him the wages promised.
“I trust we meet again,” he said. “You have done very well, and if you
ever wish to continue surveying come to me and I will do what I can for
you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Washington, I will remember that,” answered Dave. “And
let me say that I think you have been more than kind to me.” With this
they parted, after a hearty handshake. Little did Dave dream of the
different circumstances under which they were to meet again!
Dave had so many things to carry, including the bearskin, that he was
compelled to borrow a horse from Denton, although he had to wait ten
days for the animal. He promised to return the horse in the spring and
the settler was glad enough to have the animal off his hands during the
winter, when he could not use him and yet would have to feed him.
“Ain’t ye afraid to go it alone?” asked Denton.
“No,” answered Dave. “Coming over, I noted the trail closely, and I’m
sure I’ll have small trouble, if the snow holds off.”
He set out bright and early on the following morning and reached
Winchester without mishap. Here he remained over night and then struck
out for Will’s Creek. He found the trail very much as it had formerly
been and journeyed for part of the distance with two pioneers from
Pennsylvania, and spent one night in camp with them. The Pennsylvanians
were Germans who could not speak a word of English, yet they were good
natured and Dave got along very nicely with them.
It was late of an afternoon when Dave found himself still two miles
from home. The Germans had parted with him in the morning and he was
alone on the trail. He had passed the bee tree and saw that his uncle
had claimed the prize. It was again snowing and the sky was heavily
overcast, but with home so close, he was in the best of spirits and as
he rode along he broke out into his favorite tune “Lucy Locket Lost Her
Pocket,” whistling with all the strength of his lungs.
Soon the snow began to come down faster and faster, until the trail
was almost hidden by the flakes, which whirled and swirled in every
direction. The snow was thick and clinging and shut out the landscape
on every side.
“Hullo, this won’t do,” he said to himself. “This is getting too thick
for comfort!” And he struck his steed, to get him off a walk. But the
horse was tired, and after cantering a few steps dropped again into a
walk.
The wind was rising through the timberlands with a dull, moaning sound
and now it became darker, so that Dave could not see where his horse
was going. He calculated that he had still a mile and more to cover,
and it must be owned that he heartily wished the journey was at an end.
Of a sudden his hat was knocked off by a tree branch and his horse came
to a halt.
Getting down to pick up his hat, Dave made the discovery that he had
missed the trail, and by certain marks on the trees saw that he was
moving into the woodland to the north of the homestead instead of for
the cabin itself. The snow was now several inches deep and coming down
harder than ever, blotting out the little light which remained.
Growing thoroughly alarmed, the youth concluded to remain on the ground
and lead his steed. He turned the animal about and step by step left
the woodland slowly, not desiring to make another false turn. Had he
been less experienced in woodcraft the storm and growing darkness would
have completely bewildered him.
When he at last gained the trail the storm was at its height and the
wind sent the snow sharply into his face. “I can’t keep this trail
now,” was his thought, and so, crossing the path, led his steed down
into the hollow, where the creek ran. Then, at the risk of sinking into
the mud and water over his boot-tops, he continued along the edge of
this watercourse until he gained the brook which flowed up past the
cabin.
“Thank fortune I am this far!” he murmured to himself, and after
resting for a moment, started forward again, up the slight rise of
ground upon which the cabin was erected. At last through the downfall
of snow he saw the light of a candle, shining through one of the
kitchen windows. Immediately he set up a loud shout. A moment later the
cabin door was flung open and his uncle appeared, backed up by his aunt
and the others.
“Dave! And in such a storm as this!” cried Joseph Morris. “Why, lad,
it’s a wonder you didn’t lose your way!”
“I did lose my way, Uncle Joe,” was the panting answer. “But let me
come inside, my feet are like chunks of ice!” And leaving his steed at
the doorstep, Dave staggered into the kitchen and shook the snow from
his clothing. A handshaking, and kisses from his Aunt Lucy and little
Nell, followed, and soon he was sitting before the roaring fire and the
others were doing all they could to make him comfortable.
“You arrived just in time,” said Joseph Morris, after bringing in the
traps and caring for the horse. “This fall of snow is going to be a
heavy one,” and so it proved. By noon of the next day the ground was
covered to the depth of two feet, and none of the family ventured
further than the stable and cow-shed. In those days heavy falls of snow
in that vicinity were quite common while to-day they are rare,--why,
nobody has ever been able to explain.
It was a happy family group that gathered around the wide fire-place
that evening and listened to all Dave had to tell of his adventures
while helping Washington. The bearskin was brought in and much admired
by all, and Mrs. Morris was greatly pleased when Dave said he would
give it to her for a rug or a coverlet, just as she preferred.
“It’s very kind of you, Dave,” she said, as she kissed him for the
gift. “I shall prize it highly, for it will make the best coverlet I
possess.” And in later years, when Washington became so well known,
and the President of the United States, this bearskin was much thought
of as an heirloom by all the Morris family, who would tell how the
young surveyor and their Dave had brought down the animal by four
well-directed shots.
From his uncle and the others Dave learned that White Buffalo had long
since departed with the train of pack horses for the trading-post on
the Kinotah.
“He must be there by this time,” said Joseph Morris.
“Did he say when he would be back?” questioned Dave.
“He said probably not until next spring. You see, the Indians had a
fight among themselves, and some of White Buffalo’s relatives are
missing, and he wishes to learn what has become of them. If the enemy
slew them, White Buffalo said he and his tribe would probably go on the
warpath.”
“If they do go on the warpath, I hope they don’t fight around here,”
put in Henry Morris.
“No, the fighting will be further to the west,” answered Mr. Morris.
“You mean on the Kinotah, where father is?” asked Dave, quickly.
“Somewhere in that region, Dave. But don’t be alarmed. White Buffalo is
our friend, and he will not let the battle rage around your father’s
trading-post, rest assured of that.”
“But the very fact that we are friends to White Buffalo may make the
other tribes look upon us as enemies,” persisted Dave.
To this Joseph Morris could not answer, and the conversation left Dave
much disturbed.
CHAPTER XV
THE SITUATION BETWEEN THE ENGLISH, FRENCH, AND INDIANS
The fall of snow which had marked Dave’s home-coming was followed by
nearly a month of mild and fine weather, but after that winter set in
heavily, and for weeks at a time those at the cabin in the clearing
hardly stirred out, excepting to take care of the cattle and horses and
do other necessary chores.
During that time but little was seen or heard of the outside world.
Occasionally an Indian would stop at the cabin, for food and shelter,
and from these red men it was learned that all of the Indians between
the Shenandoah and the Ohio had buried the war hatchet until the last
of the snow was off the ground.
“Then father is safe, at least for the time being,” said Dave. “That
is, unless he is suffering from this bitter cold.”
“He will not suffer so long as there is wood around,” said Henry
Morris. “Trust him to have a rousing fire. He always did believe in
keeping the wood-pile heaped up.”
“You are right, Henry,” laughed Dave. “I can remember yet how he made
us work at splitting wood the Saturday we wanted to go fishing.”
In the summer time the boys had but scant chance to improve their
limited education, for there was no schoolhouse for miles around.
Now, being housed up by the weather, they were made to bring out such
study books as the family possessed, and Joseph Morris took a hand
daily at teaching them to read, write, spell and cipher, and also gave
them lessons in geography and history, while Mrs. Morris took it upon
herself to give them a strong religious training. Everybody from Rodney
the cripple to little Nell took part in the lessons, and so the days
passed much more quickly than they might otherwise have done. Paper was
scarce and they often ciphered on birch bark, which Henry had cut and
pressed for that purpose, writing with quill pens and home made ink, or
with sticks of charcoal.
At last the winter broke up and by April the work around the cabin
homer was resumed. There had been some cutting of timber and hauling
away of the same late in the fall and now this was resumed and the new
ground was cleaned up and plowed for an early planting. The cattle
shed had also to be repaired, and Dave was given this task, for he was
more handy with tools than was his cousin Henry. Rodney was feeling
decidedly stronger, and took great pleasure in taking care of the
poultry, of which he boasted a good stock, and in looking after a
respectable flock of ducks. Chickens and ducks knew him well and when
he sat in the warm sunshine they would not hesitate to crowd around
him, to fly to his lap and search his pockets for corn.
As the spring advanced into summer Dave became anxious to hear from his
father, especially when a trapper brought in the rumor that the Indians
were preparing for trouble.
“They have held several war dances,” said the trapper. “And that means
mischief before long.”
“Do you know White Buffalo?” asked Dave.
“I do.”
“Is he anywhere around here?”
“No, he and his braves have gone into the wilderness, where I do not
know,” answered the trapper.
Soon summer was at hand and now there was so much work to do that Dave
had scarcely time to think of anything else. Almost before he knew it
August came and it was time for harvest. Then one day Sam Barringford
dropped in upon those at the cabin.
“Glad to see me, are ye?” he said, as he gave Dave his usual iron-like
grip that made the youth wince. “Wall, I’m jest as glad to set eyes on
ye, too, mark thet! I’ve thought on ye a heap of times sense we had
thet little flip-up with Turtle Foot. Seed anything of the rascal sense
thet time?”
“I have not,--and I don’t wish to.”
“I don’t blame ye, Dave. And how is your father these days?”
“I can’t tell--for we haven’t heard.”
“Creation! Ain’t heard at all?”
“Not a word. And I am worried, because I hear the Indians are going on
the warpath.”
“The war won’t amount to much, my way of thinking--the Six Nations
ain’t in it, you see. They are fixing things with the French to pepper
us fellows, that’s their game. But it’s too downright bad ye ain’t got
no word from the Kinotah.”
“Where have you been, Sam?”
“Oh, jest knocking around, same as usual. Told you, didn’t I, about
going to take Lord Fairfax and a lot of them grandees out fer a hunt?
Wall, I took ’em--that is, all but Mr. Lawrence Washington. He was took
sick and had to go back to Mount Vernon. After he got home they sent
for his brother George, and he has taken Lawrence down to Barbadoes for
his health. I opine he won’t git back alive.”
“Then Mr. George Washington has left Virginia? I helped him at
surveying.”
“So I heard tell over to Winchester, and heard how both of you brought
down a big black bear. Dave, it’s a feather in your cap, no two ways on
’t. Is that the hide?”
“Yes.”
“Fine as any I ever see,” and Sam Barringford examined it with a
critical eye. “Dave, I’m proud of ye.”
“I am sorry to hear Mr. Washington’s brother is so ill.”
“Yes, everybody up to Greenway Court was blue over it. They were
expecting great things from him and from George, who was appointed an
adjutant-general of the militia some time before he sailed.”
“Is the militia reorganizing?” asked Joseph Morris, who was standing
by, having met the hunter before Dave came up.
“Yes, and there’s a reg’lar war spirit in the air,” answered
Barrington. “There will be a big row over the Ohio valley before the
matter is settled.”
“Have the Frenchmen done anything yet?”
“Not in the way of fighting, but they are working hard to prove they
own the valley. The governor of Canada sent a man named Celeron with
about three hundred men down the Ohio to make peace with the Indians.
He’s been nailing up lead plates all along the stream, to testify that
the land is claimed by the French.”
“Did he have any trouble with our traders?” questioned Dave.
“He ordered them away, and sent a letter to Governor Hamilton, of
Pennsylvania, saying he was surprised to find ’em on French territory.
This woke Hamilton up and he sent old George Croghan, the trader, to
the Indians with presents, and to treat with ’em. I heard Croghan had
fallen in with a man named Gist, sent out by that new Ohio Company, but
I don’t know the particulars.”
The news which Sam Barringford brought was true. Following the
expedition of Celeron de Bienville into the Ohio Valley there was
a great stir in the Pennsylvania Assembly and the outcome was the
expedition under George Croghan, who was accompanied by a Canadian
half-breed named Montour, who spoke the Indian dialects perfectly.
Croghan was ordered to invite the Indians to a grand assembly at
Logtown, to receive presents from the English and to come to an
understanding in regard to the land in the Ohio Valley. He advanced as
far as Muskingum, where he was met by a man named Gist, who had been
sent out by the Ohio Company to inspect the country, note the value of
the land, and learn how strong the Indians were and what they intended
to do.
News soon reached Croghan that the French had captured three English
traders and carried them off as prisoners to Canada. He at once
ordered all the English for miles around to gather at Muskingum for
mutual defence. But the scare which had arisen did not last long, and
Croghan and Gist proceeded on their way, visiting the villages of the
Delawares, Shawnees and Miamis. With the latter an alliance was formed,
in the name of the Governor of Pennsylvania.
This latter ceremony was scarcely concluded when the Indian runners
announced the approach of a French expedition. Envoys had been sent by
the Governor of Canada, with two kegs of brandy, ten pounds of tobacco,
and other things for the Indians. But the Miamis would not accept the
presents, and told the French that should war ensue they intended to
remain upon the side of the English. At this the envoys departed much
crestfallen.
The meeting at Logtown,--located but a short distance below the present
city of Pittsburgh--was a grand success. The Indians were given many
presents and professed eternal friendship for the English. Even the
coming of Captain Joncaire, a veteran French pathfinder, did not turn
their feelings. Although Joncaire promised them many things and spoke
most eloquently to them, they hardly waited to hear him out.
“This is our land,” said one of the head chiefs. “The English are our
brothers. They shall live among us, and we will trade with them and
not with you,” and Joncaire had to depart defeated in his undertaking.
But before he went he warned all that the land belonged to the King of
France and that for the English to trade there would bring trouble.
Feeling that “possession is nine points of the law,” the Ohio Company
ordered Gist to continue his explorations, and this the pioneer did,
and made a survey of the company’s lands on the south side of the
Ohio as far as the Great Kanawha. But in the meantime the French
strengthened their stronghold at Niagara and pushed their trading-posts
still further southward, on the Ohio and other streams. War was indeed
inevitable, but it was yet to simmer a year or two before bursting
forth in all its fury.
CHAPTER XVI
DAVE’S DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST
A week after the arrival of Sam Barringford at the Morris homestead
Dave was much surprised and delighted to see White Buffalo making his
way along the creek. Dropping the hoe he was using at the time, the
youth ran to meet the friendly Indian.
“White Buffalo is welcome,” he said, as he shook hands. “I have been
looking for you a long time.”
“How-how!” returned the Indian, as he bent a kindly glance on Dave.
“White boy was afraid White Buffalo would not come back, is that so?”
“You are right. How is my father?”
“He was well a moon ago. Since that time I have not set eyes upon him.”
“Has he had any trouble with the French, or with those other Indians?”
“The French have ordered him away, but it was only with their tongues,
and he paid no attention to them. He has with him now four white men
and ten Indians--of White Buffalo’s tribe--and the French were but
three in number.”
“Then there was no fight?”
“No. The French remained but one night and stole away ere the sun was
up.”
“You say you saw him a moon ago. Then you did not come direct to here
from his post?”
“I could not come. The braves of White Buffalo’s tribe have had trouble
with the skunks under Fox Head, the Indian who made trouble for the
white boy’s father when he first went toward the setting sun. Two
fights we had, and three of our braves were slain. We followed Fox Head
and killed six of his skunks and left their bodies by the river side
for the wolves to feed upon.”
As White Buffalo concluded he thrust his hand under his blanket and
drew forth a letter. It was addressed to Dave and written by the boy’s
parent. The communication was as follows:
“MY DEAR DAVE: I am writing this in haste, for White Buffalo is
anxious to get away, saying there is trouble between his tribe and
the cowardly curs under Fox Head.
“I suppose you and your uncle have been wondering why you did not
hear from me. The truth is, I have been off scouting most of the
time, for I was afraid the French and Indians were planning to
surprise me and wipe out our post.
“All now seems to be quiet and although I have been warned by the
French to go away I think it will end in talk. At any rate, I am
doing very well and I shall not move until actually forced to. I have
strengthened the post and now have constantly a guard of four whites
and ten Indians. Every night I send one man up the river, one down,
and another to our rear, so it will not be an easy matter for anybody
to surprise us.
“About your coming out here at present I do not know what to say.
I would be much pleased to have you with me, but I do not wish to
expose you to peril, should this post be attacked. If you wish very
much to come, you can do so, providing you can get Sam Barringford
or some other reliable hunter to come out with you. I would have
you come with White Buffalo but he is at present interested in the
troubles between his own tribe and that of Fox Head, and might not be
able to bring you through in safety.
“Above all, consult your uncle Joe about this previous to making any
move, for he may know more about these troubles with the French and
Indians than I do. Tell him that the goods came through safely and
that they have helped me to make many good trades. I have shipped
goods by pack train to Annapolis, but not by way of Will’s Creek,
for the man in charge, Isaac Fraley, wanted to go by way of Pontona
instead.”
This was the main portion of the letter. There was another sheet,
written principally for Joseph Morris and his family, in which James
Morris hoped they were all well and said he had not been sick a day
since opening the trading-post. He ended by stating that if Dave did
come on, in company with Barringford or somebody else, they might bring
along the goods mentioned on a separate slip--the articles being mainly
glass trinkets and medicines.
This letter put Dave in high feather and he lost no time in hunting
up his uncle Joe, who was getting the barn floor in readiness for
threshing.
“A letter from father!” he cried. “And I can join him if I want to.”
Joseph Morris read the communication with as much interest as had his
nephew. He was glad to learn his brother was safe.
“Then you still want to go, Dave?” he asked.
“To be sure, Uncle Joe. Do you blame me?”
“Can’t say as I do, lad. It’s natural that you should want to be with
your father. But if war comes----”
“If war comes I would rather be with father than be away from him,”
broke in Dave, quickly.
“I don’t know if you can get Sam Barringford to go with you.”
“I’m sure I can--Sam will do anything for me. Of course father will pay
him for the trip, and for bringing along those goods.”
“We’ll have to get the goods at Annapolis--that’s a trip in itself, and
I can hardly spare the time now--with harvesting coming on.”
“If you’ll let me, I’ll buy the goods myself. I know I can do it and
not get cheated.”
“Perhaps you can buy them, Dave. But how about the trip to Annapolis?”
“I wouldn’t mind it, in this fine weather. I came on alone from the
Shenandoah, remember.”
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten that, nor how you were ’most lost in that
snowstorm.”
“We’re not likely to have a snowstorm now, Uncle Joe.”
“Henry has been bothering me about a trip to Winchester,” went on
Joseph Morris, slowly. “I might let him take the trip with you, if he
wasn’t away from the farm too long.”
“Just the thing! I’d like Henry along and he ought to have a
vacation--he has worked so hard all spring and summer.”
“Well, come in the house, and you too, White Buffalo, and we’ll talk
the matter over.”
They entered the cabin, and here White Buffalo was entertained with the
best at hand, and also paid for his services. Soon Henry Morris came
in and was told of what was proposed. He said nothing would please him
better than a trip to Annapolis, and was willing to start the next day.
Sam Barringford had gone off on a hunt, but both Dave and his uncle
felt certain that the old hunter would willingly make the journey to
the trading-post on the Kinotah.
“He spoke of going out there only yesterday,” said Joseph Morris. “He
will jump at the chance of having Dave along.”
So it was arranged before nightfall that Dave should go west and should
first make the trip eastward with his cousin Henry.
The day following was one full of bustle and excitement for the
two cousins, and it must be confessed that Mrs. Morris was equally
affected, for this was the first time Henry had left her, to be gone
a week or more. The weather was all that could be wished for, and the
boys wanted to make the most of it.
It is not my purpose here to go into the details of the trip. Each
of the lads was provided with a good horse and consequently they
made rapid progress. On the way they shot a deer and also aided a
plantation owner to overcome a negro who had run amuck and was
threatening to kill everybody in sight.
At Annapolis their trading took somewhat longer than expected, and
while Dave did not strike any great bargains, yet he was shrewd
enough not to get cheated and his purchases, on the whole, were as
satisfactory as if his uncle had made them. The two boys went sight
seeing and also spent one evening at the theater, where they witnessed
a performance of Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice,” at a shilling an
admission.
On the day they were leaving Annapolis Dave fell in with a man he had
met there before and learned from him that Lawrence Washington was
dead, having departed this life at Mount Vernon, shortly after coming
back from Barbadoes, on July 26. He had left a wife and a little
daughter, and these were consigned to the care of his brother George,
who was now called Major Washington, on account of his attachment to
the militia.
When the boys got back as far as Winchester, they found Sam Barringford
there, waiting for them. Through another settler, Joseph Morris had
heard of a skilled surgeon who was stopping at the post, and he had
sent Barringford to interview the medical man, in hope of getting him
to doctor Rodney’s lameness. The old hunter had met the surgeon, and
now the four journeyed to the Morris homestead together.
“To be sure I’ll go west with ye, Dave,” said the old hunter. “Nothing
would suit me better.”
The arrival of the surgeon at the homestead put Mrs. Morris in a
flutter, and preparations were at once made to operate upon Rodney, who
was willing to undergo any amount of pain if only he could be cured.
Dave would have liked to see the operation, but Barringford advised
that they take advantage of the fine weather and push on.
“With some of the Indians on the warpath it may take us some time to
get to the post,” he said. “And we don’t want to be caught in the heavy
fall rains.”
A day later saw them on their way, all those left behind wishing them
God-speed.
“Take good care of yourself, Dave,” were Joseph Morris’ last words.
“And tell your father to give up the post, even if he is making money,
rather than run the risk of losing his life.” And so nephew and uncle
parted, not to meet again for many a long day.
CHAPTER XVII
CARRIED DOWN THE RIVER
It has truthfully been said that in those days the principal trails
west of the Shenandoah were those which had been made by the wild
animals and the Indians, and these trails never ran in anything like
straight lines, but wound in and out around every obstruction. Even the
Indians rarely made an improvement, no matter how necessary, so that
the trails remained as they were for generation after generation.
Dave had experienced some of the difficulties of trail following in his
trips from Will’s Creek to the East, but he had not been out over a
day on the journey westward before he realized that what had been left
behind was as child’s play to what was before him. On every hand was
the gigantic primeval forest, where the towering, rough-barked trees
had never yet felt the edge of a white man’s axe. The roots, heavy and
snake-like, sprawled in all directions, and growing between these were
short, sturdy bushes and creeping vines, often overlapping the trail,
as though to keep back any human intruder. Where there was an open spot
the grass would be tall and rank and often ingrown with wild flowers.
Here butterflies and insects would be numerous. From the forest itself
would come the constant song of the wild birds and from the pools and
hollows the steady chant of frogs and lizards, mingled occasionally
with the gurgle of water falling over distant rocks.
“How lonely!” said the boy more than once. “How lonely in spite of the
birds and the wild animals!”
“It is lonely, Dave,” responded Sam Barringford. “But you’ll git used
to it after a spell. Some men don’t like nuthin better, and can’t stay
in town nohow, after living here awhile.”
“Why should we and the French fight for this vast territory, Sam? I’m
sure there is more than enough ground to go around.”
“It’s an amazement, lad, that’s a fact. We might all have a couple of
hundred acres and still land to spare. But man’s a selfish critter and
the more he gits the more he wants--and nations ain’t no better nor the
folks as makes ’em.”
“Do you think we’ll meet any Indians?”
“Ye mean enemies? I trust not. Of course we’ll stop at one or
two of their villages. I calkerlate to strike Nancoke day after
ter-morrow--if we can ford the river that’s ahead,” concluded the old
hunter.
They had been out two days and to Dave it appeared that they were
making slow progress. More than half the time they had to dismount and
lead their horses. Each carried his gun over his shoulder and kept
his eyes open for enemies, four-footed, two-footed, or otherwise, the
otherwise, as Dave explained, being mainly snakes, for hardly a day
passed that they did not see one or more reptiles.
Toward sunset they came to the river, hardly more than a mountain
torrent, full of rocks and shifting sands. It was quite shallow in
spots, but the current was strong and Barringford advised his companion
to be careful in crossing.
“The sand sometimes makes the rocks shift,” he explained. “And if
yer hoss goes down and breaks a leg, thar won’t be nuthing to do but
to knock him in the head,--and we can’t afford to lose none of the
animals.”
“I’ll be as careful as possible,” said Dave. “Are you going ahead?”
The old hunter said that he was, and soon he entered the water with his
horse. He was leading a pack animal, and the boy followed the two, also
with a pack animal behind him.
The fording spot was fully a hundred feet wide, for the water was only
shallow because the stream was spread out. Sam Barringford had reached
the middle when he came to a sudden halt.
“Look thar!” he cried, and pointed down the stream a distance of
a dozen rods. Dave gazed in the direction and beheld several deer
standing by the river side, under the drooping branches of a tree. They
had come up in haste, and now, catching sight of our friends, hardly
knew how to turn.
“They are pretty bold,” cried Dave. “Shall I take a shot at them?”
“No,--something has driven ’em out of the wood,” answered Sam
Barringford. “Perhaps---- They are coming this way!”
The old hunter spoke the truth--the deer, evidently more frightened
than ever, were turning up the stream. Soon some were in the water,
struggling madly to reach the opposite shore. One sped up so far before
turning into the stream that it came within a couple of rods of Dave.
The lad could not resist the temptation to fire and did so, killing the
deer instantly with a ball through the neck.
The shot was still ringing through the air, when two other shots came
from down the stream, along with the flight of several arrows. A
number of Indian hunters had burst into view. At first their gaze was
set upon the quarry, but soon one saw the whites and set up a cry of
warning.
“We had better go back, Dave, and be quick about it!” came from
Barringford, in a low but earnest voice. “If these redskins are
friendly thet’s one thing, but if they ain’t, it’s quite another.”
The youth thought the advice good, for the Indians were more savage and
warlike in appearance than any he had ever before seen. Only two had
guns, the others were supplied with nothing better than bows and arrows.
The shots and the rushing of the deer into the water, frightened the
pack horses, and when Dave and Barringford attempted to turn back they
found they had their hands full. One of the pack horses balked and
in plunging around bumped up against the steed Dave was riding. This
knocked the youth’s horse from the rocks, and in a twinkling Dave found
himself and his steed floating down the current of the stream.
“Come back here!” roared Barringford. “Turn to the shore!” And then he
said no more, having his hands full with the pack horses and his own
animal. One of the pack horses began to kick and did not stop until the
old hunter struck him a heavy blow with his gun stock. Then the steed
made a plunge for the bank it had left but a few minutes before, and
Barringford and the other two horses followed. The leading horse did
not stop at the bank but took to the back trail, and thinking that Dave
had followed his advice and was close behind, the old hunter started to
stop the runaway.
In the meantime Dave was doing his best to gain control of his own
steed which was badly frightened and snorting wildly. But the current
was strong beyond the rocks and despite his best efforts, the steed
went with it instead of turning toward the bank. Then, without warning
the horse struck a sharp rock, turned over, and Dave was flung headlong.
So rapid was the turn of affairs, and so entirely unexpected, that for
the moment after disappearing under the surface of the stream, Dave
scarcely knew what was happening. He opened his mouth, took a gulp of
water, and then closed his mouth again in a hurry. He could swim fairly
well, and instinctively struck out for the surface.
When he came up he was directly opposite the spot where the deer had
first appeared and by his side floated the animal he had shot and
killed. Looking ashore he saw the Indians, gathered in a group on the
bank and gazing at him and the game in astonishment. One of the red men
shouted at him in the Indian tongue and two of the braves raised their
bows and arrows. Seeing the latter movement Dave promptly dove out of
sight again.
The youth was greatly perplexed concerning what to do next, and so were
the Indians. The appearance of the whites was a complete surprise to
the red men, who had been thinking of nothing but the deer they had
been after. The leader, a tall and not bad-looking savage, yelled again
at Dave, and spoke to those with him, ordering the bows to be lowered.
Then one of the party brought forth a lasso, and after some trouble
managed to bring the dead deer ashore, along with two others of the
herd which the red men themselves had laid low.
Below the spot where the deer had been sighted the river made a sharp
turn and divided into two branches, the one flowing to the north the
other to the west. Here both channels were narrow and deep, and the
water ran with increased swiftness.
Dave tried to land on the spur of shore which divided the stream but
failed. On he swept, through the channel leading northward. Here at
first the banks were overgrown with brush, and tall trees sent their
branches down almost within reach of his hand. Soon, however, the
character of the surroundings changed and he found the stream cutting
its way between two walls of rock. The top of the banks were far out
of his reach and his heart sank within him.
“No wonder Sam warned me to beware of the river,” he thought, dismally.
“Where in the wide world can this lead to?”
As a projecting rock came within reach he tried to stay his progress.
But his strength was not equal to the task, and torn from the hold,
he was hurried on again, to another bend, where the water boiled and
foamed in a most alarming manner. Fearful that the end was at hand he
closed his eyes and prayed to God that his life might be spared to him.
Then he whirled on and on, over some jagged stones and around the bend,
and at last into smooth water again. He was now so faint and dizzy that
he could do little besides keeping his head above water.
Quarter of an hour passed,--to poor Dave it appeared much longer,--and
the rocks gradually gave way to loose stones and dirt, and the bushes
and trees again appeared. The stream was growing wider and presently
the floating youth struck another point where it divided into two
branches, forming an island in the center half a mile long. His feet
struck bottom, and more dead than alive, he dragged himself to the
island and sank down on a grassy bank exhausted.
How long he rested he could hardly tell, afterwards. The setting of
the sun far over the forest to the westward startled him and made him
leap to his feet. He must get back to where he had left Barringford and
that, too, without loss of time.
But then he thought of the Indians and how two of the red men had
pointed their arrows at him. They must be enemies to the whites, and
if that was so it would not do to run the risk of falling into their
hands. Yet he knew of no way to reach the old hunter except to trail
back along the bank of the stream which had played him such a sad
trick. Young as he was he knew the folly of trying to strike a direct
course through the dense forest which confronted him.
“I’ll have to risk the Indians,” he said to himself, with something
like a groan. “Perhaps, if I’m careful, I can get past them without
being seen--that is, if they are still in the neighborhood. But for all
I know they may have shot and scalped Sam long before this,” and the
cold perspiration stood out on his brow.
His gun was still over his shoulder and his powder horn hung at his
belt. But the powder was soaked and therefore useless, so he could not
reload. This left him only his hunting knife to fall back on, in case
of attack by Indian or wild animal, and he started on the return with a
heart as heavy as the leaden bullets which were now useless to him.
CHAPTER XVIII
DAVE VISITS AN INDIAN VILLAGE
Dave’s first movement was to get from the island to the bank of the
stream. Having no desire to be carried further by that treacherous
current, he entered the water with care and did not leave one foot-hold
until he was sure of the next. It was now almost dark and the shadows
along the shore were rapidly growing black and forbidding.
Having gained the bank, he wrung the water from his jacket and emptied
his boots. The brushwood was thick close to the stream and he found
if he wished to make any progress up the river he would have to enter
the forest, fifty feet further back. This he did and was soon moving
on, over moss, dead leaves, gnarled roots, and stones as speedily as
his tired frame permitted. Under ordinary circumstances he would have
dropped and gone to sleep, now the fear of what might happen kept him
wide awake.
At last the forest came to an end and he found himself mounting
the rocky canyon through which the stream had cut its way probably
centuries before. Here he had to do a vast amount of climbing and long
before the canyon came to an end he was so tired he could scarcely drag
one foot after the other.
“It’s no use,” he groaned, half aloud. “I can’t get back to-night and I
might as well look for some place where I can camp out. If I don’t take
care I’ll become completely lost.”
A short distance further on he came to a pretty creek flowing into the
river. Feeling he could not get lost as long as he kept near the creek,
he followed this tiny stream until he felt certain the woods would hide
him from the Indians should they come in that direction. He sank on a
fallen tree and gave himself up to his dismal reflections.
What had become of the old hunter? Had Sam had trouble with the
redskins, or was he following the river in hope of finding his
companion?
“He won’t go far in the dark,” thought Dave. “Not as far as this,
anyway, and as soon as it’s light I’ll get back to the river and keep
on the watch for him.”
For some time he sat there in the dark, not daring to start a fire for
fear the Indians would see the light. But his wet clothing chilled him
through and through and afraid of getting sick if he remained all night
in this condition he presently got out his flint and box and hunted for
something for tinder. A bit of dry moss answered the purpose and it
was not long before he had a roaring fire, placed in a hollow between
several large rocks. He crouched down to warm and dry himself, and in
this attitude fell asleep.
When Dave awoke the brightness of day was on him and he sprang up in
dismay, fearing he had overslept himself. “Perhaps Sam had passed this
way already,” was his instant thought and he lost no time in getting
back to the river. But nobody was in sight, and once more he tramped
on whence he had come the day before. He was now tremendously hungry,
without any food with which to satisfy the cravings of his stomach.
“If I don’t find Sam by dinner time I’ll throw a line into the river
and go fishing,” he told himself, but just then he contented himself
with a drink of water.
On and on he tramped, through the forest and brushwood, and across
small streams and bits of marshland. His sleep had rested him
thoroughly and he made rapid progress.
When a turn of the river brought him in sight of the spot where he had
first seen the Indians, he halted to reconnoitre. But not a single red
man was anywhere in the vicinity, and satisfied of this, he pushed
forward faster than ever, until he gained the fording place where all
the trouble had originated.
“Dave! By all thet’s lucky! Wall now, but ain’t I downright glad to
see ye ag’in!” came suddenly from a clump of nearby brush, and Sam
Barringford ran toward the youth. “Are ye hurt at all?”
“No, I’m all right,” was the equally joyful answer. “And what of you?
Did the Indians molest you?”
“Not a bit of it. They know me, and the minit they sot eyes on me they
took their game and slid out on the double-quick. But tell me, where
have ye been and why didn’t ye come after me, when I sot out after the
runaway hoss?”
“I didn’t know you went after a runaway horse, Sam,” returned Dave, and
told the story of his remarkable experience on the river. “As soon as I
passed the Indians I didn’t think of anything but to save myself from
drowning.”
“To be sure,--I see how it was now. Wall, I had a long chase after the
runaway and when I got back it was almost dark. Then I spotted the
redskins and they spotted me. They were a crowd I met once over to
Frazier’s trading-post and they knew me thoroughly. They got out, as I
said afore, on the double-quick, and I don’t know where they went to. I
thought fust of hunting for you in the dark, but knew thet wouldn’t do,
so I squatted to wait for daylight. I’ve been around a good bit sense
then and jest came back to make certain the hosses was safe.”
“Do you know anything of my horse? I lost him in the river just as he
struck a rock.”
“He got out and came back, and he’s all right excepting for a cut on
his foreleg and another on his head. It’s a wonder he didn’t kick ye to
death. Had any dinner?”
“Dinner? I haven’t had last night’s supper yet.”
“Golly-whoppers! Ye don’t mean it? Come right on and I’ll fix ye
something in a jiffy. Ye must be hollow clean down to the boots!” And
Sam Barringford bustled off to his temporary camp, but a few rods away.
With a heart that now felt as light as a feather, Dave followed. He was
glad enough to fling himself in the long grass and lazily watch the old
hunter bustle around, and doubly glad to partake of the hot coffee and
broiled birds and corn cakes which his companion provided. Never had a
feast tasted better to him.
“The Indians took the deer I shot I suppose,” said Dave, while eating.
“Well, I can be thankful that they didn’t take me instead.”
The youth was glad enough to get back in the saddle again, for his feet
were still sore from the climbing of the canyon rocks. They pushed on
directly he had finished his meal, and they did not halt again until
night was once more on them. Their course was now directly for the
Kinotah and Barringford calculated that they would strike one branch of
that stream by the afternoon of the next day.
The character of the country remained the same--tall trees, heavy
underbrush and vines, and high grass. In spots the trail was almost
wiped out, while at other places it became so divided Barringford was
almost at a loss which division to follow. Once they crossed a stream
where there was a fine beaver dam and from a distance saw the active
creatures at work. When the beavers saw they were discovered they lost
no time in disappearing, so neither Dave nor Barringford got a shot at
them.
The weather remained fine and it was a most glorious sunset in which
Dave first beheld the rolling Kinotah, at a point fifty or sixty miles
from where James Morris had erected his trading-post. Along the river
ran a well-worn trail and many evidences showed that they were in a
favorite hunting ground of the Indians.
[Illustration: “The white men are welcome to Nancoke.”--_Page 169._]
“Nancoke ain’t far away--we might as well make for it,” said
Barringford, and they did. Soon the Indian wigwams came into sight,
stretched along the river bank, and a pack of lean and hungry looking
Indian dogs came out to greet them, barking furiously. Several
children and squaws followed, and then an old chief, Eagle Plume by
name, came after.
“The white men are welcome to Nancoke,” said Eagle Plume, after
listening to what they had to say. “Eagle Plume knows the white trader
of the Kinotah well and is his friend. Remain with us over night and be
at rest.”
They entered the Indian village and Eagle Plume ordered some of the
boys to drive off the dogs. Dave and Barringford were led to the old
chief’s wigwam, the largest in the village, made of poles twenty to
twenty-five feet long and covered with the skins of wild animals, all
curiously decorated with Indian symbols. Within some fancy mats lay
upon the ground, and a small fire was burning to drive away the chill.
Eagle Plume’s squaw was present and also his two daughters, Indian
maidens who were by no means bad looking. All of the women folks had
been making fish baskets, but the work was now laid aside in order that
they might prepare the evening meal.
“I declare, it’s quite home-like after all,” was Dave’s comment, when
he got the chance to speak to Barringford privately. “I had no idea the
Indians lived so comfortably.”
“There are some lodges a heap finer nor this,” answered the old hunter.
“Why, thet of Tanacharisson the Seneca half-king is a reg’lar palace
under animal skins. His beds are made of the finest furs ye ever sot
eyes on, and his cloak has got feathers on it wuth a fortune.”
The warriors of the tribe were all off on a hunt and Eagle Plume said
he did not expect them back for several sleeps, meaning, of course,
so many days, for the Indians reckoned their time largely by sleeps,
moons, and winters.
With the warriors gone the boys and girls had matters very much their
own way, for Eagle Plume was too old to remonstrate with them, and the
squaws rarely interfered. This was the first time Dave had seen Indian
children at play and he was much interested.
One crowd was playing ring toss, very much as it is played to-day. A
stake was driven in the ground and several circles were marked around
it. The hoops, to be thrown over the stake or within one or another of
the circles, were made of willow withes, tightly interwoven. When a
hoop went over the stake the thrower would give a yell of delight, and
would make a mark for himself or herself in a square on the ground.
But the main game was one of war, because the Indian’s real life was
made up largely of strife with the white man and with other Indians.
To-day when small boys see a big parade they soon after form a
soldier company of their own, and when they go to a circus they end
up by giving a show in the back yard. So these Indian boys and girls
separated into two parties, one to hide in the brush and behind the
trees and the other to go on the warpath and surprise them. As Dave
witnessed it, the surprise was really a thrilling one, and the fighting
and shrieking more than half real. Yet despite the roughness of this
sport nobody complained, although before the battle was over some of
the smaller warriors withdrew to play another game, which consisted of
leaping over a number of sticks laid down like the rungs of a ladder,
and which was called “Let the Snakes Alone.” First the crowd would leap
over the sticks, then hop over them with one foot, next the other foot,
and then backward. If a player kicked a stick out of position he or
she was out of the game, and the last person left in the game was the
winner.
CHAPTER XIX
THE TRADING-POST ON THE KINOTAH
Dave had anticipated a fine night’s rest in the Indian wigwam assigned
to Barringford and himself, and he could not understand the quizzical
look upon the old hunter’s face when he prepared to lie down.
“What’s the matter, Sam?” he questioned.
“Nuthin, Dave,” was the dry answer. “Only if ye sleep well let me know
in the morning.”
“But why did you look at me in that fashion?”
“Don’t mind it, lad--it’s all right,--and I hope ye sleep well,” and
with this Barringford rolled himself in his blanket and was soon in the
land of dreams. But he slept close to the entrance of the wigwam and
disdained all the mats and robes offered to him.
Feeling it would be softer to sleep on a robe, Dave piled three of them
on top of each other and threw himself down. He was just dozing off
when he felt something on his ankle, then something on his knee, and
then something pretty much all over him. The robes and mats were filled
with vermin, and without waiting to scratch himself he leaped to his
feet. Then began a lively battle between the youth and the pests, in
the midst of which he awoke Barringford.
“Hullo, what’s up?” came from the old hunter, sleepily, but that
quizzical look came again into his eyes.
“You know well enough, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me this place was
inhabited?” cried Dave, twisting and scratching himself, first in one
way and then another.
“Is it inhabited?”
“Yes, and you knew it, you rascal! Oh, dear, I feel as if I was going
to be eaten up alive! Why, those robes have got a thousand million
things in ’em,” and Dave went to scratching again.
“I was afraid on it,” answered Barringford, and then broke out into a
roar of laughter. “But, ye see, I didn’t want to alarm ye afore I was
sure.” And he laughed again.
“You may think it fun but I don’t,” grumbled Dave. He felt far from
laughing himself. “What in the world will I do to get rid of them?
They’ll nip me to death!”
“Throw a wet log on yonder fire and stand in the smoke. They can’t
stand thet nohow.”
This was the best of advice and Dave was not slow in following it. The
smoke nearly choked him and made the tears run down his cheeks in a
stream, but it likewise made the vermin decamp, and soon he was free
of the pests.
“You can have what’s left,” he said. “I’m going to sleep outside, near
the fire,” and he did, and soon Barringford joined him, to be at hand
in case of unexpected peril. Strange to say the Indians did not appear
to mind the vermin in the least.
After thanking the Indians for their kindness, and making Eagle Plume
a present of some ornaments from one of the packs, they started on
their journey up the Kinotah early the next morning. The trail was
now easy, and before nightfall they covered half the distance to the
trading-post, and reached another small Indian village, called Shunrum,
although it is doubtful if the red men of this village _shunned rum_
any more than did their fellows. Here the warriors were also on the
hunt, and two aged red men, one so feeble he could scarcely walk,
entertained them. The one who was feeble was suffering from dropsy and
the medicine-man of the tribe was trying to cure him by dancing around
and groaning in a sing-song fashion.
“He’ll never help it a bit,” said Dave, but Barringford cautioned the
youth to be quiet.
“Don’t ye ever set yourself up against a medicine-man,” he whispered.
“This is part of their religion, and if ye don’t want to git burnt ye
keep off.” And Dave said no more. Yet he was sorry for the sick red
man and wished there had been a real doctor at hand to attend him.
The Indians reported all quiet at the trading-post and said Dave’s
father was well. They looked upon James Morris as a big white chief
and treated Dave accordingly. But Dave refused to sleep in the wigwam
assigned to him and said he never cared to sleep on Indian robes! This
puzzled them a little, but they asked no curious questions. However,
Barringford enlightened them on the quiet, and they went off with their
eyes drawn up into little slits,--a sign that something had struck them
as exceedingly comical.
“And now for the post, and father!” cried Dave, on arising the morning
following. He was impatient to be off and could hardly wait to eat
the well-cooked deer meat which the Indian squaws prepared. With the
meat were served some flat cakes made of Indian meal, which were as
delicious as any the youth had ever tasted, and water sweetened with
honey and flavored with mint.
“It’s curious we haven’t seen any wild animals lately,” remarked Dave,
as he rode along. “I haven’t sighted as much as a rabbit or a fox for
two days.”
“The Indians bring down everything around here, Dave. That is why
they have to go so far away when they are on a big hunt. In years to
come game will be as scarce around here as it now is around the lower
Potomac.”
“Do the Indians ever let up on the game during the breeding season?”
“Some tribes do but not many. The majority of the redskins believe
in bringing down everything in sight, jest as some foolish white men
do. If the whites git out here in force, and hunt as they’ve been
a-hunting, they’ll kill off everything byme-by.”
The trail kept close to the river and they could plainly hear the water
as it rushed along, between the brushwood and the rocks, on its way to
the mighty Ohio, and even more mighty Mississippi. It was certainly a
beautiful stream, and Dave could readily see why it had charmed his
parent.
“I’m going out on it in a canoe some day,” he said. “It will be great
sport I know.”
“So it will, Dave, and I’ll go with ye,” returned his companion.
The stop for dinner was a short one, and they would not have halted
at all had not the pack horses needed a rest. Dave was so impatient
he could scarcely sit still. Barringford understood the feeling and
said nothing, and did not delay the rest beyond what he thought was
necessary.
It was four o’clock when Dave gave a sudden wild whoop. He had caught
sight of a stockade through the branches of the low-hanging trees.
“There is the post, Sam!” he cried, and made off at the top of his
horse’s speed.
Dave’s cry was answered by a hunter standing close to the stockade.
This was the fellow called Putty, a tall, lean specimen of the
backwoodsman. As soon as he caught sight of the young rider, he, too,
set up a shout. The shout was answered by somebody within the post, and
a man hurried forth, bareheaded and coatless.
“Father!” shouted Dave, and rode up to his parent. “Here we are, safe
and sound!”
“My own Dave!” answered James Morris, and as the youth dismounted he
caught him closely in his arms. “I was expecting you some day this
week. So you are well? I am glad of it. And what kind of a trip did you
have?”
“It was not bad, father, although we had some adventures we didn’t look
for. But what a truly lovely place this is!” Dave gazed around with
much interest. “I see you are strengthening the stockade.”
“Yes, we want to feel safe in case of an attack by the French or
Indians.”
“Have you had trouble lately?”
“No, Dave, but there are ugly rumors afloat. How is your Uncle Joe, and
all the others?”
“Pretty fair. A surgeon was going to operate upon Rodney when I came
away. I would have stayed to see how he made out only he said we
couldn’t tell anything about it for a week or two, and Sam wanted to
take advantage of the good weather.”
By this time Sam Barringford rode up and more handshaking followed. The
newcomers were conducted into the post and Dave was taken around by his
father, who was almost as eager to exhibit the place as Dave was to
view it. To the youth the trading-post was even a superior place than
he had imagined from that first letter from his father.
“I wouldn’t want a better place to live,” he remarked, when led from
the main building to the stables. “It’s as comfortable as anybody would
want and the location is superb. The name Ella Dell just fits it. But
how is the situation for trading?”
“Very good indeed. I have made friends with the Indians for many miles
around, and some of them call me their white chief. The only trouble
I have had has been with Fox Head, the rascal who bothered me when I
first came. I would give a good deal to get rid of him.”
“And what of the French?”
“There is a French trader named Jean Bevoir who has a post twenty miles
below, on Buffalo Creek. He has tried to take my trade from me and
tried to make the Indians my enemies. But the only Indians who side
with him are Fox Head and his tribe, and a few other Miamis. Those up
at Shunrum and Nancoke will have nothing to do with him.”
“Yes, I know those Indians are your friends, father; they treated Sam
and myself so well. But what has Fox Head been doing lately?”
“Carrying messages to the French and telling them that we are preparing
to make war on all their posts and wipe them out. Jean Bevoir is
helping him, and between them I am afraid they’ll make trouble for us
with the French government, and with the Indians along the lakes.”
After the inspection of the premises had been concluded, Mr. Morris
opened the packages Dave and Barringford had brought along, and went
over the list of goods. He was well pleased with the purchases, and
even more so when told that Dave had picked the things out himself,
aided by Henry Morris.
“At this rate, you can buy all our goods in the future,” he said to his
son. “At the prices, you certainly have some bargains, and there is
nothing but what is worth about what you paid for it. You have done
much better than I did the first time I went bartering.”
In honor of the new arrivals all the hands attached to the trading-post
were called in that evening and a general jollification was had. In
this several Indians joined, and the festival kept up until nearly
midnight. But it was no such orgy as Dave had witnessed at Winchester,
and when it came to an end, the helpers departed in as sober and
respectable a manner as they had come.
“It’s wonderful what control your pap has over his men,” said Sam to
Dave, on retiring. “He’s kind, but he’s strict, and he makes ’em toe
the mark every time.”
“Well, that’s the way it ought to be,” answered Dave. “And that’s the
way I’m going to do, if I ever have any men under me.”
CHAPTER XX
AN ALARMING DISCOVERY
Dave’s first impression of the trading-post remained by him upon a
further inspection, indeed, the youth liked the locality more and more
every day. Putty and the other men, as well as his father and Sam
Barringford, took him around, and also up and down the river, and up
Indian Brook, which flowed into the Kinotah just below the stockade.
They went hunting, trapping and fishing, and the days seemed to fairly
fly on the wings of the wind. Before the snow amounted to anything,
Dave knew every trail and watercourse for fifteen miles around.
The men all liked Dave and he also liked them, but he was true to
Sam Barringford, and many were the times that the two went forth, to
fill their game bags, or try for something more important. It was
Barringford who taught Dave the latest devices in trapping, and it was
the old hunter who, aided by Dave, set a bear trap and caught one of
the largest beasts captured in that vicinity. Occasionally Mr. Morris
went out with the pair, but the Indians and backwoodsmen were now
bringing in their pelts, so the trader could not remain with them long.
The coming of winter found our friends well provided for, and business
brisk. Mr. Morris always got his pick of hides from the red men, who
would then take the second best to Jean Bevoir, the French trader. This
made Bevoir very angry, yet he could not help himself and rather than
get nothing he took what was offered. But he vowed that sooner or later
he would make the hated English trader get out.
The winter held off well, but when it did come, it let down in all its
fury. For three days and nights it snowed without ceasing. During the
last night the wind arose to a gale and this drove the snow in a drift
along the river bank, covering a section of the stockade completely,
and also the front end of the log cabin.
“Now we can stay in and suck our thumbs,” said Putty, the following
morning. “Even the wild beasts must be snow-bound.”
The old backwoodsman was right so far as staying in went, for going
abroad was totally out of the question. The most the men could do was
to shovel a path to the stables and take care of the horses and cattle.
After that the winter, to Dave, passed slowly. At times it cleared a
little, and then he and the others went out to track game, or fish
through holes in the ice. By this means he brought in all the fish
that were needed, and also several deer, and helped Barringford and an
Indian named Tobacco Jack bring down another bear. He also shot a large
quantity of rabbits and several woodchucks and opossums. To Dave all
this was play, but he did not shirk his work, when it came to splitting
wood for the fire and caring for the animals about the place.
“Got to take one thing with another,” he would say. “Can’t do nothing
but have fun all the time.”
“Thet’s the way to look at it,” Barringford had answered. “Got to work
if ye want to eat.”
The month of February was the most severe of the whole winter, and
again they were snowed in and could not get out for a week. But after
that it thawed rapidly and the only danger was that the river and the
brook would overflow their banks and sweep the trading-post away. The
overflow did come, ten days later, but the only damage done was to the
stockade, and this was easily repaired.
During the cold weather some of the men around the post had cleared a
patch of ground lying up the creek, and as soon as weather permitted,
James Morris set Dave to work to plant the spot with garden vegetables
and corn. Some of the tree stumps were burned out, but others were left
standing, and plowing, consequently, was not easy. But Dave stuck to
his task like a man, and soon the patch was growing nicely.
Thus the spring and summer passed and Dave was always kept busy, if
not at one thing then at another. But he loved the forest, and his
rifle, and went out with Barringford or Putty at every opportunity. The
constant use of the firearm made him an expert marksman, and in a trial
at skill one afternoon between everybody at the place, he came off
fourth best, which was certainly more than good when it is remembered
that he had so many older shots against him.
Late in the summer one of the trappers announced his intention of
leaving the neighborhood and paying a visit to Georgetown, where he
had a sister and an aged mother living. At this time James Morris was
anxious to see his brother about making improvements at the post and
investing additional capital in the trading business. He accordingly
consulted with Dave and Barringford, and the upshot of the talk was
that he concluded to go eastward with the trapper, leaving Dave and the
old hunter in charge during his absence.
For the eastward expedition James Morris called in several of the
Indians belonging to White Buffalo’s tribe, the chief himself being off
on a grand hunt, and when he started he took with him eight horses
loaded down with pelts of all sorts, which were worth a good many
hundreds of dollars.
“Don’t try to do anything out of the ordinary while I am gone,” he
said, on parting with Dave and Barringford. “Treat the friendly Indians
well and beware of any Indians or trappers Bevoir sends up. If the
French try to dictate to you, tell them they must wait until I return.”
For the first few days after his parent was gone, the trading-post
seemed lonely to Dave. He felt a responsibility which was new to him,
and he often consulted with Barringford. “We mustn’t make any false
moves,” he said. “If the Indians or the French are up to any tricks
they’ll surely try them on while father is absent.”
“Wall, Dave, don’t git alarmed,” answered the old hunter. “I know the
crowd putty well, and I allow they know me and they know I won’t stand
any nonsense. Jest be careful, and we’ll pull through in fine feather.”
For a week nothing out of the ordinary happened. Barringford went out
hunting every day, but Dave remained around the post and always kept
one or more of the men with him. He did some trading, and when the
Indians visited him treated them kindly.
One day a Shunrum warrior came in to dispose of several skins, and
after the deal was over, and Dave had made him a present of some
trinkets in addition, the warrior called him aside.
“White boy beware,” he said, in a low voice. “Red Bird here two days
ago.”
“Yes, I know that,” answered Dave. “But what of it?”
“Red Bird friend to French--Red Bird does not like the English. Red
Bird tell the French all he sees and hears.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Yes, Swiftwater is sure,” grunted the warrior.
“Where is Red Bird now?”
“Yesterday he went to the post of Jean Bevoir. He did not come back.”
This was all the warrior had to tell, but it was enough, for Dave now
remembered how sneakingly Red Bird had acted, and how he had asked many
questions out of the ordinary, about the furs on hand, and about when
James Morris was expected back.
“I don’t like this thing,” he said to Sam Barringford, that evening.
“If I remember rightly this Red Bird and Fox Head belong to the same
tribe, and Fox Head is father’s enemy and always has been.”
“Thet’s true, Dave,” was the old hunter’s answer.
“I think we ought to keep a closer watch than ever, especially at
night.”
“We’ll do it. I’ll organize the men into a reg’lar guard.”
Barringford was as good as his word, and, realizing the danger, the
men around the post readily agreed to take turns at watching. Dave, of
course, joined the guard, and stood his three hours every other night
with the rest. This was the best that could be done with the number of
men on hand at the time.
The second night that the youth was out was muggy and rainy, and he
wore an oiled skin cape to protect himself from the downpour. He had
relieved a man named Pothers, and was to guard from eleven o’clock to
two, when Sam Barringford would come to his relief.
The guard had formed a beaten path, leading around the stockade, up and
down both the river and the creek, and in and around the stables and
the log house itself. The distance covered was over a mile and each
guard was supposed to cover the ground at least once an hour.
As Dave tramped slowly around the stockade, with the water streaming
steadily from his cape, he could not help but think what a disagreeable
night it was, and how much nicer it would be in bed than out there
in the rain. “The Indians don’t like rain any better than I do,” he
reasoned. “Nobody will come to-night.”
Yet though he reasoned thus, he did not relax his vigilance and when
he moved up and down the river and the creek he kept his eyes and ears
wide open.
It was almost two o’clock, and he was wondering when Barringford would
come to relieve him, when struck by a sudden impulse, he resolved to
take another walk down the river. The rain was now beginning to let up,
and a rising wind was sending the dark clouds scuttling swiftly across
the face of the sky.
Reaching the end of the walk below the trading-post, he came to a halt
close to the edge of the stream, which was already rising on account
of the rain. Here he stood in the deep shadow of the trees looking and
listening, as he had done three times before during that watch.
He was about to turn away, having beheld nothing out of the ordinary,
when an unexpected movement on the stream caught his trained eye. He
saw something moving in the darkness. It was coming slowly up the
river, and was followed by four similar objects.
“They must be canoes,” he told himself. “Nothing else could come up
the stream in that fashion. And if they are canoes, they must be filled
with Indians!”
With strained eyes he watched the objects and at last became satisfied
that they were canoes, and filled with men, either whites or Indians.
Soon the canoes turned shoreward and were lost to sight in the bushes.
On the instant Dave turned and sped for the post with all possible
speed.
“Hi, Dave, what’s up?” came from Barringford, who met him at the
entrance to the stockade. “Have ye spotted anything?”
“I have, Sam. Five canoes just came up the river and they were filled
with men. They turned in at the blasted oak.”
“Injuns!” returned the old hunter. “Didn’t think they’d be out
to-night.”
“Neither did I. But they are out. What shall we do?”
“Call all hands, shut up this gate, and stand on guard. We’ve got one
thing in our favor. Everything is wet through and they’ll have their
hands full if they attempt to set anything afire,” concluded the old
hunter.
While Barringford closed the huge gate and barred it, and also went to
make the other entrances safe, Dave ran off to awaken the others in the
post. All told the garrison, if such it may be called, numbered six
whites, two half-breeds, and three full-blooded Indians. The latter had
been in James Morris’ service since the trader had come west, and were
fully trustworthy.
CHAPTER XXI
THE DEFENCE OF THE TRADING-POST
“We are eleven all told,” said Dave, when he came up to his position in
the loft of the log house. “The Indians in those canoes must number at
least twenty or twenty-five.”
“Wall, we have an advantage,” replied Putty, who stood near. “We are
under cover, and they won’t be, when they attack us.”
“Can they be friendly?”
“Friendly Indians don’t travel far in the rain. However, we can hear
what they have to say when they come up.”
The possibilities of an attack had been talked over so many times that
now when it looked as if it was really coming, each man knew what was
expected of him and it was not necessary to tell him where to go.
Four, including Dave, were stationed in the loft of the log cabin, at
sheltered port-holes placed there when the post was built. The others
went below, to the stockade and to the stables.
Barringford cautioned all to keep silent and hardly a sound broke the
stillness five minutes after Dave had rushed in with the news. Each
man was on the alert, with loaded rifles ready to hand and powder and
ball close by. The storm was now over and here and there the stars were
struggling through the scattering clouds.
Presently Dave pulled Putty by the coat sleeve. “An Indian!” he
whispered. “Look!”
Dave was right, an Indian had appeared down by the garden clearing. He
walked swiftly but noiselessly toward the stockade but came to a halt
when he reached the angle and found the gate closed.
“Wall, Injun, what do ye want here this time of night?”
The question came from Sam Barringford, who had his station close by
the gate. His rifle was thrust through the port, and his face peered
forth over the muzzle.
If the red man was taken by surprise he did not show it. He came to a
halt.
“Red Bird wants to come in,” he said, in smooth tones. “Red Bird and
his followers are wet and hungry.”
“Ye don’t generally travel in the rain, Red Bird.”
“Red Bird and his braves were on the river. The canoes were split on
the rocks and lost. We tramped many miles through the woods, and are
without food.”
“Whar did ye git upsot?”
“At the Minnewah Falls. Three canoes were lost.”
“Where are the other canoes?”
“We had but three.”
“It ain’t so, Red Bird; ye had five canoes and none of ’em was lost.
You go away from here and come around when it is daylight.”
“The white man will not open the gate for Red Bird and his braves?”
“Not to-night. Your canoes are below here in the bushes. Go to them and
paddle back to Jean Bevoir and tell him the plan to surprise us has
failed,” went on Barringford, sharply.
At this the Indian uttered a grunt of disappointment and disgust. “We
must come in,” he insisted. “We are cold, tired and hungry.”
“You’ll git away--and quick!” ordered Barringford and raised the muzzle
of his rifle until it was leveled at the Indian’s head. At once the red
man turned and sped away whence he had come.
“Wall, did I do right?” called out the old hunter, after the Indian was
gone. He no longer thought it necessary to remain silent.
“Ye did,” answered Putty, who was the leader of the others. “Wonder how
soon he’ll be back?”
“Perhaps he won’t come,” put in Dave. “I trust he doesn’t.”
“Trust nothin’, lad, they’ll come afore ye know it.”
Putty had scarcely spoken when a savage war-whoop rang out just beyond
the clearing, answered by another whoop from up the river. Then as if
by magic Indians appeared to spring up all around the trading-post. All
rushed forward, some with guns and others with bows and arrows, and all
with tomahawks at their girdles. The yells were deafening and for the
moment Dave was dazed by the sight and the noise.
“Oh, what a crowd--at least forty or fifty of them!” he gasped. “We
can’t stand against so many. They----”
The end of his remark was cut short by the report of Barringford’s
rifle, followed by the crack! crack! of several other guns. Putty was
at a port hole trying to pick off one of the leaders. The Indians had
also fired, but none of the whites were reached. Two of the red men
went down, and now Putty dropped a third, which, later on, proved to be
Red Bird himself.
With his heart almost in his throat, Dave shoved his own rifle
through one of the holes. An Indian was sneaking around the angle of
the stockade, followed by half a dozen others. Bang! went the youth’s
firearm, and the leading red man fell, shot through the thigh. But the
others kept on and almost before those inside knew it three were over
the stockade and more were following.
But now Barringford showed his backwoods training and his unbounded
courage. Taking a quick aim he sent one Indian to earth with a bullet
through his breast. Then, as another red man fired on him, hitting
him in the shoulder, he swung his gun around, and down went the enemy
with a crushed arm. With his own left arm hanging limply at his side,
the old hunter leaped in again, swinging his rifle at arm’s length and
mowing down two others as with a scythe.
“Want ter fight, eh?” he roared. “All right, I’ll give ye all ye want!
Thet fer ye, an’ thet! I’m a painter when I’m aroused, an’ don’t ye
forgit it--a roaring, howling mountain lion an’ painter rolled inter
one! Thar’s a wolloping fer ye!” And he danced around like a madman,
moving so quickly that try their best the Indians could not reach him.
His coonskin cap was off, his hair was flying freely about his head,
and his eyes blazed with the fury of a serpent.
The others were not idle. With the close approach of the Indians, those
in the loft hurried below, and soon Putty was in the yard along with
two others, fighting fiercely at close range. Arrows were flying in all
directions and just as Dave appeared at a window one whizzed past his
ear and buried itself in the wall opposite. He heard one old hunter
named Larrison give a cry of mortal agony and saw him pitch forward on
the grass dead, and saw one of the friendly Indians go down, shot in
the leg. In the meantime the other Indians had caught one of Red Bird’s
followers near the stables and had tomahawked and scalped him.
In the midst of the tumult, and when it was impossible to tell how the
encounter was going, another war-whoop rang out, coming from the forest
to the eastward. This was a new cry, different from that heard before,
and both the whites and the Indians around the stockade listened in
amazement.
“It’s the war cry of the Delawares!” ejaculated one of the men. “It
must be White Buffalo and his braves!”
“White Buffalo!” exclaimed Dave. “Pray God it is! He will surely aid
us.”
The war cry continued, and as it came closer, the whites saw that the
Miamis were much disturbed, not only by this but by the fall of Red
Bird, who had led the expedition, Fox Head being away on a mission to
the French. Suddenly one gave a signal and at this the Miamis began to
withdraw as quickly as they had appeared.
“They are retreating!” said Dave, joyfully. “It must indeed be White
Buffalo who is coming. See them run!”
“Give it to ’em!” was the cry from several sides. “Don’t let them
escape! They need the lesson!” And as the Indians retreated, the
stockade gate was swung open and those who were able to do so ran out,
firing as they went. At the same time the Delawares also opened fire
from the forest and then came leaping on, whooping at the top of their
lungs and flourishing their tomahawks.
Feeling that the contest was lost to them, the Miamis fled down the
river to where they had left their canoes. Three of the craft managed
to get away, having sixteen or eighteen warriors on board. The other
canoes were sunk while yet close at hand, and the swimmers were either
shot down in mid-stream or tomahawked when they came ashore. This
completion of the battle was left entirely to the Indians themselves,
the whites thinking it their duty to remain in the vicinity of the
trading-post.
At last, just as it was growing light in the east, some of the
Delawares came back and with them White Buffalo. Each of the party
carried a fresh scalp at his girdle and the chief looked the pride he
felt.
“White Buffalo!” cried Dave, and ran to meet him and shake hands. “You
did us a great service.”
“White Buffalo heap glad to help his white brothers.”
“Did you know the Miamis were coming here?”
“White Buffalo learn something of it--but not much. March here to make
sure. Know white boy’s father is away.”
“You are indeed a friend, White Buffalo, and father will not forget
this, nor will I. Had you not come up it might have gone badly with us.”
“It is the work of the French, not of the Miamis,” went on the Indian.
“Red Bird was paid for this work. A brave told me he saw the wampums
passed, at a meeting last full moon.”
“Did Jean Bevoir give the wampums?”
“He did, but they came not from Bevoir but from a greater trader--a
French half-breed named Joncaire, he who is close to the French
governor.”
“Captain Joncaire!”
“It’s jest like the dirty sneak,” burst out Barringford, who sat by
dressing his wound. “I know the cap’n well. He’s an oily talker and
smooth, but a reg’lar snake in the grass with it. But I allow this
will teach him and his kind a lesson.”
“But it may bring us into trouble with the French government,” said
Dave.
“What of it, lad? The trouble’s been a bilin’ and a bilin’, and it’s
got to come sooner or later. Let it come, say I, and the sooner it does
the sooner it will be over. They can put down stakes and nail lead
plates to the trees all they please, but that won’t make this country
theirs. The land belongs to the Indians and to their English brothers;
ain’t that so, White Buffalo?”
“My brother the great hunter speaks the truth,” responded the Indian
chief. “War is coming. Old Garudah hath foretold it and what Garudah
says will surely come to pass.” Garudah was an old Delaware squaw, the
daughter of Shannarion the medicine-man, and much believed in as a
prophetess.
White Buffalo did not wish to remain at the trading-post and after
a hearty breakfast he and his braves departed, taking with them the
scalps of all the enemies that had been slain. They had lost two
warriors and these they buried according to their Indian custom.
The day proved a busy one to those left at the post. The wounded were
cared for and the dead buried. Out of the garrison Larrison and one
Indian were dead, and three were wounded but none seriously. The Indian
was placed beside White Buffalo’s followers and the old hunter was
buried on a slight knoll overlooking the brook. Dave read the burial
service in a voice choked with emotion, and later on made and erected a
rude cross over the grave, with Larrison’s full name painted upon it.
CHAPTER XXII
WASHINGTON’S MISSION TO FRENCH CREEK
When James Morris arrived at the homestead of the Morris family he
was received with open arms by his brother and his sister-in-law, and
Henry and little Nell. All were glad to see him and wished to know
immediately about Dave.
“He arrived safe and sound with Sam Barringford,” said James Morris.
“And he has done so well that I have left him and Sam in charge at the
post.”
Then he asked about poor Rodney and was told that the operation had
proved a great success and that the youth was mending rapidly. Later
on he went in to have a long talk with the sufferer which Rodney much
enjoyed, for visitors were scarce, and the family’s stock of books was
so small that he had had nothing new to read for fully six months.
Of course Joseph Morris was anxious to learn all about the affairs at
the trading-post and the brothers spent a whole day and several hours
of the night going over the figures James had brought along. These
satisfied Joseph thoroughly and he congratulated his brother heartily
on his success.
“As for that additional capital, do as you think best,” he added. “I am
willing you shall use it all up to the limit of fifty pounds. That I
must keep for Rodney’s doctor’s bills and for anything else he may need
in the future.”
James Morris remained at the homestead about a week, and then, in
company with the hunter who was going to Georgetown he started eastward
again. He went straight through to Annapolis, and here not only
disposed of his furs at a good price but also made several business
arrangements for future goods, and purchased additional things needed
at the post.
While in the east he heard many rumors which caused him more or less
uneasiness. Governor Dinwiddie had sent a Captain Trent to the French
commander on the Ohio to remonstrate against the several attacks on the
English traders, and this commissioner had returned with news that the
friendly Miamis living at and near Piqua had been attacked by other
Indians and by the French and defeated, and that the English traders
were taken prisoners and the French flag hoisted over the spot. At the
same time news came from other sources that two additional English
trading-posts had been robbed by the French and Indians and everything
of value carried off.
“Can it be possible that they intend to attack my post?” he asked
himself. Then he resolved to get back to the Kinotah without
unnecessary delay. But trading in those days took time, and
shop-keepers were not used to be hurried, and consequently it was fully
a week before he started on the return, by way of Winchester and Will’s
Creek.
In the meantime Governor Dinwiddie, much dissatisfied by the manner in
which Captain Trent had executed, or more properly perhaps, failed to
execute, his commission, appointed George Washington to take up the
task, knowing that Washington was well acquainted with the country
and its people, and used to roughing it. By his orders Washington was
to go to Logtown and hold a conference with Tanacharisson and other
sachems of the tribes friendly to the English, and having settled
with them, was to get an escort and travel to the headquarters of
the French commander, where he was to present a letter written by
Governor Dinwiddie and wait not longer than a week for an answer. While
traveling to the French headquarters he was to keep his eyes and ears
open and learn all he could of what the enemy had done and was doing
toward fortifying the Ohio valley.
Such a mission was exactly to Major Washington’s taste, and late
in October he set out, accompanied by Jacob Van Braam, an old
Dutch-American soldier, who had taught Washington how to fence and
shoot while at Mount Vernon, and who went along as interpreter. The
pair journeyed from Fredericksburg to Alexandria, and from the latter
place to Winchester. Here tents and supplies were purchased, and they
pushed on to Will’s Creek, arriving there in the middle of November.
Winter was now at hand again and the ground was covered with snow.
At Will’s Creek James Morris met the Washington party, which was now
increased by the addition of Mr. Gist, the pioneer, John Davidson, an
Indian interpreter, and several backwoodsmen and Indian traders. Word
had come in of a battle between the Delawares and some thieving Miamis
under Red Bird, but nothing of the attack on Ella Dell post. Yet the
air was full of ugly rumors and James Morris lost no time in bidding
his brother and the others of the family farewell.
“I am going west with the Washington party,” he said. “He remembers
Dave well and said he would be glad to have me along. I don’t know how
far I will go with him but certainly as far as Logtown.”
The first snows of the winter had been followed by a thaw and heavy
rains, consequently the rivers were so swollen the party had to swim
their horses across. Washington shipped a goodly portion of his outfit
down the Monongahela by canoes, telling those in charge to meet him at
the point where that stream and the Alleghany united.
“A fine spot for a fort,” said Washington to James Morris, as the pair
stood on the bank of the rivers, just at the fork. “The ground is high
and firm and there is an abundance of timber with which to build. I
shall recommend it.” This he did, but the French came in and erected
Fort Duquesne. To-day, as stated before, the city of Pittsburgh, with
its great iron and steel works, stands upon the spot. Thus has the
wilderness, in less than a hundred and fifty years, been subdued.
At last the party, after stopping to interview Shingiss and other
Indian sachems, arrived at Logtown, and two days later a grand
conference was held with the sachems who had come in upon invitation.
This was a most impressive sight, even to James Morris, who had seen
“pow-wows,” as he termed them, before. Each Indian chief was dressed
in his best and brightest robe and feathers, and all squatted around
the camp-fire and the whites squatted with them. Before there was any
talking the pipe of peace was lit and passed from one to another until
it had gone around the circle and been returned to the oldest of the
sachems. Then Washington arose and delivered his message, sent to them,
as he said, by their white brother, the Governor of Virginia. At the
conclusion he presented his “speech belt,” a string of wampums, always
necessary when holding an important conference with the red men.
Washington’s manner of presenting his cause pleased the Indians and
after due deliberation they stated that they had always considered the
English their brothers and that they would return the “speech belts”
given to them by the French. They further stated that Captain Joncaire
had called the Indians together at Venango, nearly sixty miles away,
by the trails. They would send three representatives with Washington,
and they trusted that all would go well with their white brother on the
trip.
On the way from Winchester, Washington’s party had been joined by John
Frazier, already mentioned in these pages. Frazier was an English
trader who had had a gunsmith shop in Venango, but had been driven
from the town by the French. He now warned the young commander of the
expedition to be on his guard.
“The French are not to be trusted,” he said. “Unless you are careful
they will steal your papers from you and then call you a trader and
make you a prisoner.”
“I shall be careful, never fear,” answered Washington.
Anxious to see the outcome of this appeal to the French, which might
mean so much to him and his trading-post, James Morris accompanied the
expedition to Venango. It was now bitterly cold and snows were frequent
and at one spot they were snow-bound for nearly a day, and one of the
backwoodsmen had his toes frostbitten. But at last, on the 4th of
December, they reached the town, which was little more than a French
and Indian settlement.
“The rascals, look at that!” exclaimed John Frazier, and pointed to the
house in which he had had his shop. The French officers had made it
their own and from the roof was hoisted the flag of France.
It was not long before Washington presented himself to Captain
Joncaire, who proved to be as oily and smooth-tongued as Sam
Barringford had described him. Yet Joncaire was a lover of good
liquor and company and did his best to make them feel at home, in the
meantime trying to “draw them out,” at every possible opportunity. Yet
Washington soon gauged the fellow perfectly, and hearing that the
French commander was at the next fort, tried to get away at once. But
Joncaire would not listen and had the Indians brought in and treated,
and kept this up so liberally that the poor red men at last forgot all
they had come for and said nothing about returning the French “speech
belts.”
“It’s a shame to let the French rascal get them in his clutches,” said
James Morris.
“Wait, it will all come back upon Captain Joncaire’s head,” said
Washington, and so it proved. On the next morning the half-king of the
Indians came to the commander and related how sorry he was over the
way he had acted. “I will yet return their speech belts, and then they
shall feed me no more fire-water,” he said. “It is not good for the
Indian for it makes of him a fool.”
At last the party was off for the next fort, situated on French Creek,
fifteen miles below Lake Erie. This fort was quite an elaborate affair,
but to reach it they had to travel through mud and slush for four days,
with snow coming down steadily. When they arrived at the fort they were
glad enough to accept the shelter offered them.
At this place the greeting to Washington was quite different from
that given by Joncaire. The young commissioner was received with much
formality and this formality continued during the whole of his stop
there. His letter from Governor Dinwiddie was translated by the French
first and then corrected by Van Braam, and the French commander took a
long while to consider it.
But Washington was not idle. On the second day at the place he called
James Morris to his side.
“You have a keen eye and understand these people and also the Indians,”
he said. “Take a walk down the river and see how many canoes they have
for use in the spring. Blaydell will do the same errand up the river.”
The mission was a delicate one, for the French and Indians were
watching the English as a cat watches a mouse. But James Morris was
equal to the occasion and the next day appeared with his arm in a sling.
“I am going out to cut some herb roots for a sprain,” he told the
French guard, and then told the Indians the same thing. After that he
sauntered down the bank of the stream knife in hand and cut out first
one root and then another. Yet his eyes were not on the roots, but on
the canoes which he brought to light hidden in the bushes, and when he
came back he had a tally which pleased Washington very much. Needless
to say the herb roots were never used on the arm in the sling.
CHAPTER XXIII
AN INDIAN’S TREACHERY
“Mr. Morris, I have news for you which will not be pleasant for you to
hear,” said Washington, on the day after the trader had counted up the
canoes.
“What news is that, sir?” asked Mr. Morris.
“I have it from the commander here that he has been ordered to arrest
every English trader found doing business on the Ohio or near that
river.”
“That order would take in me, wouldn’t it?” returned James Morris, with
a faint smile. “What do you think of it?”
“Privately I think the French are going beyond their authority. But of
course it would not do for me to tell the commander here that. All I
can do is to wait for an answer to Governor Dinwiddie’s letter.”
Just then one of the others of the party came up.
“I have had a long talk with one of the Indians here,” he said. “He
had been drinking enough to loosen his tongue, and in the course of
his talk he let slip that the French are preparing for an expedition
against the English early in the summer.”
“That I have already suspected,” answered Washington. “And what is
more, they are going to keep us here as long as possible, so that the
message I carry will be delayed and our country’s time to prepare for
war shortened.”
In this surmise Major Washington was correct, the French commander
delayed him upon one pretext or another until his patience was almost
exhausted. At the same time the Frenchman entertained the Indians that
had come with the English royally and did his best to get the red men
to side with the French and desert Washington’s party.
Because of the snow and the roughness of the road, Washington had
already sent his horses back to Venango without baggage. He now started
for Venango himself by the river, taking several canoes, all laden
with men and stores. The weather continued foul and the trip was full
of discomfort and peril. Often a boat would strike the rocks or a sand
bar, and then the occupants would have to get out and haul the craft
along by hand.
“This is the worst yet,” said James Morris. “Were it not for the
baggage I would rather walk the whole distance along the trail.”
“I would do that myself,” answered Washington. “But the stores cannot
be left behind.”
At some of the rocks one of the Indian chiefs, White Thunder, was hit
and badly hurt. He also took a heavy cold because of the exposure and
by the time Venango was gained was so ill he could not walk.
Washington hated to leave the Indians where they could again come under
the influence of the wily Joncaire, but there was no help for it, and
at Venango he left the sachems, but reminded them of the promises they
had made.
“We shall not forget what we have promised,” said Tanacharisson.
“The English are our brothers, and we know the French too well to be
deceived by them.” Washington went away rather doubtful, but in the end
the half-king proved as loyal as he had promised.
It was not James Morris’ intention to return to the east with
Washington. Had all gone well he might have done so and purchased more
goods, to take to his trading-post early in the Spring. But the rumors
of war disturbed him and he thought it best to hold off before sinking
more money in his venture.
“If war comes I may lose all I have on the Kinotah,” he said to one of
the party. “And to take more goods out in the spring might only add to
the loss. I will let matters rest and see how affairs turn.”
He journeyed with the party part of the way to Shannopins Town, a
couple of miles above the fork of the Ohio, where they hoped to find an
easy passage over the Alleghany. The way was extremely rough and the
snow now lay deep in the hollows. Some days the party made hardly any
progress, and once they missed the trail in a fierce snow storm.
On the way they fell in with a number of Indians who seemed to be
waiting for them. They were from Venango and one of the red men was
recognized as being in the employ of Joncaire.
“We want to beware of these redskins,” said Gist, the pioneer. “They
are friends to the French and would murder us all for a keg of rum or a
roll of tobacco,” and in this surmise he was more than half right. That
night the entire party slept, as the saying is, “with one eye open.”
But an unbroken forest lay before them and nobody in the party was
acquainted with the way, so at last Washington agreed to hire one of
the Indians as a guide. This appeared to please the redskin, and he
promised to take them through the forest by the most direct route. They
started off leaving the other Indians behind.
James Morris had been watching the Indians closely and had seen a
certain sign pass between them, and this sign had also been noticed by
Gist. Now the two drew behind Washington and the others and held a
consultation.
“Those others intend to follow us,” said James Morris.
“Then you saw that sign?” questioned Gist.
“I did. We must watch out or all of us will surely be murdered.”
“Right you are,” was the answer. “I will warn Washington and the
others.”
As slyly as he could, so that the suspicion of the Indian guide might
not be awakened, the old pioneer told what he and James Morris had seen.
“I have suspected this,” said Washington. “This guide is leading us too
far to the north.”
A few minutes later they came to a small clearing. The Indian guide was
several yards in advance of the others. Of a sudden he swung around,
raised his rifle, took aim, and fired into the crowd.
Fortunately nobody was hit, yet for the moment there was wild
excitement. Finding himself unharmed, Washington turned to the others.
“Is anybody hurt?” he questioned, anxiously.
“I am not,” answered Gist. Then he raised his own gun, but the Indian
guide had hidden behind a tree. Not to be shot at again, the old
pioneer ran forward after the wretch and the others followed. Gist
caught the Indian just as he was reloading his firearm.
[Illustration: “Stop, do not murder him!”--_Page 215._]
“Will shoot us, will you!” he stormed, as he hurled the rascal to the
ground and kicked him heavily. “Will kill us, eh? I’ll show you!” And
then he drew up his own gun and aimed it straight at the red man’s head.
“Stop, do not murder him!” shouted Washington.
“But he wanted to murder us,” returned Gist, in astonishment. To him an
Indian’s life was of small value.
“True, but we must not kill him in cold blood,” went on the young
commander. “Take his gun from him.” And this was done.
When the Indian was allowed to rise he pleaded that it was all a
mistake, that the gun had been pointed at a wild beast behind them.
This they knew to be a lie, but Washington pretended to believe him. He
said they would go into camp, and they did.
“But, sir,” pleaded Gist, when he could get Washington’s ear in
private. “He fired at us deliberately. He ought to be shot for it!”
“I know it, Mr. Gist,” was the calm answer. “But I cannot bring myself
to take the poor wretch’s life. We will send him off, and let that end
it.”
“If you send him off he will bring the whole tribe down on us. He is
trying to lead us into their clutches now.”
James Morris advised that the Indian be sent away immediately, but they
waited until they went into camp. The Indian said his cabin was not
many miles away and they might rather go there for the night.
“You can go to your cabin, we are too tired to do so,” said Washington.
“Yes, we will remain here,” said Gist. “Be sure and come back by
sunrise,” he added.
“Spotted Tail will be back,” answered the Indian, and hurried away.
Both Gist and James Morris watched him out of sight.
“Now to get out of this neighborhood with all speed,” said the old
pioneer, when the Indian had vanished. They ran back to the camping
spot, and told Washington the rascal was gone. Then wood was heaped on
the camp-fire to make it burn a long while, and they made off. Nearly a
mile away they built another camp-fire and left this blazing also.
All night they traveled and it was well that they did so, for had they
remained at the first camp the treacherous Indians would undoubtedly
have fallen upon them and murdered them. But as it was, the red men
failed to catch them and by the next day they felt safe once more.
When Washington’s party arrived at the Alleghany River, James Morris
left them and struck out directly for his trading-post. Before he left
Washington shook hands warmly with him.
“You have been of much help to me, sir,” said the young commander. “I
shall not forget you, and if you ever come near Mount Vernon do not
forget to call upon me.”
“Thank you, Major Washington,” returned Mr. Morris. “And if you ever
come in the vicinity of my trading-post make it your stopping place and
I will treat you as well as I can.”
It was a bitter cold day when James Morris started out alone to find
his way to the Kinotah. He did not wish to pass the trading-post kept
by Jean Bevoir, and so passed to the west of that spot. He carried a
small stock of provisions, and his rifle and his horse were in a fairly
good condition.
That journey, however, proved one he never forgot. On the second day it
snowed heavily and he was driven to seek shelter under a small cliff.
Here a pack of wolves beset him and he had a lively time getting rid
of the beasts. When he started out the next day his horse went lame
and he had to lead the animal, for the beast could carry no weight but
the baggage. Twice he lost the trail, and once he sighted a band of
Indians but did not dare to go near them for fear they might prove to
be enemies.
At last, however, he struck a trail he knew well, and then hurried on
faster than ever. Another snowstorm was coming on and the first heavy
flakes came down just as he caught sight of the stockade through the
semi-darkness. He set up a loud shout and in a few minutes Dave came
out to meet and greet him.
“Where in the world have you been!” cried the son. “We have been
looking for you for several weeks.”
“It’s a long story,” answered the father. “Let me get inside first and
warm up.”
They were soon inside the trading-post and while one of the men went to
care for the lame horse, Mr. Morris sat down and told his story. Later
on he listened in much surprise to what Dave, Barringford, and the
others had to say.
“Have you seen or heard anything of the Indians since?” he questioned
anxiously.
“Not of our enemies,” answered Dave. “White Buffalo was back and
reported that Fox Head had gone northward, to join in a big pow-wow
with the French.”
“Everything points to war,” was the trader’s comment. “It is simply a
question of when it will come.”
“And if it does come, father, what of us and this trading-post?”
“I cannot answer that question, Dave. We must trust in God and take
what comes.”
CHAPTER XXIV
WASHINGTON AT WILL’S CREEK
The remainder of the winter passed slowly to those at the trading-post.
When it did not snow it was bitter cold, and often the wind shrieked
and tore through the leafless branches of the trees along the river and
back of the clearing. Nobody came near the place but a few friendly and
half-starved Indians, who were given the food and shelter they begged.
They brought no news of the outside world excepting that the red men of
the lakes were digging up their war hatchets at the instigation of the
French, and that great things were expected to happen during the coming
summer.
“And they will happen,” said James Morris. “But I sincerely trust the
fighting does not take place around here.”
“More than likely it will take place at every trading-post,” answered
Barringford. “Those Frenchmen won’t stop at nuthin when they git
a-going, and they’ll bribe the Injuns to do the dirtiest kind of work
for them.” This was a strong opinion, yet in those days many thought as
the old hunter did.
In the meantime Major Washington had gotten back to Virginia and
delivered his reply from the French commander to Governor Dinwiddie.
The answer was considered evasive and a ruse to gain time, and when
Washington published his report the people at large were much impressed
by it. On all sides it was felt that something must be done to clinch
the English claim to the Ohio Valley.
The first movement of the governor was to send Captain Trent to the
front. Trent was to organize a body of a hundred men and complete the
building of the fort which the Ohio Company had started at the fork
of the river. In the meantime Washington was commissioned to organize
another company at Alexandria and then march for the fort, where he
was to take general command. It was hard work to get the colonists
to vote any money for the militia but at last the governor obtained
an appropriation of ten thousand pounds. On the strength of this the
militia was increased to six companies of fifty men each.
“You can have the command of the whole militia if you wish,” said
Governor Dinwiddie to Washington. “I know of no better officer.”
“I thank you greatly,” returned Washington. “But as yet I have had
small experience in warfare. I would rather stand aside in favor of
somebody who knows more of these things than I do.” The governor
demurred, but Washington was firm, and in the end Joshua Fry became
colonel of the command and the young major was made lieutenant-colonel.
In a country so sparingly populated, it was difficult to get recruits.
But few in the cities cared to undergo the hardships of a campaign in
the wilderness and the majority of the backwoodsmen preferred to “go it
alone,” as they expressed it. In this quandary neither Colonel Fry nor
Washington knew what to do, although the latter went around “drumming
up” soldiers wherever he could. In this predicament Governor Dinwiddie
again came forward and offered a bounty of two hundred thousand acres
of land to be divided among the soldiers and officers who enlisted for
the campaign. This was an inducement, which many, especially the farm
and plantation boys, could not resist, and soon recruiting went forward
rapidly.
Early in April Washington set off with a portion of the command for the
fort at the fork of the Ohio. Colonel Fry was to follow later, bringing
the artillery along by way of the Potomac. The winter was now past, but
the snow still lay in the mountain passes, and the rivers were much
swollen.
The young commander had with him about a hundred and fifty men. These
marched to Winchester, where the expedition was to fit out further for
the march into the wilderness. But at the frontier town supplies were
scarce and Washington would have gotten nothing had he not _ordered_
what he wanted, in the name of the province.
“We need these things and must have them,” he said. “If you will not
give them up willingly, we shall take them. Your bills will be paid by
the government.” At last he procured ten wagons and the horses to draw
them, and thus equipped started out for Will’s Creek.
The creek was not yet gained when an old hunter came riding along with
alarming news from the fort.
“The place has been attacked,” he said. “Captain Trent was killed and
all his men slain or taken prisoners.”
“The fort attacked!” cried Washington. He said little more, but pushed
forth to Will’s Creek with renewed vigor. Some few of his recruits
wanted to wait for reinforcements but he would not listen to them.
When Will’s Creek was gained Washington found the trading-post in wild
excitement. Captain Trent was there and said there had been no attack
on the fort so far as he knew. He had left John Frazier in charge, for
the trader had joined the soldiery a short time before. Trent had
been ordered to Will’s Creek, to prepare a pack train for Washington
but had done little or nothing. Only a few horses could be procured in
the neighborhood--two coming from Joseph Morris’ farm--and the young
commander had to wait, impatient as he was, until he could send back to
Winchester for another levy.
With the coming of spring business at James Morris’ trading-post was
resumed. The Indians, however, had but few pelts to barter with and the
English hunters also came in more or less empty handed. The red men
were preparing for war and did not dare go too far from home for fear
their villages would be attacked by the Indians from the lakes.
In March the trader received a communication supposedly from a French
commander ordering him to vacate the vicinity of the Kinotah in three
months’ time or less. This communication was delivered to Mr. Morris
through a French guide attached to the trading-post kept by Jean Bevoir
and Dave’s father half suspected that the order was fraudulent, gotten
up by Bevoir himself to get him out of the territory. He sent word
back that he would consider the matter and consult with the English
officials concerning it.
“What will you do, father?” asked Dave, after the messenger had taken
his departure.
“I hardly know, Dave,” returned Mr. Morris, walking uneasily up and
down the cabin floor. “If this is a genuine notice it is a serious
thing.”
“But perhaps it is only the work of that rascal, Jean Bevoir.”
“I am half of a mind to take the notice to Winchester, but I hate to
leave the post at such a critical time as this.”
“I will take the notice to Winchester if you wish it.”
“You might do so, but I would not let you go alone, and I don’t know
of anybody I can spare just now. I want Barringford to remain here,
too. In case of a sudden attack he will be worth half a dozen ordinary
men--you’ve found that out already.”
The matter was talked over for two days, but nothing came of it. On the
third day White Buffalo put in an appearance, along with two followers,
and James Morris at once asked the Indian chief to escort Dave as far
as Will’s Creek, offering him fair pay for the work. The Indian chief
consented, and the party started out early on the following morning.
“Perhaps the war is already on,” said Dave, half jokingly. “If it is,
father, I’ll join the soldiery.”
“All right, join,” answered Mr. Morris, just as lightly. “But don’t
forget that I want to hear from that notice;” and so they parted, never
dreaming of the terrible events in store for both of them.
White Buffalo was the best of guides and through his leadership the
advance of the little party was rapid. He knew the best fording spots
in all the rivers and what trail was good and what bad. He thought a
great deal of Dave and the youth felt perfectly safe with him.
On the second day out from the trading-post White Buffalo, who was
slightly in advance, came to a sudden halt.
“White men are ahead,” he announced. “Men with guns, shovels and axes.”
The Indian chief spoke the truth, and drawing closer they made out
that the party, which numbered between forty and fifty, were English,
and that only a few were armed. Feeling that they must be friends Dave
advanced and hailed their leader, who proved to be an ensign named Ward.
“We are from the new fort,” explained the ensign. “Whither are you
bound?”
“For Will’s Creek first and then for Winchester.”
“Then you can go with us if you wish.”
“You are going to Will’s Creek?”
“Yes.”
The ensign did not wish to speak further, but from a hunter who was
with the party Dave learned the truth of the situation. This body of
men were those left by Captain Trent at the fort under the leadership
of John Frazier. While Frazier was away and the men under the ensign
were hard at work on the fort, a body of a thousand French soldiers,
with field pieces, had suddenly appeared on the river, having come down
in canoes and on rafts from Venango. The French leader, an old army
officer, had demanded an immediate surrender of the fort. The ensign
knew not what to do. He wished to consult with Frazier, or with Captain
Trent, but the enemy would not give him the necessary time. As it was
surrender or fight, and the fort was by no means completed, the ensign
surrendered on condition that his company of fifty be allowed to march
away unmolested and with their working tools. This condition had been
granted, and the company was now on its way to join the advancing body
under Lieut.-Colonel Washington.
“The French will count this a great victory,” said the hunter who told
the story, “and they will go around and make every other fort and
trading-post surrender.”
“Then that means they will visit my father’s post,” returned the youth,
soberly.
“More than likely, lad.”
After this conversation Dave consulted with White Buffalo. “I will need
you no longer,” he said to the chief. “I will march to Will’s Creek
with these soldiers. But my father may need you and you had best go
back to him and tell him of what has occurred. If you meet any of your
braves on the way, take them with you.”
“I will do as the young white hunter wishes,” answered the Indian.
“But if the French number a thousand, what can the white boy’s father
do against so many, even with the help of White Buffalo? My tribe is
fallen to decay and now numbers but three score, and many are old and
can fight no longer.”
The last words were spoken sadly and Dave pitied the warrior, who had
in his younger years been at the head of a powerful tribe.
“Do your best, White Buffalo,” he said, placing his hand on the
Indian’s shoulder. “Stand by my father and the Great Spirit will surely
reward you.” So they parted, and soon White Buffalo and his followers
had vanished on the back trail.
The march to Will’s Creek came to an end three days later. The
appearance of the ensign with his men surprised Washington a great
deal and he quickly asked for the particulars of what had occurred. In
the party were several Indian chiefs sent by the half-king and other
sachems to learn what the English were doing and when they would come
west.
Realizing the increased gravity of the situation, Washington acted
promptly. One chief he sent to Governor Dinwiddie, the other he told
to return to the half-king with the news that he was coming to open
the way for a large body of English soldiers, and he asked that the
half-king meet him for the purpose of holding a council of war.
CHAPTER XXV
SOLDIERS OF THE WILDERNESS
“Uncle Joe, what brings you to Will’s Creek?”
Dave uttered the words as he hurried forward to meet his uncle, who was
standing outside the principal store in the tiny settlement.
“Dave!” ejaculated Joseph Morris, as he wrung his nephew’s hand warmly.
“I’ve been looking for either you or your father for a sennight. Is all
well at the trading-post?”
“So far, yes, but we don’t know how long it will be so.”
Mr. Morris shook his head slowly. “You are right, Dave, war is at hand
and I am afraid it will go hard with all who are on the frontier. You
have heard how we had to give up the new fort that was being built at
the Fork.”
“Yes, I came down with Ensign Ward, who was in command. But you haven’t
told me yet what brought you here.”
“I have brought Colonel Washington another horse. He has been trying
his best to fit out his expedition but can make small headway. Captain
Trent was going to have some pack horses ready for him but hardly
anybody would let the captain have what he wanted.”
“Then the people can’t be very patriotic!” burst out Dave. “Don’t they
understand the seriousness of the situation?”
“That’s the trouble. The majority of the folks don’t want another war
with France, and the most a good many wish to do is to act on the
defensive.”
“But now that we have been attacked----”
“It will wake the slow ones up, I trust, Dave.”
“We have received a notice to quit the post,” went on the youth. “That
is one reason why I have come on. Father wishes to find out what he is
to do.”
Dave brought forth the notice, which was written in French, and also
the English translation. Joseph Morris read the translation carefully,
and the youth explained that he and his parent suspected that it might
be a trick of the rascally Jean Bevoir.
“But the attack on the fort at the Fork was no trick,” answered Joseph
Morris. “Do you know what I think you had best do? Show this to Colonel
Washington.”
“I was thinking of that. Where can I find him?”
“Here he comes now.”
Joseph Morris pointed down the road whence Washington was approaching
on horseback, followed by a slave who had come along as his personal
attendant. At once Dave ran forward to meet the young commander.
“Ah, Master David, is it you?” said Washington, drawing rein. “How have
you been since you helped me at surveying?”
“I have been well, sir, thank you,” answered the youth. “I am glad to
see you are in command,” he added, with an honest smile.
“Are you?” Washington smiled in return. “Perhaps you would like to join
our ranks. If so, let me say there is plenty of room.”
“I may join before long, sir. But I would like to ask your advice about
something, if you can spare me a few minutes.”
“Certainly, David. What is it?”
“Here is a notice which was sent to my father at his trading-post. He
does not know if it is genuine or the work of a French rival named Jean
Bevoir. He sent me eastward to consult the authorities about it.” And
as Dave handed over the notice and the translation he gave a few more
of the particulars.
George Washington read the translation with deep interest and then
examined the signature on the original. For a minute his brow was knit
in study. “Come to my headquarters,” he said, at length. “I will
compare this signature with that I have of the French commander on
other documents.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Colonel Washington now turned to Joseph Morris. “I am glad to see that
you have brought in another horse,” he said. “I wish your neighbors
would do as well.”
Accompanied by his uncle, Dave followed Washington to his headquarters,
located at one end of the trading-post. Here the young commander’s
orderly brought forth a small trunk and from this Washington took
several legal looking documents. The signatures were compared by all
three of the party.
“I should pronounce this notice a forgery,” said Washington, breaking a
painful silence.
“That is also my opinion,” returned Joseph Morris. “The handwriting is
quite different.”
“Then father need not move?” cried Dave, impulsively.
“I do not say that,” replied Washington. “The French commander may not
take the trouble to notify him until he is at hand--as was the case
with Ensign Ward.”
“But an honest man will not stand up for a forgery.”
“That is true, and if the forger can be caught probably the French
commander will punish him severely. But that will not help your
father--if the French march upon his post.”
“Do you think they will do that?”
“It is hard telling what they will do now they have started this war.
Probably they will do as much damage as possible.”
“I hope you move against them soon.”
“I am impatient to do so, but I must wait for extra horses from
Winchester, and for extra men, too. The recruiting has again fallen
off, despite the governor’s offer of free homesteads to all who serve.”
“My son Henry wishes to go with you,” put in Joseph Morris. “He has
talked about it for two days.”
“Henry!” cried Dave. “If he goes, then I will go too.”
“That will give us two more fighting men,” laughed Washington. “And at
least one good shot,” he added, pointedly, remembering the bear hunt.
“My cousin can shoot as well as I, perhaps better,” returned Dave,
quickly. “He has brought down a bird on the wing more than once.”
“Then we must have him by all means--and you, too.”
In those days Washington was but twenty-two, full of youthful activity,
and bent upon getting together the necessary men by hook or by crook.
He continued to talk to Dave and the boy’s uncle for a good half hour,
and the upshot of the conversation was that Dave enlisted under him and
Joseph Morris promised that Henry should do the same.
When Dave returned to his uncle’s home he was glad to find Rodney much
better from the surgical operations which had been performed upon him.
The young man could now walk around fairly well and hoped inside of
another year to be as well as anybody. The doctoring had been very
expensive but Joseph Morris had paid the bills cheerfully.
“So you have gone and joined the militia!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris, after
embracing Dave. “And Henry is going, too! I never heard tell of such
doings! You’ll all be shot!”
“I hope not, Aunt Lucy. Somebody has got to play soldier, you know.”
“Play soldier? You won’t find it much play, Dave, mark my words. I
remember something of the other war! It was awful, the shooting and
killing of innocent men! I don’t see how I’m to spare Henry.”
“We’ll have to spare him, mother,” put in Joseph Morris. “Unless you’d
rather spare me.”
At this Mrs. Morris shook her head decidedly. “No, if one has got to
go let it be Henry. I suppose the two boys will be company for each
other. But, oh, I wish it wasn’t to be!” And of a sudden her eyes
filled with tears, which rolled down her cheeks and into the batch of
bread she was kneading.
Henry was off on a hunt and did not come in until nightfall. When told
what had been done, he threw up the coonskin cap he had been wearing.
“Huzza!” he shouted. “Just what I wanted! My, Dave, but won’t we just
knock over those Frenchmen when we get the chance!” And then, seeing
the tears starting to his mother’s eyes he ran and put his arms around
her neck. “Don’t worry, mother dear. I’ll come back safe and sound.”
“Perhaps, Henry, perhaps,” she sobbed. “But it’s hard to let you go.”
The next day there was a general leave taking and more crying on the
part of Mrs. Morris, and also little Nell, who joined in hardly knowing
what it was all about. All went as far as the creek with the boys and
Joseph Morris accompanied them to Will’s Creek post.
That day Dave and Henry were duly mustered in and given their first
drill. Only the officers were in uniform and the privates, for the
greater part, carried their own rifles. The service, it must be
confessed, was not a strict one and volunteers sometimes did largely
as they pleased. It was not until the War of the Revolution that the
colonies boasted of an army worthy of the name, although the raw,
undisciplined troops fought as bravely as any highly trained set of men.
Washington had sent a small body of men ahead, to clear a road through
the wilderness for Colonel Fry with the artillery. On the 29th of
April the young commander marched forth from Will’s Creek to join this
advance guard and hasten the work of making some sort of a highway. His
troops numbered a hundred and sixty, all strong, hardy fellows, used to
a life in the open, and handy with axe as well as gun.
But the trails were in a wretched condition, overgrown with brush and
vines and often so narrow that trees had to be chopped down to make
the path wide enough for a gun carriage to pass. All hands labored day
after day, clearing the trails, yet it was seldom that they could make
over four miles’ progress from sunrise to sunset.
“This is soldiering truly!” declared Henry, as he wiped the heavy
perspiration from his brow. “I should call this road building and
nothing else.”
“It’s all a part of the game, Henry,” answered Dave. “But I wish myself
we could get ahead a little faster.”
At length the little army reached the Youghiogheny River, and while
some of the men were building a bridge across the stream, Washington
went down the watercourse on a scouting expedition, taking with him
several of his command and an Indian guide, the latter promising to do
his best for the young commander if the latter would present him with
a ruffled shirt and a coat to match! The scouting expedition kept on
until some rapids were reached which could not be crossed, and then
Washington returned to camp.
Soon came in reports of the French. They were eight hundred strong and
were marching to meet the English. Another report, from the Indian
half-chief, followed, stating he would be with Washington in a few
days. That night it was learned that the French were within eighteen
miles. At once Washington placed his men at Great Meadows, had them dig
an entrenchment and placed them on strict guard. There was an alarm
during the night, but it amounted to nothing excepting that it made
several cowardly volunteers desert.
While Washington was at Great Meadows considering what he had best do
next, Mr. Gist arrived with information concerning a body of fifty of
the enemy, under La Forge, that had been seen within five miles of the
present camp. That same night came word from the half-king that more
tracks of the French had been seen and that the Indians were certain
the whole body of the enemy could not be far away.
“They intend to surprise us,” said Washington, grimly. “Well, we will
try to turn the tables on them.” Then he sent off a detachment of
seventy-five men in quest of La Forge’s command, and with forty others
started to join the half-king and learn, if possible, what the larger
part of the French army was doing.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE RETREAT TO FORT NECESSITY
“I think we’ll get some fighting before long,” said Dave to Henry, as
the two marched away with Washington, through the woods and over the
hills leading to Tanacharisson’s lodge. “By all reports the French must
be close at hand.”
“Well, a fight would warm us up,” returned Henry. “I must say I am
chilled to the backbone.”
It was small wonder that Henry was chilled, for it was night and
raining heavily. Under the giant trees it was pitch dark and the party,
moving in Indian file, had to feel the way from one step to the next.
Every soldier was on guard, rifle in hand, and it must be admitted that
the hearts of both Dave and Henry thumped wildly. For all they knew to
the contrary they might be walking into the worst kind of an ambush.
Washington remained calm, although constantly on the alert.
The march reached an end at daybreak, when they came within sight of
the Indian camp. The half-king received Washington with much ceremony
and promised his immediate aid.
“I will put Spotted Face and Rainbow upon the trail of the French,”
said Tanacharisson. “They are more keen than dogs of the hunt. They
will soon let us know the truth.”
He was as good as his word, and while the spies were gone the Indians
treated the English with the best they possessed. All the half-king’s
warriors were tall, straight, powerful fellows, with coarse black hair
and eyes that were crafty and sharp. They were accustomed to firearms
and could handle a rifle as well as their English allies.
When the two spies returned they reported that the French had gone into
camp in a hollow not far away, a place surrounded by rough rocks and
dense trees, and had put up a few cabins to protect them from the rain.
“If they put up the cabins they must mean to stay awhile,” said
Washington.
“They cannot suspect you are at hand,” replied the half-king, “or they
would not stop to put up such shelters.”
“Will you aid me in surprising them?” questioned the young commander.
“Have I not already promised it?” was the answer.
It was soon arranged that they should move upon the French in secret,
the English on the right, the Indians on the left. This done Washington
called his men together and made them a brief address.
“The enemy is just ahead,” he said. “We are going to attack and the
Indians are going to help us. I expect every soldier to do his duty.
Forward now, and make no noise;” and away moved the little body, into
the forest again.
Step by step the militia drew closer to the French camp until the
cabins in the hollow were plainly to be seen. The soldiers of France
were off their guard and lying in the shelters, smoking, drinking, and
playing cards. Suddenly a shot rang out, followed by another, and on
the instant all was commotion and the French were leaping to arms.
“Keep cool!” ordered Washington. “Don’t waste your shots! We are bound
to win!”
The last words brought confidence to the raw soldiery, and, advancing
quickly, they poured a heavy fire into the enemy, killing the leader,
Jumonville, and several privates.
Dave and Henry fired with the others, and continued to discharge their
weapons as quickly as they could reload. The bullets were now whistling
freely upon all sides, and a soldier standing close beside Washington
was cut down, to rise no more. Soon the smoke was so thick that little
could be seen.
The French, imagining a large force of the English had fallen upon
them, started to rush out of the hollow by the back way. As they did
this the half-king and his warriors came up and thus the enemy was
caught between a disastrous cross-fire. Again they turned and fired
into the English, wounding several. Then Washington urged his men
forward, and the skirmish became more terrific than ever.
Panting for breath Dave leaped upon a rock and fired as best he could.
He heard a bullet rush by him but did not know until later that it had
passed through the flap of his coat. The shooting, shouting and yelling
was deafening and he could not tell whether they were losing or winning
the contest.
But the skirmish was not of long duration. The surprise of the French,
followed by the fall of their leader, produced a panic, and in quarter
of an hour the contest was at an end and the French were fleeing in
several directions. After them went some of the English and the larger
portion of the Indians, and these brought back twenty-one prisoners.
Only one man escaped, and it was he who carried the news of the
disaster to what was now the French fort on the Ohio.
The contest had not been a large one, but the victory was gratifying
to the soldiers under Washington, and in high glee they marched back
to Great Meadows with their prisoners. This disappointed the Indians
somewhat for they would have preferred to kill and scalp all who were
taken. According to their way of reasoning the best enemy was a dead
enemy.
Among the prisoners taken was La Force, and he now tried to prove that
he was on a peaceful mission to the English. But a letter was found on
Jumonville which disproved this, and much against his will La Force,
who was considered by Washington a very dangerous man, was sent to
Winchester with the other prisoners.
“Wasn’t that a great fight?” said Henry to Dave. “How we did let the
Frenchmen have it!”
“And how they did run,” answered Dave. “We certainly surprised them in
fine shape.”
After the prisoners had departed under a strong guard the remaining
soldiers were set to work to erect a fortification at Great Meadows,
which, when completed, was called Fort Necessity. On this fort Dave
and Henry worked with the rest, day after day, digging the soil and
planting heavy posts as though they were common laborers. On retiring
their backs would often ache from the toil, but neither complained.
“War isn’t all shooting and glory,” remarked Henry. “This has got to be
done, so let us make the best of it.”
If the success of the contest just passed pleased Washington it
likewise delighted Tanacharisson, and the half-king lost no time
in sending messages to his friends, urging them to join him in his
fighting with the English. A few responded without delay but the
majority held back, fearing that if they sided with the English the
French would annihilate them.
Washington had already sent word to Will’s Creek for reinforcements.
Colonel Fry was there, but he was ill and could not move. Soon the
colonel died, and his place was taken by Colonel Innes, who had been
a fellow officer with Lawrence Washington. Washington urged Innes to
come forward and in return received three hundred soldiers, those whom
Colonel Fry had mustered into the service. Later still came a few other
soldiers and also nine swivel guns.
But powder and shot were scarce and provisions were even more so, and
with the coming of the Indian half-king’s tribe there was for a week
or more little or nothing to eat in the camp. Old hunters went out and
brought in fresh meat and fish, yet these could not take the place of
flour and other necessities.
“I haven’t had a full meal in four days,” said Dave to Henry, once.
“How good a big slice of bread would taste!”
“You are right,” answered Henry. “A fellow craves bread no matter what
else he can get. It is certainly the staff of life. I wonder what the
commander expects to do next?”
“What can he do but hold his own until more troops arrive. I hear the
French army is over a thousand strong.”
At length Washington, hearing nothing of the French, prepared to
continue his road building westward. This was just started when a
handful of the enemy were discovered and captured. They were brought in
and found to be deserters and gave out the information that the fort at
the Fork was now completed and had been named Fort Duquesne, after the
governor of Canada.
“And how many men are there?” asked Washington.
“Five hundred,” was the answer. “And they expect several hundred more
soon.”
Undaunted, the young commander proceeded with his road building and
kept this up until within thirteen miles of the fort. Here he was met
by an old pioneer who told him that reinforcements had arrived at the
fort in large numbers and that the French were on the point of sending
out a strong body of troops to attack the English.
At first Washington was for making a stand, but he was urged by his
fellow officers not to sacrifice the little party with him, and then
began a swift but dignified retreat to Great Meadows.
“I don’t like this,” said Dave, with a falling face. “I thought we
should go right through to father’s trading-post.”
However, he had to make the best of it, for a true soldier obeys
orders, no matter what those orders are.
As it afterward proved, the retreat was made just in time, for the
French were already on the way from Fort Duquesne. They were five
hundred strong and under the command of Captain De Villiers, a
brother-in-law to Jumonville, who had sworn to avenge his relative’s
murder as he termed it. Finding Washington’s late camp deserted, and
learning that the English were at Great Meadows and half-starved, De
Villiers pushed on to bring about a battle.
It was now that Washington showed the real stuff of which he was
made. Many have pictured him as a severe, stately man, lacking in
open-hearted enthusiasm. He was this, at times, but not always. At
home he had slaves to do his bidding, but he did not have them now,
and pitching off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves he went to
work with his soldiers at the task of chopping down trees, digging
additional trenches, and otherwise making Fort Necessity a greater
place of safety.
“We cannot do too much,” he said to Dave, when they chanced to be
together. “I wish I had four hands instead of two.”
“He’s a great man,” whispered Henry, after Washington was gone. “He’ll
be a great leader some day, he shows it all over.”
“Well, if he does become a great leader there won’t be a better one,”
answered Dave. He liked Washington now even better than he had while
surveying on the Shenandoah.
With the coming of a large force of the French the situation was
certainly grave enough, but now came a blow from an entirely different
quarter. The Indians complained of the lack of defence which the fort
afforded and pleaded that they must take their squaws and children to
a place of safety. The majority departed, leaving only a handful of
warriors with Washington.
“The mean fellows!” exclaimed Dave, when he saw the red men leave. “I
was afraid they would desert us when it came to the pinch. I’d like
to have White Buffalo here, only perhaps father needs him more than we
do,” and he sighed deeply.
This was early in July, and on the following morning shots were heard
at a distance and a picket came running in badly wounded. The alarm was
sounded and the whole body of soldiers drawn up on the grass in front
of the fort. Soon scouts came in with the news that the French army was
but four miles away and approaching rapidly.
CHAPTER XXVII
BATTLE AT GREAT MEADOWS
“The scouts say there are about seven hundred French and half as many
Indians coming,” said Dave to Henry, after having examined his rifle to
see that it was ready for use. “If that is true, we have some hot work
cut out for us.”
It was raining in torrents and this rendered some of the firearms of
the defenders useless. It must be confessed that the militia were much
downcast, for provisions had continued scarce and it is hard for anyone
to keep up courage on a half-filled stomach.
As the firing drew closer Washington ordered his men inside the fort
and did his best to cheer them up.
“You are all good shots,” he said. “Wait until you see the enemy
distinctly and then make every bullet reach its mark.”
Soon the French and their Indian allies surrounded the fort upon
three sides and opened the deadliest fire the situation allowed. The
Virginians followed, Dave and Henry with the rest, and the cracking
of rifles and the booming of the small cannon was incessant. The rain
continued to come down heavily and this, combined with the smoke,
often hid one side from the view of the other.
Amid the general tumult in the fort Washington was to be seen here,
there and everywhere. He had on his person a good brace of pistols and
used them at every opportunity. Men fell all around him, but strange to
say he was untouched.
“You are doing well, men!” he shouted. “Keep it up and the French will
not dare to come closer. We are dropping three men to one at every
volley.”
“Ain’t got no more powder,” came from a corner of the fort. “Anybody
got some for me?”
“My powder is all wet,” came from somebody else.
“My flints are all used up,” added a third soldier.
“Divide your powder and your flints,” said Washington. “And, remember
not to waste a single shot.”
The battle had started at eleven o’clock and now, at four o’clock, it
still continued, the French firing constantly and the defenders of the
fort as often as they saw the chance of making a shot tell. The English
had had but a scant breakfast and no dinner. But Washington and his
fellow officers still continued to cheer them up.
Dave and Henry were in an angle of the fort. From this point they
presently caught sight of half a dozen Frenchmen sneaking closer,
along the shelter of some rocks. Without hesitation both raised their
guns.
“My last bit of powder,” observed Henry and pulled trigger. As the
report died away one of the Frenchmen threw up his hands and fell flat
on his face, seriously wounded in the side.
“A good shot,” exclaimed Dave. “Here goes for another.”
He took equal care in aiming and the report was followed by the fall of
another enemy. He turned to reload, when there came a sharp clipping of
a bullet through the leaves and he saw Henry pitch over on his back.
“Henry!” he ejaculated, and for a moment his heart seemed to stop
beating. His cousin lay like one dead, with the blood streaming from a
wound in his side. Throwing down his rifle, Dave ran to him and raised
him up.
“What’s the matter?” asked a soldier standing near. “Killed, eh? Too
bad!”
“I--I don’t think he’s dead,” returned Dave. “Get the surgeon, will
you?”
“Certainly,” and the soldier ran off through the rain. Soon he
reappeared with the medical man, who dropped on his knees in the mud to
make an examination.
“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon, after what seemed a very long
wait to Dave.
“But he--he will get over it?” faltered Dave.
“He has a chance, that’s all. Help me to carry him to where we have the
other wounded.”
Dave complied, and Henry was placed on some cedar boughs, where lay all
manner of sufferers. He was given a little liquor to strengthen him and
his wound was bound up.
“We can’t do any more for him just now,” said the surgeon. “You had
better get to the front again,” and Dave hurried back to his post of
duty, but with a heart that was heavy and sore.
“Poor Henry!” he murmured. “If he dies, how ever will I tell Aunt Lucy
and Uncle Joe? It will break their hearts, and the hearts of poor
Rodney and little Nell too.”
The fighting had let up a little, but now it was resumed with increased
vigor upon the side of the French and their Indian allies. The Indians
were for assaulting the fort and forcing a hand-to-hand fight, but
luckily for the English the French commander would not allow this.
[Illustration: “Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon.--_Page 252._]
Dave had hardly returned to his post, and was standing on the very spot
where Henry had stood when another bullet came whistling that way,
striking the young soldier in the shoulder. He stumbled and fell but
quickly arose to his feet.
“Are you shot?” asked the soldier who had spoken to him before about
Henry.
“Yes, in the shoulder, but I do not think it is severe.”
“Must be a sharpshooter with an eye on this p’int,” went on the
soldier. “If so, wish I could draw a bead on him.”
“The shot came from yonder tree, I saw the smoke,” replied the young
soldier, and grated his teeth over the pain his shoulder was causing
him.
“I see his cap!” ejaculated the older soldier. Up came his rifle like
a flash and down came the hammer on the flint. There was a flash and a
crack, and Dave saw a French sharpshooter pitch from the tree and fall
on the rocks, dead.
“You got him,” said Dave, grimly. “He’ll never shoot my cousin or me
again.” Then he turned back once more, to have his wound bound up, for
the blood was flowing freely down his side. He had to wait some time
for this, because the surgeon and his assistants had more than they
could do, with men dropping every few minutes.
At last it grew dark, and with the coming of night the firing ceased.
The French and their Indian allies had withdrawn to a safe distance
and gone into camp. At the fort half of the soldiers remained on guard
while the others threw themselves on their guns to snatch a bit of
rest. The scanty food which remained was divided evenly among all,
Washington getting no greater share than that of the commonest private.
What the morrow would bring forth nobody could surmise, yet to tell
the truth matters looked very black. The French and Indian force was a
large one and through some trustworthy scouts Washington learned that
the French commander had sent back to Fort Duquesne for reinforcements.
“We’ll be wiped out to-morrow,” said more than one of the soldiers.
“And if they can’t wipe us out they’ll starve us out.” And a good many
others said the same.
Dave was thinking more of Henry than of what was going to happen on the
morrow. The sufferer had regained consciousness but was deathly weak.
Dave’s shoulder now felt stiff but the pain was gone. He sat on the
cedar boughs with Henry’s head in his lap.
Late in the evening the French commander sent word to Washington
that he desired a parley and old Jacob Van Braam, now a captain of
the Virginians, went forth to see what was wanted. It still rained
steadily and in that downpour Washington waited for Van Braam’s return.
When the old soldier got back the paper he brought was written in
French, and he had to translate it by candle-light.
“They want us to surrender,” said Washington, as the paper was
translated.
“They want us to give up all our arms and stores,” said another officer.
“I will not give up our arms and stores,” said Washington. “I would
rather risk another battle, weak as we are.” And his officers agreed
with him.
When the French commander heard what Washington had said he was much
disappointed, for he had counted on a complete victory. But he had no
desire for another encounter with these English, whose shots were so
deadly, so he said if Washington wanted his stores and his small arms
he could have them. It was mutually agreed that the artillery should be
destroyed. The English troops were to march from the fort with flags
flying and drums beating and were not to be molested on their way back
to Will’s Creek.
Early in the morning preparations were made to leave the fort. The
killed, numbering twelve to fifteen, were buried. The wounded, to be
taken along, numbered sixty, many of whom were still able to march. The
loss to the French and their Indian allies had been nearly twice as
great, hence the desire of the French commander to avoid another battle.
The wounded were carried in wagons and on litters, and among them was
Henry. The rough journey ahead would do the young soldier no good, but
there seemed no help for it, since he did not wish to be left with the
French, and indeed, they did not want him.
“Those Indians mean treachery,” said one old soldier to Dave, as they
marched from the fort, and he was right. Washington’s command had not
covered a mile when the Indians who had aided the French fell on his
pack train and began to plunder it. Seeing this, the young commander
ordered all the unnecessary stuff burned, and this was done, causing
the Indians to gnash their teeth in rage. They wanted to fight, but did
not dare to fire a shot.
A long and weary march now lay before Washington’s command and many,
especially the wounded, were much downcast. They had fought bravely but
the number of the enemy had been too great for them, and a deserved
victory had passed them by.
Many weary days were spent upon the road and a constant guard had to be
kept lest the treacherous Indians might fall upon them. Several of the
wounded died and had to be buried by the wayside. Poor Henry developed
something of a fever and at times was out of his mind.
At last Will’s Creek was reached. News had been sent out ahead, and the
settlers from far and wide came to welcome the returning soldiers, who
were greeted with enthusiasm regardless of their defeat.
“Henry!” cried Joseph Morris, as he ran up to where his son rested on a
litter. “My poor boy! Is he seriously wounded?”
“It’s bad enough,” answered Dave, soberly. “But it might be worse. The
surgeon says he will get well, but it may take some months.”
“And you are wounded, too.”
“Oh, that’s little more than a scratch, Uncle Joe. But tell me, have
you heard from father?”
“Not a word since you brought that notice in.”
“That is strange.”
“It is strange and I am more fearful than ever, now that the French are
in possession at Great Meadows and elsewhere.”
It did not take Joseph Morris long to obtain a wagon and in this
he removed his son to his home. Dave went along, having obtained
permission to absent himself. What would be the next movement of the
English troops nobody knew.
At home, Henry and Dave were both tenderly cared for by Mrs. Morris.
As Dave had said, his wound was slight and he quickly recovered. But
Henry lingered on a bed of sickness for several months.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FALL OF THE TRADING-POST
At the farm the days passed slowly. The rumor of more battles was in
the air, but for many months little or nothing was done upon either
side. Washington went to report to Governor Dinwiddie, and an effort
was made to increase the number of the militia, and at the same time
get the other colonies to co-operate with the Virginians. But in
those days both telegraph and railroads were unknown, letters had to
be carried by horseback, and everything moved slowly. Besides this,
Washington did not wish to go forward again until he could strike a
blow he would be sure would be victorious.
Many were the times that Dave wished to set out for his father’s
trading-post but his uncle objected. “The country is now a hostile one,
lad,” Joseph Morris would reason. “You would fall into the hands of the
French or be killed and scalped by their Indian friends. And even if
you escaped, what could you do at the post after you got there?”
“But, Uncle Joe, I can’t help but think of father night and day. He
has certainly had some kind of trouble with the French by this time.”
“Let us hope for the best, Dave. Your father is a shrewd man and he has
some shrewd men with him. He may compromise with the French and all may
go well.”
One day Dave was on his way to Will’s Creek to learn the latest news,
when he saw a man riding toward him on horseback. He gave a shout as he
recognized the rider as Sam Barringford.
“Sam!” he cried, joyfully. And then as the two came closer his face
fell. “Why, you have been wounded! Your face is all scratched up and
your arm is bandaged! You have been in a fight.”
“Yes, Dave, I’ve been in a fight,” was the answer, as Barringford drew
rein. “More’n thet, I’ve been a prisoner of the Injuns.”
“Too bad! And father----”
Barringford dropped his head, not being able to face Dave. “Sorry, lad,
but I can’t say much about your father. Ye see, the redskins took him
one way and me t’other.”
“Oh!” Dave gave a sharp gasp. “Then the post was attacked?”
“It was, a fortnight ago, by a body of French under thet villian Jean
Bevoir and a band of Injuns under Fox Head. They came on us ’most a
hundred strong, and right in the middle of the day, too. As soon as
the guard saw ’em, we tried to close the stockade gate, but some rascal
had blocked it, and the Frenchmen and redskins poured inside like water
over a dam. Oh, lad, it was terrible, the fight that followed! Jackson
was killed, and Phendell, and Weingate, and every one else was more or
less wounded. We took a last stand in the log cabin, but the Injuns set
fire to it and drove us out like rats.”
“And father? Tell me of father? Never mind the rest.”
“Your father fit as hard as any of us, Dave, and I saw him bring down
two redskins and shoot the sneaking Bevoir in the leg. Then he got a
ball in his arm and an arrow in his shoulder and keeled over too weak
to stand. This was about at the end of the fight, which lasted over
an hour. Right after your father went down an Injun struck me with a
club and I went down too, all in a heap, and I didn’t know a thing more
until the whole jig was up and we were prisoners.”
“Who were prisoners?”
“Your father, me, Putty, Tony, and the others who wasn’t killed. White
Buffalo was in the fight, with six of his braves, and they fit well,
too. One brave was killed and the rest got away, along with the chief,
although how they did it is an amazement to me.”
“Then the cabin was burnt down?”
“Not entirely. After the fight was over the Frenchmen went to work to
save the property, for that was what Jean Bevoir was after, according
to your father’s notion and mine. The Frenchmen didn’t pay any
attention to us, but jest handed us over to the Injuns.”
“And you were separated from father?”
“I was, two days later, along with Putty and old Tony. The Injuns were
afraid to keep us together for fear we would hatch out a plot to git
away from ’em.”
“But how did you get away?”
“I got away two days after I last saw your father. I was a captive of
two of Fox Head’s band who were marching me northward. I knew well
enough what that meant--burning at the stake as soon as the Injun
village was reached. I made up my mind I’d rather die fighting than be
tortured to death. So I watched my chance and pretended to be very weak
from my wounds. We got further and further away from the others and at
last I grabbed up a rock and let one redskin have it in the skull and
it finished him. Then I jumped on the other and knocked him down. But
he fired a pistol, and while the ball didn’t hit me, I knew it would
bring others down on me, so I started and ran like greased lightning,
straight into the forest. I got lost and nobody found me, and it has
taken me ever since to get to Will’s Creek. I was almost starved and
my buckskin suit was in tatters. I borrowed this suit from the man who
loaned me the hoss.”
“Then you don’t know what has become of father?”
“Nothing more than I’ve told ye, Dave. They was a-going to march him
northward, too.”
“To their village?”
“Yes.”
“Then they were going to burn him at the stake, too!” burst out the
youth. “Oh, how terrible!”
“I don’t know thet for sartin, Dave. He may have escaped, jest as I
did.”
“But we have heard nothing from him.”
“He may be in the forest somewhere. I don’t believe he knows the trails
quite as well as I do.”
Dave shook his head dismally. “You are trying to make the news easy for
me, Sam. But I understand it.” The youth had all he could do to keep
back the tears.
“Remember the saying, Dave, thet a man’s alive until you are sure he’s
dead.”
“I wish I had gone right back to the post after I was sure the notice
was a forgery. I might have put father more on guard. But the soldiers
were going out and I thought it would be a fine thing to go with them.
So I went, and so did Henry.”
“I heard down to Will’s Creek ye was in the fight at Great Meadows and
both got shot.”
“Yes. Henry is still very ill, but I’m all right.” Dave paused a
moment. “But you look tired out. Come to the house. They’ll all be glad
to see you.”
Barringford was more than willing, for he had been bound for the
homestead, to tell the news and get a good and much needed rest. His
coming proved an event and for the balance of that day all work about
the place was suspended. He had to go into all the details of the
battle at the trading-post and tell all he knew of what had happened
later, and answer questions innumerable. In the meantime Mrs. Morris
prepared for him a hearty dinner and Joseph Morris poured for the old
hunter a mug of the best liquor his little store afforded.
The news brought a gloom that could not be dispelled. Mrs. Morris cried
not a little and so did Nell, and Dave often found a lump rising in his
throat which was difficult to swallow. Joseph Morris stalked around
with his hands behind him, thinking deeply, while Rodney and Henry,
both propped up in rush chairs, exchanged glances which were far from
happy.
“The loss of the post, with all the money we had in it, is bad enough,”
observed Joseph Morris. “But I would willingly lose that and this place
too, if only brother James was restored to us.”
“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Morris. “The money is nothing. But poor
Dave----” She could not go on and hid her face in her apron. Then she
walked to the boy and threw her arms around his neck. “Never mind,
Dave,” she said earnestly. “If--if your father should not come back,
remember you’ll always have a home here, and your uncle and I will be
father and mother to you.”
“I know that, Aunt Lucy,--you’ve been a mother to me right along. But
father--oh, I must find him, if he’s alive!”
“But you can’t do anything, lad,” put in Joseph Morris. “I’ve been
thinking of it. We can’t march against the Indians and French alone.”
“Washington is going west again before long. We can go then. But father
may be dead long before that--if he isn’t dead already!”
The matter was talked over until far into the night, and when Dave went
to bed it was not to sleep but to lie with his eyes wide open gazing at
the stars which shone through the narrow window. Then he dropped on
his knees and in that midnight stillness prayed as he had never prayed
before, that the Heavenly Father might restore his parent to him.
After that the days went by more slowly than ever. Before snow fell
Henry got around and so did Rodney, although both had to be careful so
that their strength might not be overtaxed. Sam Barringford remained
at the homestead, doing the work Henry had formerly done and trying to
cheer up Dave.
Once a fortnight Dave or his uncle rode over to Will’s Creek to learn
the latest news regarding the war and find out if anything had been
heard of the missing member of the family, or those who had been with
him.
At last news came of a hunter named Ferry who had been on his way to
the trading-post with pelts just at the time the French and Indians had
descended upon it. He had been captured and had had his furs taken from
him by the French. He had remained a prisoner for six weeks and had
then escaped from Fort Duquesne along with the two old hunters often
mentioned in these pages, Tony and Putty. He had heard of Dave’s father
and said that the Indians had orders to bring him to Fort Duquesne
as a prisoner of war. The Indians had burnt two prisoners from the
trading-post at the stake, but up to that time had spared James Morris’
life, for they had heard that he had a treasure of silver buried
somewhere and they were anxious to make him tell where it was.
“If he is at Fort Duquesne he must be alive!” said Dave, on hearing
Ferry’s story, and his heart gave such a bound as it had not
experienced for many a day. “How I wish our troops would march against
that fort!”
“No doubt they will march against it,” said his uncle. “But not this
winter. The snow is already deep in the mountain passes.”
“Well then, I hope they go the first thing, in the spring, and if they
do, I’ll go with them.”
“And so will I,” put in Barringford. “I’d do ’most anything to help ye
save your father, Dave.”
CHAPTER XXIX
BRADDOCK’S DEFEAT AND FALL
With the coming of spring it was felt by many that a swift and decided
movement should be made against the French and their Indian allies.
Word came in through backwoodsmen and hunters that the French fort was
but slimly garrisoned and that the enemy was also suffering for the
want of army stores and ammunition.
“Could I strike a blow at once I might be successful,” said Washington,
but he now had but a handful of soldiers and more it was next to
impossible to obtain.
There was serious trouble regarding the English army and more troubles
were to follow. Each officer was jealous of the others, and Governor
Dinwiddie made matters worse by announcing that each company should be
independent of the others and that nobody should hold a rank higher
than that of captain. On top of this came a proclamation from England
that any officer holding a commission from the king should be the
superior of any provincial officer with whom he happened to be acting!
Many Americans, though still loyal to the mother country, would not
stand this, and among those to resign their commissions was Washington,
who went back to his mother and to his brother’s family at Mount Vernon.
But the trouble in America was now a matter of hot discussion in
England and France and soon England decided to strike at France’s
colonies in Nova Scotia, New York, and throughout the Ohio valley. For
this purpose England sent Major-General Edward Braddock to Virginia at
the head of two regiments of picked soldiers.
The coming of Braddock with the trained soldiers of the king was hailed
far and wide with delight, for all felt that the French would now
suffer a quick and complete defeat. The soldiers arrived in February
and went into camp at Alexandria, to which place the colonists from
miles around flocked to see them. It was soon found that the English
soldiers were indeed the pick of the army. They were drilled to
perfection and everything in the camp went “like clock-work,” as the
common saying goes. It was found that General Braddock was a stern
veteran and disciplinarian, and one who never took advice from anybody.
How dear this last trait was to cost him will soon be seen.
At Alexandria General Braddock met Washington, and the pair often came
together later, when the Englishmen and the governors of the colonies
held a consultation at Annapolis. It would seem that Braddock took to
Washington, for soon after he offered the latter a position on his
staff, with rank as colonel. Washington accepted at once, after being
assured that he would be under orders from nobody but the general
himself. At first some of the English officers grumbled at this, but
before the army moved into the wilderness Washington was on a friendly
footing with all.
It was well that Braddock took Washington on his staff. The English
general knew nothing of American ways, nothing of the country to be
covered, and nothing of the Indian method of warfare. He led the
colonists to believe that he and he alone would fight and conquer the
French and Indians, and when it came time for them to join him in the
expedition they held back, not caring to “play second fiddle,” as some
of the backwoodsmen said.
It was Washington who spoke to those who had fought under him before,
and spoke to other of the colonists, and at last he persuaded the
Virginia Rangers and a few other colonial troops to join the army under
Braddock. But all this took time, and it was not until the middle of
May, 1755, that the army reached Will’s Creek, and then the French,
and their Indian allies, were on the alert and watching for their
further march westward.
“The army has come!” shouted Dave one day, on returning from a visit to
Will’s Creek. “General Braddock is there with over a thousand soldiers,
and so is Colonel Washington with the Virginian troops. Oh, but don’t
the regulars look grand! Their uniforms and rifles shine, I can tell
you!”
“Here at last, eh?” returned Joseph Morris. “Well, it has taken them a
good while to march from Alexandria, seems to me.”
“I saw Colonel Washington,” went on Dave. “And I’m going along, as soon
as they move.”
“Wall, I’m with ye, Dave--told ye so right along,” put in Barringford,
who had heard the talk. “I know he’ll take me quick enough,” and the
old hunter grinned suggestively.
Dave looked doubtful for a moment. “I hope so, Sam,” he said. “I didn’t
have much of a chance to talk about it. You see, the coming of General
Braddock has made a big difference in the army. He’s as stiff and stern
as can be, and none of the soldiers under him dare so much as wink
without his permission. I heard from one of our old soldiers that even
Washington can’t give him any advice. He says he knows just what he is
doing.”
“Hope he does then,” was Barringford’s dry comment. “But he ain’t fit
Injuns afore, has he?”
“I fancy not.”
“Then he’d better be jest a leetle careful. Ain’t I right, Mr. Morris?”
“You are, Barringford. Indians do not fight like European armies, and
the French that know the wilderness won’t fight that way either,”
answered Dave’s uncle.
A few days later Dave and Sam Barringford set off for the Creek
settlement. Henry was now almost as well as ever and anxious to go with
them, but his mother urged him to remain at home, at least for a little
while longer.
All was bustle and excitement at Will’s Creek. Braddock wished
to move forward without delay but found it next to impossible to
get the necessary horses and wagons. Washington by his personal
efforts obtained a few and then Benjamin Franklin, coming down from
Philadelphia, obtained some more, by giving his personal security for
them.
Franklin, wise and far-seeing, advised Braddock to be cautious during
his march into the wilderness, stating that the Indians were sly and
would ambuscade them were it possible to do so. To this Braddock
answered that the Indians might do so with colonial troops but not
with soldiers of the King’s army, moving in a solid body against them.
As the little army went forward, Braddock insisted upon making a
first-class roadway and the result was that it was the middle of June
before Little Meadows was reached. The army now consisted of the two
English regiments, two colonial companies of pioneers, a company of
guides, a company of Virginia light-horse, two small companies of New
York militia, and a detachment of sailors, about two thousand men in
all. There were also about half a hundred Indians, under Groghan,
the pioneer, who was made a captain over them. Braddock treated the
Indians with great ceremony but in secret he held the same contempt for
their fighting qualities as he held for the fighting qualities of the
colonists.
Little Meadows reached, the general was in perplexity and for once
listened to Washington. He was furious over the continued delays and
angry because the colonists did not do more to help him.
“I would advise that the main portion of our army go forward in light
marching order,” said Washington. “A fair portion can remain behind to
bring up the heavy baggage.”
Braddock thought it over and finally ordered the main body of the army
to proceed. But each man was heavily equipped, with full knapsack,
army blanket, and rifle, and the progress was not much better than
before.
“At this rate, we’ll never get to Fort Duquesne,” said Dave, one day,
when they had come to a halt at the ford over the Youghiogheny. “I
wonder why General Braddock doesn’t push ahead and let the baggage come
up when it can?”
“Because he’s a drill-room soldier,” growled Barringford. “He don’t
know any more about fighting in the wilderness than I do of dancing at
a royal ball. Fust thing you know we’ll be surrounded and then--wall,
we’ll see what we will see, thet’s all.”
“Colonel Washington is down with a fever,” put in a soldier standing
near. “I just heard that the general ordered him to stay here until he
was better.”
“That’s too bad,” said Dave. “I wish he was in command. I’d feel safer
than I do.”
“Don’t worry, we’re safe enough just yet,” answered Barringford.
“General Braddock won’t let our troops go ahead. He wants his own
regiments to lead the way.”
“He ought to throw out a good body of scouts,” put in another soldier,
who knew the backwoods thoroughly. “For all we know the French and
Indians may be all around us this minute.”
So the talk ran on, but no one dared to tell the general of what was
passing in the minds of the pioneers. The army moved on, making for the
Monongahela, and here a few days later Washington rejoined it, still
weak but resolved to be at the front when the fighting took place. So
anxious was he to be on the field that he wrote to a friend he would
rather lose five hundred pounds than miss the coming battle.
The soldiers, as they crossed the river, with glittering swords and
bayonets, made an imposing sight. The royal troops moved forward in
solid platoons, with only a small vanguard of guides and skirmishers.
As Washington saw the movement he could not resist speaking to Braddock
again of the folly of sending soldiers into the wilderness in that
form. He begged to be allowed to send the Virginia Rangers in advance.
“It will not be necessary,” was Braddock’s haughty answer. “The royal
troops are capable of taking care of themselves.” And the march forward
was resumed. To awe the enemy the general had had all uniforms and
equipments cleaned the day before, so that everything shone as bright
as a new silver dollar--making the better marks for the Indians siding
with the French!
By two o’clock in the afternoon the main body of the army had reached a
position seven or eight miles from Fort Duquesne. They had just left a
plain about half a mile from the river bank and were ascending a rise
through the forest. The royal troops were in advance, in two sections,
the Virginia Rangers somewhat to the rear. A few guides were out, but
not many, and the pioneers were kept at work opening up the road for
the artillery.
On a sudden came a sharp firing from the front, at first a few
scattered shots, and then several rattling volleys. Several of the
vanguard were cut down instantly and the others came to a halt in
dismay.
“The French and the Indians!” was the cry. “They are on us a thousand
strong!” The firing continued, and the vanguard was driven back. In the
meantime General Braddock ordered the main body of troops forward and
went with them himself. The troops advanced in a solid body until the
remnant of the vanguard was met and then came to a halt.
The enemy was in front and upon either side, but could scarcely be
seen. From behind rocks and trees, and from the shelter of a nearby
ravine, they poured a hot and murderous fire into the English, laying
the grenadiers low with marvelous rapidity. Both the Indians and the
French tried to pick off the officers and in this way succeeded, for
of the number sixty-two out of eighty-six were killed or wounded.
At last Braddock’s eyes were opened to the blunder he had made, and
riding around quickly he tried to form his men into separate companies
and send them into the woods. But they were now panic-stricken and
huddled together not knowing what to do or what to expect. Braddock
raved at them and pleaded with them, but it was all in vain. His horses
were shot from under him until five were gone, and then he tried to get
his men into order for a retreat. Just at that moment a bullet passed
through his right arm and lodged in his lungs. He pitched forward and
was caught by a captain of the Virginia guard, and soon after carried
to the rear, begging those who supported him to let him die where he
had fallen.
CHAPTER XXX
FIGHTING IN THE FOREST
From almost the start Colonel Washington was in the thickest of the
fight. As an aide to Braddock he did his best to rally the men and also
tried to get the cannoneers to bring their weapons into position, even
going so far as to train and fire one of the pieces himself.
“Take to the woods!” were his orders to the Virginia Rangers. “Surround
the grenadiers and drive the Indians back. Perhaps we can then take
care of the French.”
Soon the rangers, and all of the other colonial troops, were in the
woods, fighting the French and the Indians on their own ground. Time
and again they rallied around the fatal spot where the royal troops
remained exposed, and this should have given the soldiers from England
fresh courage, but it did not. Still panic-stricken they fired into the
Rangers, cutting down several before the mistake was discovered.
“If they’d only come out in the open,” cried one old grenadier. “I’d
fight them all day then!” His sentiment was the sentiment of all
his fellows, but the French and their Indian allies knew better, and
continued to keep under cover, while cutting down every Englishman at
whom they could get a shot.
With the fall of Braddock and a number of the other officers, the
command fell upon Washington. The young Virginian was full of the blood
of battle and had the contest depended upon his individual heroism the
English would certainly have carried the day. Fearless of personal
danger he rode around, having two horses shot from under him and
receiving four bullet holes through his coat. Again and again did the
French and Indians fire upon him, but he seemed to bear a charmed life,
as if Providence was shielding him for greater deeds.
At last the truth forced itself home to all who remained alive.
Braddock’s awful blunder in trying to fight the Indians and French
according to the rules of European warfare had brought about complete
defeat. Hundreds of the grenadiers had fallen and among the other
troops the slaughter had been just as great. The artillery was
practically deserted and the wagoneers cut their horses from the
traces and mounted them in a mad frenzy to get away from the scene of
slaughter. The shouting and whooping was terrific, and the Indians not
only killed but scalped their victims at every opportunity.
It was now that Washington shone forth in his true character, able to
calculate wisely even in such a moment of intense excitement. He had
seen Braddock borne to the rear, slowly dying but still conscious and
able to speak.
“Colonel, what is to be done?” asked the general.
“Retreat,” answered Washington, grimly. “Your men will not fight
further, the assault has paralyzed them. The Rangers will cover the
retreat.”
“As you think best,” sighed Braddock, and then continued, half to
himself: “Who would have thought it! Who would have thought it!”
Again Washington went to the front, past the flying wagoneers and
others who had been in charge of the heavy baggage. All was in hopeless
confusion, some of the soldiers were on their knees calling upon their
savage enemies to spare them. The forest was full of gun smoke, and the
dead and wounded lay everywhere, dyeing the soil with their blood.
At last Washington made himself heard and managed to make those who
remained understand that they must retreat in order or every man
would be killed. The few officers who remained unhurt rallied to the
support and the Rangers formed a body guard, beating back the French
and Indians who wished to rush in and make the victory greater than
it already was. The whooping and yelling went on and with it the
shooting, until at last the English gained the river. Then the pursuit
came to an end, the Indians stopping to gather up the baggage and other
spoils left by the English and the French not caring to continue the
fight unaided.
Dave and Barringford were with the Rangers when the first order came
to scatter into the woods and “beat up” the French and their Indian
allies. Forward went the pair side by side, for they meant to keep
together, come what might.
“There are some of the varmin!” cried Barringford, suddenly, and
dropped behind a rock. He had seen three Indians ahead, crouching
behind a clump of bushes. The red men were in the act of firing on the
grenadiers in the glade. As their rifles rang out, so did that of the
old hunter, and one of the Indians pitched backward, dead. Then Dave
fired and the second red man fell, wounded in the breast. The third
took to his heels.
But some French soldiers had now discovered our friends and while they
were reloading half a dozen bullets clipped through the bushes around
them.
“Come, this is too hot a place for us!” ejaculated Barringford, and ran
with might and main for another shelter. As they gained it, they heard
a crashing in a tree at their side, and saw a French sharpshooter
coming down with his rifle slung over his back. Again Barringford
blazed away and another enemy fell, to rise no more.
“The Indians are coming this way!” cried Dave, suddenly. “See, a whole
company is on the run!”
“Oh, fer a cannon to train on ’em!” muttered Barringford, who was
reloading his hot piece with all speed. “Give it to ’em, Dave. Take the
leader.”
Dave did “give it to ’em,” aiming at the leader, and the Indian fell so
quickly that two of his warriors stumbled over him. Then the Indians
caught sight of our friends and whooping in a rage bore down on Dave
and Barringford with all speed.
Not to be caught, the young soldier and his companion fled to another
portion of the forest. Here there was a rise of ground and from this
spot they could catch sight of the opening where stood the larger
portion of the grenadiers in hopeless terror. As they came into view
several of the royal troops opened fire on them, putting a bullet
through Dave’s coat and another through Barringford’s rather long hair.
“Willikins! they take us fer Frenchmen!” roared Barringford. “It was a
close shave, wasn’t it? Git out o’ sight, lad!” And he pulled Dave flat.
After such an experience the young soldier was willing to go into
hiding, and lying among some tree roots, the pair spent ten minutes in
getting back their breath. Several other Rangers were in the vicinity,
all occupying something of a semi-circle and each on the alert for the
first sight of a French soldier or Indian enemy.
At the end of the rest, Barringford crawled forward on hands and knees
until he reached a large rock with a split in the center. Dave followed
the old hunter. From this point they could see a detachment of the
French behind some brushwood to their right. Down in the glade was
Washington, trying to place the troops in order for retreat.
“They are going to fire on Washington!” cried Dave. Scarcely had
he spoken when Barringford’s weapon rang out and one of the French
soldiers fell.
The others looked toward the split in the rocks and just then Dave
fired, but missed his mark. The French soldiers gave a yell and turned
their aim on our friends. Several bullets hit the rocks and one cutting
across Dave’s cheek left a mark which the lad carried to his grave.
“You are hurt!” cried Barringford.
“It’s nothing,” answered Dave, putting up his hand. “But we must get
out of here!”
They fell down and crawled off, and were not a minute too soon, for
presently the French came to the spot in a body. In the meantime the
other Rangers had left the vicinity and now the grenadiers were in
full retreat.
“Our men have moved in this direction,” said the old hunter, as they
stopped to reload. “We had better go after them, or we’ll be left
behind.”
“It’s hot work!” panted Dave. “I wish there was a brook handy, where I
could wash my face and get a drink.”
But nothing was at hand, and he had to push on, with his face covered
with blood, dust and gun soot, making him look as fierce as any Indian.
The yelling kept on, and also the firing, but they noticed that both
came from a considerable distance.
“This day is a loss to us,” said Barringford, sadly. “And Braddock is
responsible. With all the soldiers in the woods we could have fought
our way to the fort beyond a doubt.”
“This ends the hope of releasing father, if he is alive,” returned
Dave, sadly.
They went on, until they came to another clump of brushwood. Here they
found two Rangers, each badly wounded and moaning because of his hurts.
“Dobley!” cried Barringford, as he recognized one of the unfortunates.
“This is rough on ye.”
“Save me, Barringford,” answered the man addressed. “Don’t let the
Indians come and scalp me.”
“Save me, too,” put in the other Ranger.
Barringford and Dave came to a halt and gazed at each other in
perplexity. They were perfectly willing to save the men, but how could
it be done?
“I can carry one of ’em,” said the old hunter to Dave. “But the
other----”
“I will see what I can do,” answered the young soldier. “Perhaps we can
get to some sort of safe place.”
Slinging their rifles over their backs, they took up the wounded
Rangers and placed them over their shoulders. Then Barringford struck
out through the forest, hoping to make a wide detour and thus gain
the river at the point to which the main body of the English army was
retreating.
A hundred yards were covered, when a wild yelling sounded out close
at hand, and in a twinkle the little party was surrounded. Several
shots rang out and the Ranger Dave was carrying was instantly killed.
Then Dave himself felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of the head and
pitched forward insensible.
CHAPTER XXXI
FATHER AND SON
When Dave regained his senses all was dark around him and his head
ached as it had never ached before. He was lying flat on his back,
close to some brushwood growing beside the river. At a short distance
glowed the dying embers of a camp-fire and around this the youth made
out the forms of a score of Indians, four on guard and the others
sleeping.
Hardly realizing what he was doing, he put forth a hand and felt the
clothing of somebody beside him. With an effort he turned his head to
look in the direction and weak as he was gave a start. The person was
the Ranger Barringford had been carrying and he was stone dead and
scalped.
Under ordinary conditions Dave would have left the place horrified.
But on trying to sit up he found himself so weak that the effort was
a failure and he fell back with his head in a whirl and sharp pains
flashing across his eyes. He had been struck down with the flat side of
a tomahawk and although his skull was not cracked it was sadly bruised.
“I am in for it now,” was his dismal thought. “If the French allow it
these redskins will certainly burn me at the stake. I wonder where Sam
is?”
In vain he asked himself the question. His old friend was nowhere in
sight. On the other side of him lay two English soldiers, one dead like
the Ranger, and the other wounded in the breast. Presently the latter
began to moan piteously.
“Boys, don’t be a-leavin’ me ’ere, so far from ’ome,” he panted. “Take
me with yer. An’ give me a drop of water, won’t yer?” And then he began
to mumble to himself of home and of some friends he had left behind in
“Lunnon town.” He was a tall, heavy-set grenadier, and his beautiful
uniform was dyed deep with his life’s blood.
Dave, too, was thirsty and would have given a good deal for a drink
from the river which rolled so tantalizingly near. Once he thought to
call on the Indian guard, but then grated his teeth and remained silent.
“They would only kick me for disturbing them,” he reasoned, and
truthfully. “They are only leaving me alive so that they may torture
me. Oh, if only I knew what had become of Sam!”
Slowly the night wore away until with the first streak of dawn the camp
was astir. Dave had fallen into a light doze from which he was aroused
by an Indian raising him up on the end of his moccasin.
“White dog get up!” ordered the Indian, darkly. “Sleep heap too much.”
“I’ll get up if I can,” answered Dave, and did his best to pull himself
together. It was hard work and as he stood on his feet his head spun
around and around. He clutched at the tree behind him and sank down
again.
The Indian muttered something under his breath and went back to his
companions. Probably he thought the young soldier was going to die and
he wanted to know if he had not better scalp Dave then and there and
leave him where he fell.
But now a shouting was heard at a distance, and presently a dozen or
more Indians came rushing into the camp, followed by twice that number
of French soldiers. They had found a body of English grenadiers in the
woods half a mile back of the river,--soldiers who had failed to get
back to the main army.
Here was a fresh quarry for the bloodthirsty red men, and forgetting
about Dave and the wounded grenadier beside him, they took up their
arms and made off, the French soldiers with them.
“Gone!” muttered the young soldier, when the last of the enemy had
vanished from the glade. “If only they don’t come back!”
“Come back?” came from the grenadier, wildly. “They must come back!
They mustn’t let poor Peter Chanter die like this. Take me ’ome, boys!
No more of the King’s shilling for me! Take me ’ome!” And he continued
to rave, being now out of his head for the want of care and nourishment.
The day was one Dave never forgot. A storm was at hand and the breeze
swept mournfully through the giant trees and through the dense
brushwood. The birds, frightened by the fierce shooting of the day
before, had flown, and the wild animals had likewise taken themselves
off. From a great distance came an occasional shot.
Crawling on hands and knees, Dave took his way to the edge of the river
and at the risk of plunging in, procured a drink and bathed his aching
head. All the while the wounded grenadier kept moaning and talking
wildly, and crying for a drink. With a great effort the young soldier
filled his cup for him and he drained it with strange gulpings.
“Thank you, Bob!” he murmured. “Thank ye, old boy. When we gits ’ome,
I’ll make it right with yer, Bob.” And then he sank back as if to
sleep. He never stirred afterward.
At last the dull day faded away as it had come. The heavy raindrops
came pattering on the leaves of the trees and presently struck upon
Dave’s upturned face, for the young soldier was once more resting flat
on his back, with his head clasped in his hands. A frightened squirrel
came hopping back to his former haunts. Catching sight of Dave, he sat
up and stared for a moment, then vanished as he had come.
The youth was now hungry and feeling a little stronger, crawled over to
where the Indians had had their camp-fire. Here he found the remains
of some corn cake and a bit of meat which he devoured slowly and
painfully. The rain furnished him with water to wash down the scanty
food, and again he slept.
When Dave awoke he felt surprisingly stronger and got up with scarcely
an effort. He saw that the grenadier was dead and could not help but
shudder. How awful to travel so many miles across the ocean and then
meet a fate like this!
Where should he turn? What should he do? These were the questions
he asked himself, over and over again, without arriving at any
satisfactory answer. He knew that the day had been lost to the English,
that Braddock was shot down, and that Washington had taken command in
one last effort to save the remnant of the troops from annihilation.
But where were Washington and the other soldiers? Where was Sam
Barringford?
“They must be retreating eastward,” he reasoned, at last. “That would
be the only way for them to go. I’ll have to go likewise, and be
careful I don’t fall into the clutches of those redskins again.”
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when he saw a sight that
filled him first with dismay and then with joy. Three Indians were
coming along the river, directly toward the glade. He felt they must be
enemies. But as they drew closer he recognized White Buffalo and two
followers.
“White Buffalo!” he cried, with all the strength he could command.
“Who calls?” was the instant question, and the Indians leaped behind
the trees.
“It is I, White Buffalo, Dave Morris! I am alone, so you have nothing
to fear.”
Upon hearing this White Buffalo ran forward and was soon at Dave’s
side. He was pleased to learn that the young soldier was not
dangerously wounded and had one of his followers bind Dave’s head up in
a mash made of healing herbs.
“The English have gone back,” said the Indian chief. “They lost many
soldiers and would have lost more had it not been for Washington. He
carries a charmed life and the enemy cannot kill him. They are safe on
the retreat.”
“And what brings you here?”
“’Tis a strange thing--more strange since I have met you. I came to
look for the white boy’s father.”
“My father?” ejaculated Dave. “Is he here?”
“I hoped to find him here. In the great battle I met Yellow Ear, who
was once at the trading-post with your father. He is a dog of a Miami
and I fell upon him and wounded him greatly. To save his life he told
me of your father, who had been a prisoner at the fort. Your father had
escaped and was in this wilderness. So White Buffalo came to look for
him--and found his son.”
“In this wilderness! My father!” murmured Dave. “And have you found any
trace of him yet?”
“White Buffalo has not.”
“Was he in the fight?”
“Who can tell that? White Buffalo will look for him--he can do no more.”
“And I will help look--if I can walk. Tell me, have you seen anything
of Sam Barringford?”
The Indian chief shook his head. “They are all gone--this part of the
wilderness is deserted,” he said.
His words, however, were not true, for scarcely had he spoken when a
rifle shot rang out and one of his followers fell, mortally wounded.
The shot came from across the river, and looking in that direction
Dave and the others saw four Indians behind the brushwood. Leaping
quickly to the shelter of the trees, White Buffalo and his remaining
follower fired and one enemy fell. Then of a sudden came two shots from
further up the stream and two more of the enemy went down. At this
the fourth Indian turned and fled into the bushes and they heard him
crashing along until the sounds lost themselves in the distance.
[Illustration: “Father!” was all Dave could say.--_Page 293._]
“Hullo! are you English up thar!” came the unexpected cry.
“It is Sam Barringford’s voice,” exclaimed Dave. “Sam! Sam!” he called,
with all the strength he could muster. “Come this way, Sam! It is Dave
Morris and White Buffalo!”
“Wall, I never!” ejaculated the old hunter, and in a moment came more
crashing of bushes and Barringford leaped into the glade. Behind him
came another white man, gun in hand, and clothed in tattered buckskin.
He limped as he ran and his forehead was bandaged up in a handkerchief.
“Father!” was all Dave could say and tottered forward to meet his
parent, who caught him in his arms. “Father!”
“Dave, my son!” cried James Morris, joyfully. “How wonderful! I never
dreamed of this!”
“Nor I father, although White Buffalo was just telling me about you.
You have been a prisoner at the fort.”
“Yes, I’ve been there a long time--ever since Bevoir got the French and
Indians to attack the post. They were going to ship me to Canada on the
day I gave the guards the slip and got away. But you are wounded.”
“Yes, and so are you.”
“I was in a good deal of the fighting day before yesterday and a bullet
grazed my temple. I fell into the river and was almost drowned. When I
recovered, I ran across Barringford, who said he had been with you, but
the Indians had separated you and him and he was wounded in the side
shortly afterward. Both of us lay low in the bushes until we started up
the stream to look for you. Barringford saw White Buffalo just about
the time those Indians fired into your party, and we made up our mind
to come to the rescue.”
CHAPTER XXXII
BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD--CONCLUSION
It was a happy meeting, and for some time Dave could think of but
little excepting that his father was restored to him. While the two
compared notes upon what had passed, Barringford, White Buffalo, and
the other Indian went on guard, to prevent a surprise by any enemy who
might be moving toward them.
But no one came near them, and an hour later the whole party moved off,
toward a trail which White Buffalo was certain would sooner or later,
bring them to the encampment of what was left of the English army.
“It was a sad disaster,” said James Morris, after telling his story and
after listening to all Dave had to say of himself and those left at the
homestead. “Barringford told me how General Braddock walked into the
trap, which was set with the greatest of care by the French and the
Indians.”
“Washington would not have been caught that way, had he led,” returned
Dave. “I suppose this campaign is done for,” he added, soberly.
“More than likely, Dave. The victory will elate the French, and our
people will be correspondingly cast down. It will take a good while
before anything more is done, I feel certain.”
“And what of the post?”
“As you know, part of it was burnt down during the attack. I heard at
the fort that Jean Bevoir was repairing it and had taken possession.
Well, such are the fortunes of war,” and James Morris sighed deeply.
“Didn’t you save anything, father?”
“Oh, yes, I saved my furs and a good part of the stores. I suspected
the attack and sent the things by pack train to Lambert’s post.
Yesterday I heard, through a soldier, that Lambert sent everything of
his own and mine to Winchester. So the loss is not near so great as it
might otherwise have been,” concluded Mr. Morris.
The march through the wilderness was slow and painful and at every half
mile Dave had to rest, and most of the others were glad enough to do
the same. Once there came an alarm, and Barringford and White Buffalo
went forward to investigate. They discovered two grenadiers and a
Ranger, who had lost themselves in the woods. These soldiers were glad
enough to join them, and this made the little party correspondingly
stronger.
They did not dare to fire at any game, and lived entirely on fish taken
from brooks flowing into the river and on some corn bread Mr. Morris
had with him. Thus three days were spent in the wilderness when, late
one afternoon, they came in sight of a soldiers’ camp.
“The Rangers!” cried Dave, and he was right, and soon they were among
the Virginians, or rather among what was left of them, for the Rangers
had lost nearly three-quarters of their command.
All was still in confusion, for those in charge of the baggage train
had fled as soon as the news of the defeat reached them, and the
drivers had taken a large number of the horses along. The camp was
filled with the wounded, and so many officers were down that in some
instances the oldest private had to command what was left of his
company. The grenadiers, especially, were utterly downcast and their
one thought was to return to some safe English town without delay.
They were brave, and on an open field of battle would have done well,
but the Indian method of fighting from behind trees, rocks, and bushes
unnerved them.
At Will’s Creek there had been erected Fort Cumberland, and to this
place of safety the army now directed its footsteps and Washington
sent on ahead for extra horses to carry the wounded. The worst of the
panic over, Colonel Dunbar assumed command, but this English officer
was still so full of fear that he would not listen to any plan of
Washington’s for a stand at Fort Cumberland. It would be foolhardy, the
French were too powerful and the Indians aiding them too numerous, to
dream of such a thing, was the way in which Dunbar reasoned, and in the
end he did not stop until he had pushed his way across Pennsylvania to
Philadelphia. His sick and wounded he left at Will’s Creek, under the
care of the colonists.
Yet no other attack came from the French, and for a good reason. The
garrison at Fort Duquesne was much reduced, and as a matter of fact,
the “army” that had attacked Braddock’s troops had been nothing but a
detachment of several hundred French regulars and Canadians and six or
seven hundred Indians! Had this detachment been met as Washington and
others wished to meet it, victory it is likely would have been upon
the side of the English. As it was, while the fight was going on, the
commander at the fort was considering whether he should withdraw in
secret or wait and surrender upon honorable terms!
The long, weary march to Will’s Creek told upon poor Dave and when
the settlement was gained he looked but the shadow of himself. He was
glad to find his Uncle Joe awaiting their arrival and equally glad to
obtain permission from Washington to go home on sick leave. With him
went Barringford, who was now attached to his protégé more than ever.
White Buffalo had left the party when the fort had been sighted, saying
he would come in when the snow came. The next day the Indian and his
followers were off to avenge the fall of their brethren.
“It’s not a joyful home-coming,” remarked Joseph Morris, to his
brother. “But I am glad that you and Dave are alive.”
“But the loss at the post--” began James Morris, anxiously.
“Let that drop, James. The loss is nothing compared to what it would
have been had you lost your life out there. In the future you may be
more successful.”
“Then you think we will eventually conquer the French and Indians?”
“I do--and it will not take many years to do it either,” replied Joseph
Morris, and his words proved true, as history testifies.
When Dave and the others came in sight of the homestead, all even to
little Nell, ran forward to greet them, and it was Mrs. Morris who
first folded the young soldier in her arms and kissed him.
“I am so glad to see you back!” she cried. “You must not go away again!”
“Not for the present, Aunt Lucy,” answered Dave. “I think I’ve earned a
good rest.”
“I’ve got a little news to tell,” said Henry, after all had entered the
cabin. “Do you remember the horses which disappeared? Well, father and
I got them back last week, from some Indians who were going to turn
them over to the soldiers for thirty pounds apiece.”
“You’ve got Fanny back?” cried Dave, and his face lit up with pleasure.
“That’s splendid! Did you have any trouble?”
“No, as soon as the Indians saw father they ran away. One of them was
that rascal Turtle Foot, and I suppose he thought father had it in for
him on account of the way he treated you at Winchester.”
Henry was quite himself again, and Rodney was also doing finely,
and had to tell how he could now work on the farm almost as well as
anybody. He had been a great help during Dave’s absence.
“The work seems to strengthen me,” he said. “And, oh, Dave, you don’t
know how good it feels to walk around once more like other folks!”
“I can believe you--now I am under the weather myself,” replied Dave.
“The home looks quite natural,” remarked James Morris, as he dropped
into a comfortable chair. “Quite natural, and I am very glad to get
back to it again.”
“And so am I glad,” murmured Dave. And then, as little Nell climbed
up on his knee, he added: “I can tell you what, war isn’t all fun and
glory, after all.”
* * * * *
A few words more and I will bring to a close this tale of a young
pioneer’s war adventures while “With Washington in the West.”
After the defeat of Braddock came the defeat of English arms in other
quarters, and as a consequence the whole frontier was in a state of
excitement and terror. At Winchester and at Fort Cumberland there were
frequent reports that all of the Indians were rising for a general
massacre of the whites. These reports proved, upon investigation, to be
untrue, but for many weeks the settlers, including the Morrises, slept
upon their arms and kept their horses in readiness for immediate flight.
There could be but one result of all this, and early in the year
following war was formally declared between France and England, and
each nation set to work to send large forces to America in the hope of
conquering its rival. These forces united with the colonists, and once
again the tocsin of war sounded, spreading gradually from Virginia on
the south to Canada on the north. Excitement was again at a fever heat,
and in the midst of this, Dave Morris and his cousin Henry, now as
well as ever, thought it their duty to go again to the front, and with
them went old Sam Barringford. What their further adventures were will
be related in a second volume of this series, entitled: “Marching on
Niagara; or, The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier.”
Yet for the time being Mrs. Morris was glad to have the boys at home,
and shook her head sadly when they spoke of going away.
“You must stay here for a long time,” she would say. “You did your duty
nobly. Let others do as much.”
“Thet’s right,” Barringford would add. “The lads have the blood of
their fathers in ’em, God bless ’em!”
“Well, who wouldn’t want to fight, when following such a leader as
Washington?” came from Dave. “Why, a fellow simply can’t help himself.”
“A wonderful man--truly a wonderful man,” put in the youth’s father
reflectively. “I feel certain we shall hear a good deal more of him in
years to come.”
And we have heard a good deal more, haven’t we, reader?
COLONIAL SERIES
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER
FIRST VOLUME
_WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST_
_Or a Soldier Boy’s Battles in the Wilderness_
12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 302 pages $1.25
[Illustration]
Washington’s earlier life has received scant attention, notwithstanding
its possibilities. Mr. Stratemeyer has woven into an excellent story
something of Washington’s youthful experience as a surveyor, leading on
to the always thrilling Braddock’s defeat. The hero, David Morris, is
several years younger than Washington, with whom he becomes intimately
associated. Pictures of pioneer life are given; scenes with friendly
Indians; and old-time games.
SECOND VOLUME
_MARCHING ON NIAGARA_
_Or The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier_
12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute Price $1.25
This tale is complete in itself, but many of its characters have
appeared in “With Washington in the West.”
The story relates the doings of two young soldiers who join the
Colonial forces in a march on Fort Niagara, during the time of the
war with France, when the whole territory between the Blue Ridge and
the Great Lakes was in a state of unrest. Many side lights are thrown
into the colonial homes, and much useful information is given of the
pioneers who helped to make our country what it is to-day.
David Morris is a fine fellow, and about him is woven a fine “Injun”
story that is sure to delight the boys.--_Universalist Leader,
Boston._
Mr. Stratemeyer is an entertaining story-teller, and his books are
clean.--_Herald, Rochester, N. Y._
THIRD VOLUME
_AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL_
_Or a Soldier Boy’s Final Victory_
Illustrated by A. B. Shute 12mo Cloth Price $1.25
This volume relates the adventures of Dave Morris and his cousin Henry
during the two last campaigns against the French for the possession
of Canada and the territory below the great lakes. The scaling of the
heights of Quebec under General Wolfe, and the memorable battle on
the Plains of Abraham, are given in detail. There are many stirring
scenes of battle, but the tale is not all of war. Pictures of the
rough-and-ready camp life of that day are given, and there are also
adventures while fishing and hunting, and with the Indians.
Since the passing of Henry and Alger, Mr. Stratemeyer controls the
field in this particular branch of literature. The chief charm
of his stories lies in the fact that an enormous quantity of
valuable information, collected from the most reliable sources,
is deftly woven into the narrative without taking away from the
interest.--_Philadelphia Inquirer._
FOURTH VOLUME
_ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC_
_Or Pioneer Boys of the Ohio_
12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute Price $1.25
This volume tells of times in our country immediately after the war
with France for the possession of Canada. The tale is complete in
itself, but in it are introduced a number of characters which have
already figured in this series, including that brave young soldier,
Dave Morris, his sturdy cousin, Henry, and their common friend, Sam
Barringford. Pontiac, the great chief of the Ottawas, is also a leading
figure and much is told of his work in organizing his great conspiracy
against the whites. A fight with the Indians and the French in a
snowstorm is especially realistic, and the entire book carries with it
the atmosphere of colonial times.
Boys are attracted to stories by Edward Stratemeyer, and they will
enjoy “On the Trail of Pontiac.”--_Plain Dealer, Cleveland, O._
THE FAMOUS “OLD GLORY SERIES”
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER
_Author of “The Bound to Succeed Series,” “The Ship and Shore Series,”
“Colonial Series,” “Pan-American Series,” etc._
Six volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.25
[Illustration]
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA
Or The War Fortunes of a Castaway
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA
Or Fighting for the Single Star
FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS
Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn
UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES
Or A Young Officer in the Tropics
THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE
Or Under Lawton through Luzon
UNDER MACARTHUR IN LUZON
Or Last Battles in the Philippines
“A boy once addicted to Stratemeyer stays by him.”--_The Living
Church._
“The boys’ delight--the ‘Old Glory Series.’”--_The Christian
Advocate, New York._
“Stratemeyer’s style suits the boys.”--JOHN TERHUNE, _Supt. of Public
Instruction, Bergen Co., New Jersey_.
“Mr. Stratemeyer is in a class by himself when it comes to
writing about American heroes, their brilliant doings on land and
sea.”--_Times, Boston._
“Mr. Stratemeyer has written a series of books which, while
historically correct and embodying the most important features of
the Spanish-American War and the rebellion of the Filipinos, are
sufficiently interwoven with fiction to render them most entertaining
to young readers.”--_The Call, San Francisco._
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by_
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston
American Boys’ Life of
Theodore Roosevelt
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 325 pages Illustrated from photographs $1.25
[Illustration]
Ever since the enormous success of Mr. Stratemeyer’s “American Boys’
Life of William McKinley” there has been an urgent demand that he
follow the volume with one on the life of our present President, and
this has now been done with a care and a faithfulness certain to win
immediate appreciation everywhere.
The book covers the whole life of our honored executive step by step,
as schoolboy, college student, traveler, author, State assemblyman,
Civil Service and Police Commissioner, Governor of New York, as a
leader of the Rough Riders in Cuba, as Vice-President, and finally as
President. Many chapters have also been devoted to Mr. Roosevelt’s
numerous adventures as a hunter and as a ranchman (true stories which
are bound to be dear to the heart of all boys who love the strenuous
life), and full particulars are given of the daring battles for Cuban
liberty, in which our worthy President, as Lieutenant-Colonel of the
Rough Riders, took such a conspicuous part.
The Appendix contains a Chronology of Theodore Roosevelt, and also
brief extracts from some of his most famous speeches and addresses.
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by
the publishers._
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
BOSTON
THE STRATEMEYER POPULAR SERIES
10 volumes Illustrated and handsomely bound in gold and colors
Attractive new cover designs Price $.75 per volume
[Illustration]
Since the passing of Henty, Edward Stratemeyer is the most widely read
of all living writers for the young, and each year extends the vast
and enthusiastic throng. In obedience to the popular demand we have
established this POPULAR SERIES comprising ten representative books by
this great writer, on which special prices can be made. The stories are
bright and breezy, moral in tone, and while full of adventure, are not
sensational. These books, at a popular price, will be a rare treat for
the boys and girls.
1. The Last Cruise of the Spitfire Or Luke Foster’s Strange Voyage
2. Reuben Stone’s Discovery Or The Young Miller of Torrent Bend
3. True to Himself Or Roger Strong’s Struggle for Place
4. Richard Dare’s Venture Or Striking Out for Himself
5. Oliver Bright’s Search Or The Mystery of a Mine
6. To Alaska for Gold Or The Fortune Hunters of the Yukon
7. The Young Auctioneers Or The Polishing of a Rolling Stone
8. Bound to be an Electrician Or Franklin Bell’s Success
9. Shorthand Tom the Reporter Or The Exploits of a Bright Boy
10. Fighting for His Own Or The Fortunes of a Young Artist
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston
SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE SERIES
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER
VOLUME ONE
_ON TO PEKIN_
_Or Old Glory in China_
Cloth 330 pages Illustrated by A. B. Shute $1.25
The hero, Gilbert Pennington, goes from the Philippines with the Ninth
Regiment to take part in the rescue of the beleaguered British Embassy
at Pekin by the international forces. Mr. Stratemeyer has risen to the
occasion by giving, in addition to one of his very best stories, a
store of information concerning China and the Chinese, conveyed in a
natural and entertaining manner.
The demands of boy readers are peculiar, and the author who can
satisfy them, not once or twice, but uniformly, must possess rare
ability in an extremely difficult field. Such an author is Edward
Stratemeyer.--_Sunday News, Newark, N. J._
VOLUME TWO
_UNDER THE MIKADO’S FLAG_
_Or Young Soldiers of Fortune_
320 pages Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute Price $1.25
“Under the Mikado’s Flag” relates the adventures of two young
Americans in Korea and Manchuria during the outbreak of the great war
between Russia and Japan, one of the leading characters being Gilbert
Pennington, the hero of “On to Pekin,” and the other, Ben Russell, who
with his brothers, Larry and Walter, is so well known to the thousands
of readers of the famous “Old Glory Series.” It closes with the great
Battle of Liao-Yang, and is as valuable for the information conveyed as
it is interesting as a story.
Mr. Stratemeyer is undoubtedly improving very greatly on the average
book for boys.--_Star, St. Louis, Mo._
He knows how to attract and hold boy readers.--_Evening Standard, New
Bedford, Mass._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
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