It was little past midnight when Holdness, who held the watch, espied two persons coming from the garrison, who, to his astonishment, proved to be Tony Stewart and Sam Sumerford.
"Who sent you here?" he exclaimed.
"Where's my father?" inquired Tony, instead of answering the question.
"On the other side of the river, with Mr. Honeywood."
"Where's our Harry?" said Sam.
"He's over there with 'em."
"You won't tell Tony's father nor our Harry that we are here, will you, Mr. Holdness? 'cause we've both of us got rifles, and we want to kill Indians. You know Tony killed an Indian; and I want to kill one, and he wants to kill another. We ain't no good in the fort, the Indians won't come there: we want to be where the Indians come."
"Well, now, do you start right back just as quick as you kin go, or I'll take my ramrod to you. Why, your mothers'll be worried to death about you. How did you get out of the fort?"
"We came out when all the rest did."
"Where have you been all this time?"
"We went into Mr. Armstrong's barn, and went to sleep on the hay."
"Well, go right back: you're no use; you'll only get killed, and won't do any good, but in the fort you will. Don't go up ter the gate till daylight, for Blanchard'll shoot you. Go back to the barn, and sleep till sunrise."
Slowly and sulkily the boys started off in the direction indicated by Holdness.
"What little tykes they are! if that ain't grit, I'd like ter know what is."
Honeywood, perceiving by the moon that it was not far from daybreak, roused his men. Scarcely had he done so, when Harry and Ned Armstrong, who had been sent in advance, returned to report that the Indians were coming along the ordinary path, but at some distance.
Now ensued a period of intense expectation: every ear was strained to catch the faintest soundthat might betoken the approach of the foe. But the mighty forest was silent as the grave; not a breath of wind stirred the foliage; not even the howl of a wolf, or the cry of a night-bird, was heard. The light murmur of the stream among the rocks that here and there strewed the shallows of the ford alone broke the silence of that lovely morning, that seemed made for repose, not slaughter.
The day was now breaking fast; and, even amid the dim shadows of the forest, objects near at hand could be distinguished: still no foe appeared.
At length the cracking of a dry stick was heard, but so faintly as only to be perceptible to the trained ear of the frontier-man; and the long line of dark forms came gliding along the path noiselessly as the panther steals upon his prey. The foremost Indian stooped as he reached the bank, examined the ground, and listened intently. The least sound—a loud breath, the click of a gunlock, or even the least footprint in the soil—would have alarmed the keen senses of the savage. There was neither sound nor sign; for Honeywood and his party well knew with whom they hadto deal, and had not crossed at the ford, but at some distance above.
The leader now touched with his finger the warrior next him, and that one the next. When the signal had thus passed along the line, the last man marched to the front, thus bringing them two abreast, in which order they entered the water, keeping close. Six had mounted the opposite bank, and the rest were following, when the deep stillness of nature was broken by the roar of fire-arms; and the greater part of those forms but an instant before instinct with life, and breathing vengeance, sank beneath the wave, or, after a few convulsive struggles, were borne away by the rapid current; and the rays of the rising sun gleamed on waters red with blood. Another volley instantly succeeded, completing the slaughter; two only were seen to crawl on their hands and knees, sorely wounded, to the shelter of some bushes that grew on the water's edge; but, ere they could reach the covert, Armstrong rushed down the bank, tomahawk in hand, and despatched them.
The Ambuscade
The Ambuscade.—Page 59.
Elated with the success of their ambush (for the two volleys had swept away the Indians onthe borders of both banks and those in the water, while, being under cover, the settlers had received no harm from the fire that the Indians in their surprise returned), Holdness and his men instantly dashed across the ford, and joined Honeywood, resolved to follow up their advantage.
Although meeting with a severe loss of men and a severe resistance, when they had expected to surprise their foes, the savages did not retreat, but took trees, and, confident in their superior force, renewed the contest.
Holdness now had reason to regret, that, under the impulse of the moment, he had not acted with his usual caution in thus crossing the stream; for, although the river protected the rear of the little band, the savages, by occupying the bank both above and below them, could command the ford; and thus they were prevented from retreating without being exposed to the fire of the Indians while crossing the stream, while the latter would be under cover.
In another manner they made their superiority in numbers tell to the disadvantage of the settlers. Behind some of the largest trees, two Indians stationed themselves, one standing, the other lyingflat on the ground; and whenever a settler, knowing that the Indian opposed to him had fired, incautiously exposed himself to load, he was liable to be hit by the other. Before this stratagem was discovered, three of the settlers were killed, and several wounded.
An Indian was stationed behind a large sugar-tree within half rifle-shot of Harry Sumerford, and they had long been trying to kill each other. At length the Indian fired, but missed; and Harry, knowing his rifle was empty, stepped from behind his tree to take better aim, and would have been shot by another (who, unbeknown to Harry, was lying behind the same tree), but at that moment a rifle cracked, and the savage fell over, shot through the head; and a well-known voice cried,—
"Zukkers! I've shot another Indian!"
Looking round in surprise, Harry espied Tony Stewart, on his knees behind a windfall, his rifle resting on it, the smoke yet rising from the muzzle, and Sam also crouching behind the same tree.
"You little plagues!" exclaimed Harry, "what sent you here right into the thickest of the fire?"
"If I hadn't been here," retorted Tony, "you'd'a' been killed; for, when I shot that Indian, he had his finger on the trigger."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," said Sam; "and there's two Indians behind most every tree."
It came out, that, after being sent home by Holdness, they sauntered off in that direction till beyond his notice, and then went along by the bank of the river. There they found the raft on which Honeywood and his party had crossed, and which they had set adrift. They sat down on the raft, and waited till the conflict began, and the Indians had fallen back; when, no longer able to resist the temptation, they crossed on the raft.
Once across, they crept along beneath the high bank near to where the settlers were posted, and, concealing themselves among the drift-wood, lay unnoticed till the Indians, returning by degrees, had obtained such positions as to command the ford.
There was now no such thing as sending them home; and well they knew it, and no longer hesitated to show themselves and take part in the conflict.
Great was the alarm of the parents at homewhen Sam and Tony did not make their appearance at the breakfast-table, and when they found their beds had not been slept in.
Their fears were by no means allayed when (after the most searching inquiries of the other boys, mingled with threats of summary punishment if they refused to tell) they ascertained, partly from Ike Proctor and partly from Archie Crawford, where they had gone.
"Did ever anybody in this world see such children?" said Mrs. Sumerford. "That's what comes of letting them have rifles, tomahawks, and scalping-knives, and bringing them up like wolves, as Mr. Honeywood says."
"It's a sair thing, nae doubt, to hae the weans sae greedy for fight when they've nae come till't; still I ken there's nae knowledge mair needfu' than the knowledge o' fighting in these waefu' times, for it's just kill or be kilt," said Mrs. Stewart, who took a more practical view of the matter.
It was a source of great mortification to Sam Sumerford, that he had never yet been able to kill an Indian, although Tony had killed two; and he was prepared to incur any risk to accomplish that feat; and, after long waiting, the opportunity was presented.
The Indians are extremely dexterous in carrying away their dead, and even during the time of action will generally contrive to remove or conceal their bodies.
Tony saw a savage conveying away the body of another who had been shot by Holdness. Having fastened a line to the head of the corpse, this savage, lying flat on the ground, taking advantage of every inequality, was worming himself along, and almost imperceptibly drawing the body after him.
Sammy crept along after him, gradually drawing near, till within short range. The body at length came in contact with a log: and, the Indian cautiously raising himself from the ground to lift it over the obstacle, Sammy, firing, killed him.
Entirely occupied in endeavoring to accomplish his purpose, he had crawled much farther than he was aware. The next moment an Indian, rushing out of a thick clump of trees, caught the boy, and, holding him before him as a protection from the fire of the settlers, began to walk slowly backwards.
A cry of horror arose from the ranks of the whites; while the Indians filled the air with yells of exultation, and increased their fire to prevent rescue.
The Indian was within a few feet of the clump from which he had issued, slowly retreating amid the silence of friends and foes, all intently watching his progress, when the report of a rifle rung through the forest, and the savage fell, shot through the very centre of his forehead.
"God bless you, Mr. Honeywood!" shouted Harry: "you had help to do that."
"I asked for it," was the reply, as he leaned against the tree behind which he stood, pale and weak with emotion.
The savages endeavored to shoot the lad as he lay on the ground; but the noble fellow pulled the body of the savage over his own, thus sheltering himself till Harry and Alex, rushing forward, rescued him, Harry escaping unharmed, and Alex with a slight flesh-wound.
"They are not such shots as Honeywood, or neither of you would have come back," said Holdness.
"Hope you've got enough of it now, youngster," said Harry as he put the boy down.
"I want to kill another Indian, and I mean to, 'cause Tony's killed two."
The settlers now found themselves in a positionof great peril, being too few in number to advance, while, at the same time, they could not recross the ford without exposing themselves to the same fearful slaughter which they had inflicted upon the Indians.
The latter soon made it evident that they were fully sensible of their advantage. With great skill and promptitude they made a raft which they covered with brush, and on it placed their arms, then, swimming alongside, pushed it across the stream, and, seizing their arms, took the most direct route to the fort.
"They'll capture the fort, and massacre our families," said Armstrong. "We must brave their fire, cross the river, and go to the rescue at whatever cost of life."
"Not so," said Holdness. "If the fort was empty, they couldn't enter it in a hurry. There's a choice man in command, who has no flinch about him: the boys'll do good service at the loop-holes, and so will the women, and the cannon rake the walls. We'll hold our ground till night, and, if we must fall back, do it under cover of night."
The Indians who remained now increased their fire, accompanied with fearful yells. Their yells,however, went for nothing with the settlers; and having, in consequence of detailing a part of their number to attack the fort, reduced themselves to one man at each tree, they were deprived of the advantage in shooting they at first enjoyed, and inflicted no injury upon the settlers, while they, who never fired at random, frequently brought the death-yell from some savage.
Finding they were losing ground, and fruitful in expedients, some of the Indians swam the stream, and brought over the raft that had been used by their comrades, and, placing their arms on it, crossed to the other side.
Having rifles which had been furnished them by the French, and the stream being narrow, they intended to attack the settlers in the rear by firing across it, while sheltered themselves by the trees that grew along the bank. In this manner they hoped soon to destroy their stubborn and implacable foes, while the others should capture the fort.
Concealed from the frontiersmen by a bend of the stream, they were making their preparations. Holdness (versed in Indian wiles) suspected their design by seeing a number of the warriors going in one direction.
"Boys," said he, "one of you climb that bushy hemlock, and see what these redskins, so many of them, are going over that knoll arter. They're working some plot to circumvent us."
Detecting by this means the intentions of their enemies, they quickly threw up a breastwork of drift-wood and saplings, which they cut with their tomahawks; and, when the Indians attained their position on the opposite bank, they found the frontiersmen effectually intrenched, and, foiled where they had counted on success, they hastened to aid in the capture of the garrison.
The Indians possessed quite an accurate knowledge of the number of men in the Run, and knew by the firing and observation that there could not be more than two or three men left in the fort, and felt no apprehension in approaching quite near the walls.
But they did not know there was a large number of boys, who, firing from a rest, were as good or even better marksmen than themselves, were most of them armed with rifles, that many of the women could shoot, and that they were under the command of a man who was not inferior to themselves either in subtlety or vindictive feeling.
Observing the approach of the savages, Blanchard placed the boys at the loop-holes, and with them Mrs. Honeywood, Joan, and Mrs. Holdness, Mrs. Grant, Lucy Mugford, Mrs. Sumerford, Mrs. Stewart, and Maccoy's wife, with orders to be ready, but not to put the muzzles into the loop till they received a signal to fire. The large gun in the flanker, that raked the whole side of the fort on which was the main entrance, and that was loaded with bullets and buckshot to the muzzle, and concealed by a bundle of straw flung over it, was given in charge of Will Grant, one of Harry Sumerford's "Young Defenders," a cool, resolute young fellow, in his nineteenth year. Thus there was no show of defence visible from without.
Blanchard said by way of encouragement, after counting the number of the Indians: "Neighbors, there's no cause for alarm, not a mite: the ambush was a raal thing, and give the imps a downright raking, I know by the death-yells; and our folks are holding their own now, or else they would have spared more Indians to come here; and, if I don't teach 'em a lesson that'll stick, my name's not Israel Blanchard, and I wasn't born in the Eastern woods."
The Indians, confident that the inmates of the fort were nearly all women, and still more confirmed in the opinion by observing no guns at the loop-holes, nor any persons on the platforms (for Blanchard had ordered every one to keep out of sight, but to be ready at a moment's notice), and a bundle of straw in the embrasure of the flanker, approached the walls without the least hesitation, and one of them made signals for a parley. Blanchard accordingly mounted to the platform over the gate, and asked the spokesman what he wanted.
"Pale-face let Indians come in, Indian no hurt him. Pale-face make fight, then Indian take the fort, kill him."
"You can't take this fort soon: we can hold it till our people come back."
"Your warriors never come back: most all dead. Delawares all round 'em, shoot 'em down just like one pigeon."
"You lie. I know the ground and the men; I can see the smoke of the guns; they've got a good cover, have killed many of your people, and will hold their own."
Finding that he could not deceive thefrontiersman in this way, the savage changed his ground. "S'pose good many Indians keep your warriors good while: we take the fort soon, then we kill squaw, pappoose, all, every one, burn some. S'pose you give up, no hurt you."
"We can kill a good many of you before you can take this fort, and if we give up you'll kill all the same when you get us: so be off with you," grasping his rifle.
"Indian no hurt you," persisted the savage.
"What will you do with us?"
"Let you go to the Susquehanna. You no belong here: this Delawares' land."
"Will you let us take our cattle and mules and goods and arms?"
"Every thing."
"You told the people at Fort Granville if they would surrender you wouldn't hurt 'em; and then you roasted the man who opened the gate to you, butchered and scalped all but one, and would have killed him if you could."
"We killed them because they killed a good many of our people: you no kill us, we no kill you."
"Well, I'll open the gate."
Blanchard made a great show of removing bolts and bars, the Indians meanwhile eagerly crowding up to the gate and walls; and, perceiving through a crevice in the timber that they were compact together, he made a signal to Grant, who applied the match.
"Ay!" cried McClure as he listened to the firing, "as pretty a volley as one would want to hear, and the cannon too. That tells the story: some of the sarpents have caught it. Israel Blanchard's not the man to waste powder himself, nor to let anybody else." Israel threw the gate open, and went out to look at the dead.
"What makes you open the gate, Mr. Blanchard?" said his wife.
"It might as well be open as shut: not another Indian will you see round this fort to-day. They'll not come here agin in a hurry. A pretty sprinkling of deed Indians: there's more money value in the scalps lying here than in our whole harvest."
He now proceeded coolly to tear the scalps from the heads of the slain.
The few savages who escaped fled in the direction of the river, where they were met by the band coming to re-enforce them; and, being by no means disposed to make another attempt upon the fort, they carried the news of their defeat to the main body.
Wrought up to frenzy by such repeated failures, and thirsting for revenge, the Indians rallied all their energies for one decisive blow.
Their numbers were now increased by the return parties; and, by holding the edge of the bank both above and below the settlers, they were able to command the ford with a cross-fire which seemed sufficient to insure the destruction of any party that might attempt to cross. They were favored in their plans by the shape of the shore, the settlers being in the centre of a curve, whilethey held the two extremities, the ford lying between.
The wind, that had been gradually rising during the morning, now blew a gale in the direction of the ford, and right across the position occupied by the settlers.
It was a period of drought, and the woods were full of combustible material as dry as tinder.
"What's that?" cried Holdness as he smelt the smoke.
"They've set the woods afire," said McClure; "and we can take our choice,—be burnt to death, or cross the ford in the face of their fire. They've trapped us with a vengeance."
A bright flame was now seen rising in several places, and creeping along the ground behind the Indians' line, that now began to open right and left as the flames came on rapidly before the wind, heralded by the exulting shouts of the savages, who now felt their long-sought day of vengeance had come, and began to mass their force along the bank as the flames came on.
Gathering courage from despair, the settlers prepared to dash across the ford in a long line, hoping in this manner, and by the swiftness of their passage, to escape in some degree the enemy's fire.
"Follow me, neighbors!" shouted Honeywood: "there's death behind, and no mercy before."
His voice was drowned in a rattling volley, followed by the death-shrieks of Indians, while far above the din rose the wild, exulting, peculiar war-whoop of the Black Rifle, like nothing else in the world as Holdness said, and which was instantly recognized both by the settlers and their foes.
This was immediately succeeded by the blast of a conch, by which he directed those who from time to time followed his lead.
Israel Blanchard, who was perched on the roof of the block-house, listening anxiously to every sound that came from the battle-ground, saw the flames rising, and understood but too well the object for which they were kindled. Hard upon this came the volley, and the blast of the horn.
"It's the Black Rifle and his men: Nat's got 'em," shouted Blanchard.
He flung open the gate, and rushed to the scene of conflict with all the lads at his heels, whose yells justified abundantly their cognomen of the "Screeching Catamounts."
"I do believe Israel has lost his senses," said Mr. Seth, as he shut and barred the gate his brother had left open in his headstrong flight.
"Then he's lost a good deal," said Mrs. Sumerford, who heard the remark.
They were too late to join in the conflict; for when they reached the spot the Indians had fled, pursued by the Black Rifle and his band.
From the scattered hints to be gathered from history and tradition, it appears that there were quite a number of men very much like McClure and Holdness, who were at any time disposed to follow the lead of the Black Rifle, and to make up a scalping-party to kill Indians of whatever tribe, although for the most part he preferred to go alone.
Revenge was so sweet a morsel to this singularly constituted being, that he was seldom willing to dilute by sharing it with others.
The governor having offered a large bounty for Indian scalps, twelve men were camping in the woods near the cave of Capt. Jack, waiting for others who were to join them, and make up a party of twenty to start on a scalping expedition; and, when Nat Cuthbert brought tidings of the expected attack at Wolf Run, they marched on the instant.
Their leader, discovering by the sound of riflesthe exact position of the Indians (whose attention was fully occupied with the enemies in front), gained their rear unperceived, and poured in a fire every bullet of which told.
This most unexpected blow; the fearful slaughter at the fort, which caused them to fear there were soldiers in it who might at any moment bring a re-enforcement to the settlers, added to the terrible presence of the Black Rifle, who the Indians believed bore a charmed life, effectually discouraged them; and, though picked warriors, they sought safety in flight.
The losses of the settlers were less than might have been expected from the duration of the contest, and the overwhelming odds against which they fought. Heinrich Stiefel, David Blanchard, and Wood were killed; and all except Harry Sumerford, Ned Armstrong, and Stewart were wounded, but most of them slightly.
"If this Indian war holds on much longer," said Holdness, "I shall have to be made over; for I sha'n't have a square inch of flesh without a scar, or a single bone without it's callous."
Sammy Sumerford was found lying beside the dead body of the second Indian he had killed, and was wounded.
He instantly became an object of envy to all his mates, who crowded around him.
Stewart now for the first time became aware that his boy had been in the action, Tony having been very careful to keep out of his father's sight. Though several recollected having seen him during the conflict, he could not be found.
Stewart was very much moved; for, notwithstanding his rough ways, he was a man of warm affections, ardently attached to Tony his only son; and, though often vexed by the mischievous pranks of the lad, was excessively proud of him; and instantly commenced an eager search, assisted by his neighbors.
"Dinna ye ken wha hae became o' my bairn?" said he to Sammy; "for I ken richt weel ye canna be sundered by ordinar mair than soul and body. I trust he's come by nae skaith."
"He was down there by that log," said Sammy, pointing behind him, "and said he was going to crawl to a spring he knowed about, and get a drink, and wanted me to go too; but I didn't want to, because this Indian was behind a little small tree, and I wanted to shoot him, 'cause Tony shot two Indians, and I wanted to. He went to the spring, and I didn't see him after that."
Stewart went in the direction pointed out by Sammy, found the spring, the rifle of Tony, and the prints of his knees in the soft ground where he had knelt to drink; but neither the lad nor his body could anywhere be found. The spring was not far from the position occupied by the Indians, and it was concluded that he had been seen and carried off by them: but there were so many wounded, that pursuit was impossible; and it was thought that the Black Rifle's band would be more likely to rescue the lad than any party that could be sent from the Run.
Holdness and others scalped the dead; and McClure told Stewart (without thinking of what he was saying) to scalp the Indian Tony killed.
"I winna he did nae want it done: I maist like'll nivir see him mair. I hae been strict wi' him mayhap ower muckle, and I winna do it nor let it be done."
He then proceeded to cover the body with rotten wood, brush, and leaves, McClure and Holdness helping him. As for Sammy, though his moccason was full of blood from a flesh-wound in his thigh, he would not consent to be moved until he obtained a solemn promise from Harrythat neither his two Indians, as he termed them (those he had shot), nor Tony's, should be scalped, but covered up with brush; "because," said Sam, "me and Tony and most of my company of the 'Screeching Catamounts' don't believe in taking scalps. We feel just as Mr. Honeywood does: he says it's a mean thing, and 'tain't right."
Harry gave the promise.
"Tony's father covered his Indian up, and wouldn't have him scalped," said Johnny Crawford; "and we'll help cover up yours."
Grant had a heifer that he was fatting, intending to kill her when the weather became cool enough. This creature had been overlooked when the rest of the cattle were driven into the stockade.
The Indians, finding the animal, killed her, meaning, no doubt, after butchering the settlers and setting the buildings on fire, to have had a grand dance and feast of victory.
She was dressed, the meat taken to the fort, and formed a meal for the settlers. It was a singular assemblage: nearly every one had received some injury. One had a patch on his head, where a bullet grazed; another carried his arm in a sling; the hands of several were bound up. Grant andMaccoy sat with their legs extended on stools, one being wounded in the foot, the other in the thigh. There were three who were wounded in such a manner, they had to be fed by others; and, in the majority of the cases, the blood from the wounds had come through the bandages. Nevertheless they were in high spirits at having defeated the savages and saved their crops, and were resolved to enjoy themselves.
"It's a sore thing ter have our neighbors killed by our side," said Holdness; "and there's no one of us but feels for those who are mourning the loss of husbands, fathers, and children; but we ought certainly ter feel thankful it's no worse. It's a sad thing for neighbor Stewart and neighbor Blanchard to lose their boys. A smart lad was Tony, and David was a nice, likely young man, and had good larnin'; but Stewart and his wife shouldn't be too much cast down. The Indians won't kill Tony, that's sartain: they seldom do a boy of that age; they've lost a great many men in this fight, and they'll adopt him to fill up some gap, and treat him just like their own children."
"The Black Rifle's people may rescue him," said Proctor; "or, when the war is over, he can be redeemed."
"I wad be loath our misfortune should mar the joy we a' suld feel, and gratitude to One above," said Stewart, "seeing there's good ground for hope in respect to the bairn. It's not like finding him on the field with a tomahawk in his head, or a bullet in his breast."
The next day was devoted to the burial of those killed in battle. Directly afterwards, with that recklessness so characteristic of all frontier population, they left the fort to occupy their own dwellings; although, now that their wounds had become stiff, it was necessary to haul some on sleds, and there were not able-bodied men enough to furnish a scouting-party, nor to gather the harvest.
But the frontier-women were equal to the exigency, and able to assist the men who were well or slightly wounded. Most of the women, especially those of Scotch descent, could handle the sickle. The children likewise did their portion of the work, the boys in the field, and the girls doing the housework while their mothers were harvesting.
Frontier life is one of sharp contrasts, constituting, perhaps, its charms for rugged natures.
It was a clear day of bright sunshine: the women and every man who could manage to work were busily employed. Mrs. Grant was singing at her work; and the cheerful notes of the harvest-song floated up over fields that but two days before echoed to the roar of cannon and the war-whoop of the savage.
"Indeed, neighbor McClure," said Mrs. Sumerford, wiping the sweat from her brow, and laying the sickle over her shoulder as the horn blew for dinner, "I don't mind the hard work nor the hot sun one mite: it's far better to be reaping and getting bread for the children than to be making shrouds for the dead, and putting dear friends and neighbors in the grave, as we've been doing so often for the past year."
"I dinna mind the work a windle strae," said Mrs. Armstrong. "I hae reaped mony a bushel o' sowin' in my ain countrie, and whiles I like better to be in the field than to do housework. Ay, I've reaped mony a long day for sma' wages, and gleaned and wrought sair; but I like better to be reaping my ain grain than ither people's. Is it not sae, Jean Stewart?"
"Indeed it is. We wad hae reaped nae grainof our ain had we bided in bonnie Scotland, though oftenwhiles my thoughts will travel back among the lochs and the braes where I first drew breath. I could na' keep the tears frae running down my cheeks while Maggie Grant was singing; for many's the time I've heard my auld mither sing those same words owre her sickle, when I a wee bairn was gleaning after her."
Sammy Sumerford could not bear to stay in the house with Jane Proctor, who had engaged to mind the baby while Mrs. Sumerford was in the field, and also to get dinner; and so persuaded his mates to carry him to the field, and set him up against a stook of grain. They then brought him some long coarse grass, of which he made bands to bind the grain.
Here he found at work Holdness, whose chin was ploughed by a bullet that had taken the skin and flesh to the bone. The wound, though not dangerous, was extremely sore and sensitive. He could not reap, because the heads of the grain that were very stout, brushing against his chin, kept constantly irritating the wound. He therefore bound up the sheaves, while Sam made bands for him; and, as both were wounded, they frequently left off work to rest and talk.
"Mr. Holdness, didn't you like Tony?"
"Yes, I liked him much: he was a brave boy. I'm right sorry for his loss. It's a loss ter all of us, as well as ter his father and mother."
"I loved Tony: he's played with me ever since I can remember. I can't remember the time I didn't play with Tony. I know I never shall love another boy as well as I loved Tony. What will the Indians do to him, Mr. Holdness? will they kill him?"
"Kill him! no. I'll tell you. A good many of the Indians we killed the other day were quite young men. When they get Tony to one of their towns, some of the fathers or mothers of them what's killed will take him for their own, in place of the one they've lost. That's the Indian fashion."
"Then they won't kill, scalp, nor roast him alive?"
"No, indeed! If they could get hold of me or McClure, or Tony's father, or Mr. Honeywood, they would torment us all they knew how; but, as for him, they won't hurt a hair of his head: though if the Black Rifle should overtake them, and they found they couldn't get away, they'dtomahawk him in a minute before they would let the Black Rifle get him."
"What do Indians want a white boy for?"
"They want ter make an Indian of him. They'll be just as good ter him and treat him just as well as they do their own, and larn him every thing they know themselves. He won't get the lickin's he had at home, for the Indians never strike their children."
"When he gets bigger, he can run away and come home."
"They'll watch him at first; and it won't be long afore he'll forget his father and mother and everybody he knew, and turn into an Indian. He won't have any thing white about him but his skin, and hardly that; for they'll grease him, paint and smoke him, and he'll go half naked in the sun and wind, till he's about as red as themselves. He'll come ter have Indian ways and feelings, and never will want to leave 'em."
"Oh, Mr. Holdness! Tony will never forget me and his father and mother and sister. Mr. Holdness, Tony hates an Indian: he's killed two on 'em."
"I tell you he'll turn into an Indian, just as atadpole turns into a frog, and like 'em just as much as he hates 'em now, and love his Indian father and mother better than he loves his own father and mother, and like their miserable way of living better'n the way he was brought up in."
"I don't see how it can be."
"Neither do I; but I know it will if he stays among 'em any length of time, which I hope to God he won't do, because every boy, or girl either, that goes among the Indians at his age, does just so. But you can't make a white man out of an Indian, any more'n you can make a hen out of a partridge. But don't tell his folks what I've said, 'cause it would make 'em feel bad."
Holdness now took up a handful of bands, and went to tie up wheat.
The boys talked the matter over after he was gone. Sammy appeared sad: the tears stood in his eyes as he said,—
"Mr. Holdness never told me any thing before that I didn't believe every word of: but I can't believe Tony could forget me; I'm sure I never shall forget him."
"I don't believe Tony will ever forget his sister Maud. He would do any thing for Maud: heloved Maud more'n he loved himself," said Jim Grant.
"I don't believe he'll forget Alice Grant neither," said Ike Proctor: "'cause don't you know, Sammy, when we were going to have the party down to Cuthbert's house, and you and I didn't want to have the gals, he stuck up for havin' 'em, and 'twas only 'cause he wanted Alice Grant to come."
"I should think," said Dan Mugford, "they'd want to kill him, 'cause he killed one of them; but perhaps they won't know as 'twas him who killed him."
"Mr. Holdness says they'll like him all the better for that; 'cause it shows he's brave, and knows how to shoot, and they'll know he'll make a great chief," said Johnnie Crawford.
The boys could not possibly bring themselves to believe that Tony could or would forget parents, playmates, kith and kin; and, the more they discussed the matter, the more confirmed they became in their previous opinion.
The subject of conversation was now changed at the approach of the girls, who, having done up their housework, had come to assist in the field.
"If they ain't going to have scouts out any more," said Dan Mugford, "and the Indians have got scared and won't come any more, then why can't they let us go swimming in the river?"
"Yes: and we can have our bladders that we've been keeping so long, and swim with 'em; and when the acorns, chestnuts, and walnuts are ripe, we can go nutting," said Sam.
"We can go with you, and have nice times, same as we did before the war," said Maud Stewart.
"There was ever so much powder in the Indians' pouches, and Mr. Holt turned it into a basket: I saw him," said Ben Wood. "Maybe they'll give us some; and then we can kill deer and coons, and all of us could kill a bear."
"I don't believe they'll let us go where we are a mind to," said Jim Grant: "all the reason they don't send out scouts now is 'cause they can't. There's so many wounded, there ain't enough men to go on the scout, and get the grain too; and they've got to get the grain, 'cause if they don't we won't have any thing to eat next winter."
Thus the children speculated respecting the future, and lightened their toil by building castles in the air.
During the past season, wheat and other grain had assumed in the eyes of the settlers a greater relative importance than ever before.
Wheat, oats, and barley could be raised abundantly on the burnt land; but hitherto there had been very little inducement to raise either of those grains, because they could not make use of them as articles of food to any extent, and they did not pay when carried to market.
Corn had heretofore been their main dependence: that they could pound, and make into bread. With corn they could keep and fatten swine; and, in time of peace, hams paid when carried to market on pack-horses; and pork was also the staple article of food.
But the Indians and the mill had effected acomplete revolution. The different grains were now of more value to them than Indian corn, because they could grind the grain. The Scotch could have their oatmeal; and the others, wheat flour, barley, and rye, to mix with their corn-meal; and they were delivered from the drudgery of the hominy-block.
It was less work to sow grain than to plant corn and hoe it: therefore there was less exposure to Indians while doing it. Grain was not so much exposed to the depredations of crows, blue-jays, coons, squirrels, deer, and bears. Deer could be kept out by fences, but birds, bears, coons, and squirrels could not.
When a bear enters a corn-field, he goes among the corn, sits on his breech, stretches out his paws, and, gathering between them all the corn he can reach, lies down on the heap, and munches the ears that lie on top; then going along, breaks down more, thus destroying a great deal more than he eats. The coons make up in numbers what they lack in size, and are often more destructive than the bears. There is nothing, except honey, that bears and coons love so well as corn in the milk: the grain does not possess such attraction.
There was still another reason that diminished the importance of corn in the opinion of the settlers at this juncture of their affairs. Corn had obtained its paramount importance because it was the best, and, indeed, was considered the only food suitable for fattening swine; and pork, beef, and corn-bread were the great staples of life. But neither pork nor beef could be preserved without salt, and salt could be procured (while the country was filled with hostile Indians) only with great labor and at the risk of life. In the grain, however, that the mill enabled them to make use of, they found a substitute; and so much less pork and other meat was required, that, with what salt they had on hand, they could, by securing a good grain-crop, preserve meat sufficient to carry them through the winter.
In this condition of things the settlers had planted but little corn, and kept but few hogs, but had sown a large breadth of wheat, rye, oats, barley, and pease, and planted a good many beans; intending to eat more bread and less meat, as cattle and hogs were liable to be killed by Indians, and hunting and fishing could only be prosecuted at the risk of life.
The harvest was abundant; and the settlers were making the most strenuous efforts to secure it, although many of them worked in misery by reason of their wounds. Those who had the use of but one arm brought the sheaves to the stacks with the other. Those who had the use of both arms, but were wounded in the leg, made bands for the binders; or going about the house on crutches, with a child to help them, superintended the cooking while their wives and mothers were at work in the field. Some who were wounded in the head or trunk of the body managed to rake together in bunches for the binders.
Our young people will thus perceive the importance of the grain-crop to the settlers, and likewise why they were willing to incur so fearful a risk to preserve it, when they might have remained behind their defences, and repulsed the foe with safety to themselves.
When the wheat was put in stooks, the other grains housed, and the pease and beans secured, the wounded and the women were excused from labor.
There was still, however, much to be done; for so long as the grain was in the stack, or even inthe barns, it was liable to be destroyed by Indians, and even more so, as it was more compact. In order to be secure, it must be inside the fort.
Threshing with flails was hard work, in which the wounded could not engage, and it was a slow process. It was necessary to lose no time, as they might be attacked again.
When the mill was built, some plank were left; and with a whip-saw Israel Blanchard and Seth manufactured some more, and laid a platform on the ground near the fort, within rifle-shot, and built a fence around it.
On this platform they laid a great flooring of grain; and having kept the horses and mules without food over night, and exercised them beforehand to empty their stomachs, turned them into the enclosure, and drove them over the grain with whips.
When one flooring was threshed they put on another, and thus beat out the grain much faster than they could have done it by hand, had they all been in a condition to labor.
The grain, chaff and all, was carried into the stockade, and put on the floor of the block-house and flankers in heaps. It was now safe from foesand weather. Afterwards, as the wind served, it was carried out and winnowed on the same platform. The mill afforded an excellent place in which to store it, being dry, and well ventilated by loop-holes.
The settlers now obtained the rest so much needed; and the greatest care was bestowed upon the wounded, who had evidently not been benefited by the labor absolute necessity had compelled them to perform. Such is the life of a people living on the frontiers during an Indian war. Wherever you go, and whatever you are doing, it is necessary to be armed and on your guard; for life is the forfeit of negligence. You can never commence any work with the certainty of finishing it. When you lie down at night, the weapon must be within reach of your hand.
The human mind possesses a wonderful power of adapting itself to circumstances, and becoming reconciled to those apparently calculated to produce prolonged torture. Surrounded by too manyrealcauses of anxiety to concern themselves aboutimaginaryones, these people, when not under the pressure of actual suffering, were cheerful, patient in trial; and no one entering their families wouldhave suspected from appearances that they were at any moment liable to be called to struggle for their lives, and also perfectly sensible of it.
During the stormy times we have described, Scipio was nowhere to be found. It was in accordance with the usual course of things for Scipio and Mr. Seth to retire from action in times of danger.
It was taken for granted that the negro had concealed himself somewhere, and would appear when the danger was past. During the season of greatest peril, all were too much occupied to waste a thought on the matter; but Scipio was an excellent reaper, and when they began to cut the grain the black was both missed and needed.
"Boys, what has become of Scip? Hunt him up. He's hid away somewhere," said his master.
"We have hunted, Mr. Blanchard," said Archie Crawford, "in the potato-hole, under the pig-pen, in the flankers, and everywhere we knowed; and can't find nothing on him."
"Perhaps he's hid away in the old Cuthbert house."
"No, sir: we've looked there and in the mill."
The matter was dropped for the time; but whenthe harvest was gathered, and no Scip made his appearance, there was a general anxiety manifested, for the negro was a valuable member of the little community. He was a good mechanic, his master having taught him the use of tools. He was very strong and good at any kind of farm work. Unlike most slaves, he was not indolent, and would allow no man to outdo him. He was a great wrestler, and could jump and run with the best; he was also an excellent shot at a mark, any small game, or deer, but was too much of a coward to face a wolf or bear. He was an excellent cook, and a great favorite with the good wives. Nobody could bring the butter so quick, or tie a broom to the handle so fast, as Scip: and he was a capital basket-maker, a lucky fisherman, could sing and play on the jew's-harp, and beat a drum.
Scip loved the children with all his heart; and they returned his affection with interest, and shared whatever they had with him, though they sometimes amused themselves by working on his dread of the Indians. Scip had two prominent failings,—he would steal eggs, and lie to cover the theft.
It was not at first thought possible that theblack, who cherished a chronic fear of Indians, would leave the fort, a place of safety; but, when every part of it had been searched in vain, Israel Blanchard said,—
"It's plain he's not in the garrison: he's taken to the woods, and got lost; or else he's got into the river to hide, and the current's carried him off, and he's drowned."
"He may have got lost in the woods," said Holdness, "that's likely enough; but there's not water enough in Raystown branch to drown that darky: he swims like an otter."
"I'll tell you what to do," said Mrs. Honeywood: "take something Scip has worn, a stocking or shirt, let Fan smell of it, and set her to seek; she'll find if he's above ground, or, if he's under ground, she'll find where he's buried."
"It's too late, wife: the scent's all gone, long ago. The slut can't track him."
"Well, then," said Harry Sumerford, "we boys'll take all the pups and the old slut to boot; and, between them and ourselves, we'll find him."
Harry, the young men, and all the children started with no less than seven dogs, and went in different directions through the woods, the dogs being divided among them.
Cal Holdness and Harry were together, accompanied by Fan; the slut running through the woods, and then returning to them. At length they heard her barking at a distance in the woods.
"She's treed something," said Harry,—"most like a bear or a coon. A bear ought to be in decent order now."
Following the sound, they found Fan sitting at the butt of a great pine. As they approached, she began to bark, whine, and scratch the dead bark off the roots of the tree.
"A bear wouldn't be denning this time of year. I'll wager it's Scip," said Harry.
The tree was nearly dead; had a short butt, that, after running about eighteen feet, divided into three large branches; and an ash, uprooted by the wind, lay in the crotch. After quieting the dog, Harry, standing at the foot of the tree, began to call Scip by name, and tell him that the Indians were gone. For some fifteen minutes there was no answer; but at length Scip's woolly head appeared in the crotch of the tree, and by degrees was followed by his body. Harry and Cal always contended that he was pale.
"Come down here, Scip," shouted Cal: "the Indians are gone."
"Won't dey come back?"
"Not without they come from another world: we've killed most of 'em."
"Hab dey killed Massa Blanchard and all de rest but you?"
"No: they haven't killed but three,—Mr. Stiefel, Wood, and David Blanchard. Come down."
Scip, now satisfied, quickly descended along the trunk of the windfall, to the great joy of Fan, who almost flung him down, jumping on him, and licking his black face.
"How did you know about that tree, Scip?" said Harry. "How'd you know 'twas hollow?"
"Massa McClure kill a bear dere last fall."
When Scip heard that more than a hundred Indians were coming to attack the fort, he felt sure they would take it, and determined to flee to this tree, taking provisions with him. When asked how he came to take that course, he replied that he recollected when the Indians killed Alexander McDonald's family, that his nephew Donald was at some distance from the house, in the woods, and, by hiding away there, saved his life; and so he thought it best to hide in the woods, for he knew the Indians would take the fort.
A week had passed since the occurrence of the events just narrated.
It was a sunny morning; and Mrs. Sumerford was busily employed in weaving, having in the loom a web of linen.
The dwelling of this motherly woman, so much beloved by her neighbors and especially by all the young fry, was a log house of the rudest description; still there was about it that air of neatness and comfort that a thrifty woman will create under almost any circumstances.
The walls were of rough logs, and the openings between them stuffed with moss; but it was driven as hard as the oakum in a vessel's seams, and trimmed at the edges with a sharp knife. The bullet-proof shutters were hung with wooden hinges from the top, and, instead of sliding, swungup to the chamber floor, that was made of peeled poles.
The kitchen presented one feature not precisely in keeping with the rest of the house; namely, a nice board floor, which, after the advent of the whip-saw, Harry had substituted for the original one of flattened poles (or puncheons).
In one corner was a bedstead; for the room served the different purposes of kitchen, sleeping-room, and place of common resort. At the windows were curtains of bulrushes; the floor was white and sanded; and the bed boasted a linen spread, beautifully figured. In a side room was the loom at which Mrs. Sumerford was weaving. All the clothing for four boys and herself was spun and woven from flax and wool, and made up by this goodly, pains-taking woman, who, though extremely sensitive in respect to any danger that menaced her family, did not hesitate, as we have just seen, to handle the rifle in their defence.
Stretched at full length on the hearth, lay a white-faced bear sound asleep, with his right paw on his nose; and between his hind and fore legs was the baby, also sound asleep, his head pillowed on the bear, and his right hand clutching the creature's fur.
Sammy, with his wounded leg resting in a chair, was making a fancy cane, by peeling the bark from a stick of moose-wood in a serpentine curve, and so as to show the white wood in contrast with the dark and mottled bark.
Alex and Enoch were dressing each other's wounds, and permitting the dog to lick them; the tongue of a dog being considered, by the frontier folks, a wonderful specific for healing gun-shot wounds.
Harry was on his knees in the corner of the fire-place, running bullets, and melting his lead in a wooden ladle. Somebody may wonder how he could melt lead in a wooden ladle. Well, he made the fire inside, with bits of charcoal; and, as the coal was lighter than the lead, when the latter melted, the charcoal and dust floated on top, and could be blown off. The ladle burned up after a while, but not very speedily; and it cost nothing but a little work to make another. All were busily engaged; and there was little to break the quiet of the morning, save the monotonous sound of Mrs. Sumerford's loom, as she sprung the treadles, and beat up the filling with the beam, when a great clamor of voices was heard outside,and a whole flock of children, girls and boys, rushed in at the open door.
The dog began to wag his tail, and rub up against the children for recognition. The bear took his paw from his nose, and gaped, showing his white teeth; but, as the baby did not wake, went to sleep again.
"Well, well, what's in the wind now?" said Mrs. Sumerford.
"Don't you think, Mrs. Sumerford," cried Bobby Holt, "they've given us some of the powder what the Indians that was killed had in their pouches; and we're going to shoot wild pigeons, and go in swimming: we hain't been in swimming this year."
"Us girls," said Maud Stewart, "are going after blueberries on the mountains, while the boys are gunning and swimming."
"I wish I could go," said Sam.
"We'll bring you some pigeons, and you can go with us when you get well," said Archie Crawford.
"I don't know about you children going in the woods. Who told you you might go?" said Mrs. Sumerford.
"Mother said we might go," said Jane Holt.
"Father said I might go," said Ike Proctor.
"Did Mr. Holdness, or McClure, or Mr. Honeywood, know you were going?"
"I don't know as they did; but father said the Indians had had such a browsing lately, they'd be shy of meddling with Wolf Run folks for a spell."
"That wouldn't hinder them from prowling round, and snapping you up. Only think of Prudence Holdness. There hadn't been an Indian sign seen anywhere, and she only went out to pick a few herbs for her sick father, and was carried off; and it was of God's mercy, and of the Black Rifle, that she ever got back."
"We've got guns, we know how to shoot, and we'll shoot 'em," said Archie proudly, "if they come near us."
"Oh, my! hear the roosters crow. You won't be behind the loop-holes down there in the woods.—What do you think of it, Harry?"
"Let 'em go, mother: I don't think there's any danger. Only look at it: these children were cooped up in garrison all winter; in the spring they had but little liberty, for since Prudence Holdness was carried off they have been kept in; and it's a hard case."
"Well, Harry, I sha'n't have one minute's peace if they do go."
"Well, mother, let 'em go; and, if you feel so, I'll get Mr. Holdness and Nat Cuthbert, and we'll take our guns and follow 'em. You know we haven't got so many hogs this year as usual, and the pigeons help out the pork-trough. I think we ought to kill all the game and catch all the fish we can."
"O mother!" cried Sammy: "you've got flour now; and won't you make some berry-pies, and a pigeon-pie with crust, for me, 'cause I'm wounded and can't go? Won't you, ma'am?"
"Yes; but I don't feel, I can't feel, it's what ought to be, for all these children to go into the woods, even if the men do go. Three of 'em can't have their eyes everywhere, and watch so many; and they may shoot each other, so many guns in children's hands."
Mrs. Sumerford sat down to her loom in a frame of mind far from quiet.
"We wanted Scip to go," said Jim Grant, "and Mr. Blanchard said he might: he was dying to go, but he was so scared of the Indians! but if Mr. Holdness, Harry, and Nat go, he won't be. I'll goand get him, and come after with him and the men."
Whatever Mrs. Sumerford's opinion might be in respect to the capabilities of the children, she knew very well that Harry would not come home empty-handed. So after an early dinner, she got out the sieve (a moose-hide punched full of holes with a burning-iron) and flour, and mixed the dough ready for use when needed.
First came the girls, with their pails full of berries; then the boys, each with a load of pigeons slung on his gun; finally Harry came with as many as he could carry, saying he believed there were half as many pigeons in the woods as leaves on the trees.
Sammy wanted all of them to stay to supper, especially Scip. Mrs. Sumerford, who could never have too many children round her, was as desirous to have them stop as was Sammy; but she said it would never do, because they would want to stop and play a while after supper, and their parents would think the Indians had carried them off. Didn't Mr. Crawford go out to shoot pigeons, and come within one of being shot by an Indian, and would have been, hadn't the hog took at the Indian?
The children wanted so much to stay, and Sammy was so anxious to have them, that Nat Cuthbert, who came in with Harry, said he would get on the horse and take some pigeons (as there were ten times as many as they could eat), and give to the families around, and tell them the children were safe.
"Well, Scip," said Mrs. Sumerford, "if you are going to stop, you may make the pigeon-pie, and I'll make the berry ones."
This announcement was received with shouts by the children, for they well knew Scip had no rival for getting up a savory mess.
After he had washed his face and hands, Mrs. Sumerford put an apron on him, and he set to work.
The girls picked over the berries, and the boys plucked the pigeons. There were many hungry mouths, and Scip made corresponding preparations. There was no oven: but Scip lined a kettle with crust, put in his pigeons and other things, and put on the upper crust; then, putting a large iron bake-pan over the mouth of the kettle, set it on the coals, and filled the pan with hot coals.
Mrs. Sumerford's plates were all either wood orpewter; but she was better off than some, for she had one large earthen pan for milk, and one smaller one. She made her pie in the small one, and baked it in the Dutch oven which she borrowed from Mrs. Honeywood for the occasion: she also made a berry-cake, and baked it on a board set before the fire, with a stone behind to hold it up. Potatoes were baked in the ashes.
Notwithstanding the lack of the customary utensils, and more than all of an oven, she made a capital pie: it was not only good, but a good deal of it. Scip was equally successful, and made a glorious pie.
"Dere, chillen [setting it on the table in the kettle], he good stew ebber man put in his mouf: under crust done, upper crust jes brown." The very dog began to lick his chops as he inhaled the savory smell.
After the repast they decorated the house with boughs of sassafras, locusts, wild flowers, and the pods of the cucumber-tree, and Scip played on the jew's-harp. You would have thought they had just got out of prison, they were so wild and full of tickle; and in one sense they had, having been confined to a limited circle around their homes,kept hard at work in the field, or set to fight for their lives with the Indians.
None of the inmates of the garrison, old or young, were so supremely happy as Scip; and before they separated he hugged the children all round, and they hugged him, and Dan Mugford made the philosophical reflection, that if the Indians had killed them all, Scip never could have made that pie, nor could they have enjoyed the pleasure of eating it.
The children now naturally supposed that the bars were all to be taken down, and that they were to enjoy their old-time liberty: therefore the next morning, the moment the chores were done and the cattle turned to pasture, they were about to set forth on a fishing expedition, when, to their no small surprise and grief, they were told that this liberty had been granted them because of their long confinement in close quarters, and also to show how highly their good behavior and pluck (when the fort was threatened by the Indians) was appreciated, but that they could not go again for a week at least. It would be useless for me to attempt to describe how slowly and wearily the hours dragged along for some days. The settlerswere restricted from hunting as much as usual, on the account of the risk of life and scarcity of powder and lead. They had raised a less number of cattle and hogs, because the animals were liable to be killed by prowling Indians in the pasture, and there was a lack of salt with which to preserve pork and beef.
In this condition of affairs, the settlers, ever fruitful in expedients, hit upon another method to supply themselves with food, namely, by rearing a great number of fowls. These could be kept on grain, of which they had an abundance, and, in the event of their being compelled to live in garrison, could be kept very well inside the stockade; and the eggs and flesh would afford a constant supply of food.
The children were therefore encouraged to raise chickens and other kinds of fowl; and they engaged in the business with a will. They set every hen, duck, and turkey, that wanted to sit, and a good many that did not; fastening them on the nests with baskets and boxes of birch-bark, and even tying them on with strings. When, as was often the case, two hens had each a small brood of chickens, they gave both broods to one hen tobring up, in order that the other might go to laying; and the same with turkeys and ducks.
The greatest rivalry took place among the boys, each anxious to carry off the palm. Cut off from their ordinary sources of amusement, they gave their whole soul to this work, till fowl increased to such a degree that Holdness said, "You can't step without treading on eggs or chickens, nor go into the hovels to look for any tool, but a sitting hen will fly up in your face."
Those were glorious days for Scip: he could steal all the eggs he wished to; there were so many, no one suspected him.
Archie Crawford had reared a noble flock of ducks, of which he was excessively proud. He took great delight in watching them, as, after being let out in the morning, they waddled off to the swamp in Indian file, the bright colors on the necks of the drakes glistening in the rays of the morning sun, returning at night in the same manner.
Three of those dreary days had passed; and, on the morning of the fourth, Archie had fed and was watching his ducks as they ate up the corn. With him were Bobby Holt and Ike Proctor. Thefaces of the boys were clouded, and they added to their discontent by talking about the hard experience they were just then undergoing.