At last the battle seemed to be at an end. Only a few shots sounded out and they came from a distance. The fire in the forest had died down and, thanks to an all-powerful Providence it had failed to give the Indians the success they had sought. It was true a number of the pioneers and soldiers had been badly wounded, but none were killed, while on the other hand seven redskins had been laid low.
All was in a hopeless confusion, and it was not until daylight came that Captain Tanner and the others succeeded in straightening matters out. Many of the women and children had fled into the forest and these had to be hunted up, while some of the pioneers had followed the enemy on their private account and did not return until they felt the Indians were sufficiently beaten back.
When Dave recovered from his forced traveling his first anxiety was for his uncle, who had fainted away from a fresh loss of blood. As well as he was able, the youth bound up the wound once more, tearing off a sleeve of his shirt for that purpose.
While he was at work several alarms sounded close to him, and he held his breath, expecting to be discovered at any instant. But the Indians passed him on both sides with a speed that showed him they were now thinking only of retreat.
With the first streak of daylight he looked around him and at a distance discovered two rangers on horseback. They were rounding up the pioneers and their families and they readily consented to assist him all in their power.
"Reckon Mr. Morris is in a pretty bad way," said one of the soldiers. "The knocking around didn't do his wound no good."
"That's just the trouble," answered Dave. "But I did the best I could under the circumstances. I didn't want the Indians to scalp him."
"Oh, you did mighty well, lad—mighty well. Come, I'll take him up on my hoss."
The ranger carried the helpless man with care and soon Dave and his uncle reached the spot to which all the pioneers were coming. As soon as she caught sight of them, Mrs. Morris came running forward.
"Oh, Dave, how is he?" she questioned.
"Not any better, Aunt Lucy," he responded, soberly. "I think you'll have to keep him very quiet after this."
"Did you see anything of Nell?"
"No. Is she gone?"
"Yes. Henry and your father are out looking for her."
"It's too bad! I hope they find her soon."
Dave felt very weak and gladly partook of some soup which several of the women in the camp had made.
The youth was just finishing the repast when his father and Henry came back, looking much disheartened.
"Did she come back?" questioned both, and then as Mrs. Morris shook her head, not daring to trust herself to speak, James Morris continued: "It's too bad! I can't believe it possible that the Indians carried her off."
"Yes! yes! They must have carried her off!" sobbed Mrs. Morris. "My poor darling Nell! Oh, what will those wretches do with her!" And she burst into a flood of tears.
Rodney had just come up, and all turned in to console her as best they could. Yet they could say but little to soothe her sorely wounded heart. Even Dave found the tears standing in his eyes, for he loved little Nell as much as if she were his own sister.
When it came time to count those who had been in the expedition it was found that two other girls besides little Nell were missing—twins named Mary and Bertha Rose, the children of a pioneer who lived fifteen miles to the north of the Morris homestead. Mrs. Rose was as grief-stricken as Mrs. Morris, and both wept together when they met.
"I shall remain behind to see if I can't find some trace of all the children," said James Morris.
"And I'll do the same," said Nelson Rose. "I would rather give up my life than leave my two girls in the Indians' power."
"Reckon as how I'll stay behind with ye," put in Sam Barringford. Although he never admitted it, little Nell was very dear to the old frontiersman's heart.
"White Buffalo will also look for little Bright-face," said the Indian chief. "But he is much afraid the French Indians have carried all three of the maidens off."
So it was decided, and when the expedition moved off the three white men and the Indian with his followers were left behind. Captain Tanner and Lieutenant Baldwick were now pretty certain that the Indians would not make another attack in a hurry, and this was why he readily consented to spare them. Although he said nothing, Uriah Risley also remained behind, to see if he could not learn something concerning his wife.
Owing to the condition of the wounded the onward march to Winchester was now slower than ever, and when night came only half the distance to that frontier town had been covered. But a messenger had been sent ahead and now several wagons came out to carry in the disabled on the following day. This made the remainder of the journey less of a hardship for Joseph Morris, and while he did not improve neither did he seem to grow worse.
The news of the massacre, as it was called, had spread in all directions, and when the pioneers reached Winchester they found the post alive with many others who had come in from all points of the compass, some with all of their belongings and others with nothing but the clothing on their backs. As a consequence every cabin and house was filled to overflowing, and it was only by good luck that the Morrises obtained shelter at the cabin of an intimate friend named Maurice Gibson. Gibson himself was a trader like James Morris, and his wife Abigail and Mrs. Lucy Morris had been old schoolmates.
Joseph Morris was placed on a comfortable bed and without delay a surgeon was called to attend him. The medical man probed his wound and had it thoroughly washed, and then left a strong tonic as a medicine.
"I think he will recover before long," said the doctor. "But he must remain quiet until the wound is thoroughly healed. If not fever may set in and then I will not be responsible for the consequences."
"He shall remain here as long as he pleases," said Maurice Gibson. "And his family also;" and so it was settled.
Of course Mrs. Morris felt relieved to think that her husband would recover, but she could not forget her little daughter, and as she thought of Nell in the hands of the Indians the silent tears would course down her cheeks in spite of all she could do to stay them.
"It is awful, awful!" she said to Dave. "Oh, I would give my right hand to know that she was safe!"
"I'd give a good deal myself, Aunt Lucy," he returned. "But keep up your courage. Father, and Barringford, and White Buffalo will do all in their power to bring her back to us."
Two days of anxiety passed in the town and then it was reported that the majority of the hostile Indians had retreated in the direction of Fort Duquesne, to join the French located at that stronghold. Some of the regulars had followed a portion of the enemy and brought down three braves at what was called Three Posts. Among these Indians thus laid low was Crooked Nose, a half brother to Spotted Tail, a celebrated chief of that time.
"And still no trace of Nell," sighed Mrs. Morris, when the news came in. "Dave, did you hear anything of your father?"
"Not a word, Aunt Lucy."
"I hope he is safe."
"Oh, you can trust him to take care of himself—especially when Barringford and White Buffalo are with him. I think they'll bring us some certain news when they return."
But none of the party did return, and at the end of a week even Dave grew anxious. By this time Joseph Morris felt strong enough to do a little talking although he was not allowed to move further than was absolutely necessary.
Even though there were no telegraph lines in those days, it did not take the news long to travel throughout the length and breadth of Virginia and her neighboring states, and it was felt on all sides that that whole territory would not be safe from Indian and French raids so long as Fort Duquesne remained in the hands of the French.
"Give me the authority and men to march against that fort and take possession and our frontier will be at peace," wrote Colonel Washington. "But the longer we delay the more dangerous will this situation become to us." These are not his exact words but they are the gist of numerous communications which he addressed to those in authority over him.
Two weeks later James Morris came in, pale and careworn, having traveled a distance of several hundred miles in half a dozen directions, on a hunt for little Nell and the Rose twins.
"We found traces of them, but that is all," he said. "They are undoubtedly in the hands of the Indians, who are taking them either to Fort Duquesne or else northward to Lake Erie. I left Mr. Rose, Barringford and the Indians still looking for them. I was anxious to learn how it was going with brother Joseph and the rest of you."
"But you will go back—you won't give up the hunt so soon?" pleaded Mrs. Morris.
"Yes, I will go out again," answered Dave's father. "Just as soon as I can have one square meal and one good night's sleep."
The meal was speedily forthcoming, and the trader went to bed at seven that evening and did not awaken until noon of the next day. Then he declared that he felt as if he had been made new all over, and two hours later, bidding the others good-bye, set off to continue his search. It was a long while before Dave saw his father again.
As already told, affairs in the colonies looked blue indeed, and some hardy pioneers who had risked their all in making their homes in this new country were afraid that ere long they would be forced to either give in to the Indians or come under French rule. Three campaigns had been fought, and still the French were masters, and held Louisburg, Crown Point, Ticonderoga, Frontenac, and the long chain of posts from Niagara to the Ohio and thence to the Mississippi. The English fort at Oswego had been destroyed and the French had compelled the Six Nations, the most powerful Indian organization ever known, either to remain neutral or else give them aid.
To add to English alarm, the war in Europe also took a turn in favor of the French. This brought a storm of protests upon the English ministry, and George II. was compelled to make a change. As a consequence William Pitt was placed in entire control of foreign and colonial affairs.
Pitt was a man of both wisdom and action, and his plans for a new campaign in America aroused the colonies as they had not been aroused before. An army of fifty thousand men, English regulars and colonial militia, was gathered, and it was resolved that a three-headed campaign should be instituted at once, one against Louisburg, another against Ticonderoga and a third against Fort Duquesne.
The first blow was struck early in June, 1758, when the English appeared before Louisburg with thirty-eight ships of war and an army of fourteen thousand men. There was a vigorous attack, and something of a siege, and late in July the place capitulated, and this fall also included the capture of the islands of Prince Edward and Cape Breton.
The advance upon Ticonderoga was not so successful, although a portion of the troops under gallant Israel Putnam, afterwards so famous in the Revolution, dispersed some of the French and captured a hundred and forty-eight prisoners. Following this, an attack was made upon Fort Frontenac, located where the city of Kingston, Canada, is now situated, and here the English laid the fort in ruins and captured nine vessels carrying guns and supplies.
The people of Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania were anxious that the attack on Fort Duquesne be made at once, but as we already know, the armies, especially such as had to march through the wilderness, moved very slowly. The command of this expedition was placed in the hands of General Forbes, a gallant officer but one who was far from being in proper health for such an undertaking. This general left Philadelphia early in July with the main portion of his command, and after a hard march reached Raytown, ninety miles eastward of Fort Duquesne, and now known as Bedford.
While General Forbes was thus moving westward Colonel Washington, who had been ordered to join the main command, gathered together all his available troops and moved northward from Winchester to Fort Cumberland, called in these pages by its, then, common name of Will's Creek.
The spring had passed slowly to those of the Morris family located at Winchester. Strange to say although Joseph Morris' wound healed it seemed next to impossible for the pioneer to get back his strength, and the most he could do was to walk around the rooms of the Gibson home, or around the dooryard, supported by his wife or others.
"My legs won't support me," he said. "They feel as if they'd let me down in a heap at any minute."
"It is the effects of the fever," said Mrs. Morris. "The doctor says you will have to take it easy for several months."
Rodney, too, had suffered from the march through the forest and from the fighting and was confined more or less to the house.
"It's a shame—and just after I thought I was getting so strong," sighed the cripple. "Somehow, we seem to be an ill-fated family."
During all those dreary months no direct word had come to them concerning little Nell, but through White Buffalo had come a report that a certain tribe of Indians known as the Little Waters had several white girls in their keeping and that one old Indian chief had taken one of the captives as his daughter, he being childless.
"If they take 'em in as their children they'll treat 'em putty civil-like," said Sam Barringford. "But I reckon you don't want to lose little Nell even so."
"No! no!" said Mrs. Morris. "Oh, we must get her back somehow!"
After this news was brought in, Barringford and Dave's father went north-westward once more, in the hope of opening negotiations with the Indians. How this trip would turn out was still a question, although White Buffalo declared that little could be done so long as the war hatchet remained unburied between the English and the French Indians.
As soon as the new call came for additional troops to the colonial militia, Dave signified his intention of once more entering the service under his old commander, Colonel Washington. About this he did not hesitate to see Washington personally.
"I'll be glad to have you with us," said Washington, after the youth had explained matters. "I remember how you acted in our other campaign against Fort Duquesne, and I haven't forgotten, Master David, how we shot the bear,"—this with a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, join us by all means if you care to do so." And Dave signed the muster roll that day,—as a colonial militiaman, at a salary of ten-pence a day, twopence to be deducted for clothing and other necessaries! This was the regular rate of pay, and for those days was considered quite fair.
It must be confessed that the troops under Colonel Washington formed a motley collection. Many of the best of the pioneers and frontiersmen had grown tired of the delays in the past and now refused to re-enlist, fearful that they would be called on to do nothing but wait around the fort, while the summer harvests at home demanded their attention. Drumming up recruits proved the hardest kind of work, and the companies were made up in some cases of men who knew not the meaning of home life—hardy trappers and traders, some industrious enough, but others given to drink and brawling, and not a few who lived almost as the Indians did, using the redmen's style of dress and occasionally painting their faces, "jes' fer the sport on't," as they expressed it. When it came to fighting these men were like human tigers, but in camp and on the march it was next to impossible to bring them under military discipline. Many refused to carry rations as the regular soldiers did, preferring to bring down game as they needed it, and if game was not handy they appropriated a pig or a cow belonging to some settler—thus bringing additional trouble on the command.
"So you are going with the soldiers," said Henry, when Dave told him of what he had done. "Well, if you go I shall go too—that is, if mother will let me."
Henry put in the proviso with an anxious look on his face, for he knew how difficult would be his task of getting his parent's consent.
"No, no, Henry!" cried Mrs. Morris. "With your father and Rodney so ill, and with Nell gone, how can I spare you?"
"But, mother, somebody has got to fight the French," insisted the son. "If we don't fight them, and whip them, how shall we ever get back to our home? I don't want to give all that up, do you?"
A long argument followed, and at last Mrs. Morris said she would let her son know about it in the morning.
White Buffalo came in that night with news. "The Little Waters have gone to the setting sun, to the French," he said. "White Buffalo has been told they will remain there until winter comes again."
"To Fort Duquesne!" cried Dave. "I'm glad of it. Now if we take that fort perhaps we'll be able to rescue Nell and the Rose twins."
This news decided Mrs. Morris, and with tears standing in her eyes she told Henry he might go with Dave and Colonel Washington. "And may God grant that you return with Nell safe and sound," she added.
A few days later found the two young soldiers on the march. It was something of a gala day for Winchester, and the post was gay with flags and bunting. The long drums rolled and the fifes piped up cheerily as the command passed out of the town and on the trail running northward to Cumberland. Many were in the best of spirits, hoping that the downfall of Fort Duquesne would be speedily accomplished.
The town was scarcely left behind however, before the music came to an end, and the command moved on by the route step—that is, every soldier stepping out to suit himself. This was necessary, for the way was rough, having fallen into disuse since the beginning of the troubles with the Indians.
"I heard a report that we are not to use the old Braddock road to Fort Duquesne," said Henry, as he trudged alongside of Dave. "Colonel Washington advised using it, but General Forbes is going to cut a road of his own."
"If he does that we'll be all fall and winter getting to the fort," answered Dave. "How foolish not to use a road already made."
"It's queer they won't take Colonel Washington's advice. He knows this territory better than anybody."
"There is a good deal of military jealousy afloat," was the answer. "English officers hate to see a colonial get ahead of them. They want to head the whole game."
The second night out the troops encamped near a large brook. It was hot and Dave and Henry were glad enough to take a swim in the stream as soon as they got the chance. They were soon in the water and diving and sporting to their heart's content. Then Henry caught a branch hanging over the water's edge and pulled himself up into the tree.
"See what a fine dive I can take from here," he called to his cousin.
"Don't you do it," cried Dave. "You may go too deep and strike your head on a rock."
"I'll be careful," was Henry's answer. "Here goes!"
With a quick movement he leaped from one limb to another. As the second limb gave a sudden swish Henry uttered a cry of alarm. Then he came tumbling into the water with a loud splash. After him tumbled a wildcat, snarling in rage at being thus unceremoniously disturbed. The wildcat struck close to where Dave was treading water and on the instant made a leap for the young soldier's shoulder.
Dave was both startled and alarmed when the wildcat came down almost on top of his bare head, and even more frightened when the beast made a leap for his naked shoulder. He had had several experiences with wildcats and knew them to be both powerful and bloodthirsty.
By instinct more than reason he dived and went down as far as possible. As soon as the water closed over the wildcat's head it let go its hold and began to swim for the shore.
Henry was directly in the path of the beast and in a second more, ere the young soldier had time to think of diving, the wildcat was on his back, sinking its cruel nails deeply into his flesh.
"Get off!" screamed Henry. "Get off! Help! help!"
And then he went down, not because he thought of doing so, but because he could not bear the weight. The stream closed over him and he went directly to the bottom.
This time the wildcat did not let go its hold. It clung desperately and when Henry tried to shake it off it only sunk its nails deeper into his flesh. Mechanically he started to scream, when the water rushed into his mouth, almost strangling him on the spot.
By this time Dave had reached the surface, and the rings and bubbles showed him plainly where Henry and the wildcat had gone down. With swift strokes he swam to the river bank, just as several rangers came running to the scene.
"Did you call for help?" asked one.
"A wildcat!" panted Dave, hardly able to speak, and he pointed out into the stream. "Sa—save my cousin!"
"So a cat has attacked him, eh?" said one of the rangers. He raised his gun. "Don't see anything of the critter."
Just as he finished speaking there was a splash in the water and the head of the wildcat appeared. Then up came Henry, and they saw that the beast still clung to the young hunter's back.
It was a risky shot to take, for youth and beast floundered around furiously. But something had to be done, and in a second one gun-shot rang out, followed quickly by another. The aims of both rangers had been true, and the wildcat was struck in the forequarter and in the head. With a snarl and a sputter it let go its hold of Henry and splashed madly around in the water.
No cry came from Henry, but as soon as the beast had let go its hold he sank beneath the surface once more, too weak to do anything toward saving himself.
"He'll be drowned!" muttered Dave. "Save him!" And without waiting he plunged in the river once more.
He felt deathly weak himself, but the thought that his cousin might be lost forever nerved him on. With set teeth he swam to the spot. Catching sight of Henry's arm as it was thrown up, he grabbed at the member and clung fast.
"Henry, hold to me," he managed to say, but his cousin paid no attention, for he was more than half insensible. Then Dave tried to raise him up, but the weight was more than he could sustain.
"Help us, somebody!" the young hunter managed to call out, and there followed a splash, as one of the rangers leaped into the river. Another shot rang out, a finishing one for the wildcat, and the carcass of the beast floated down the river and out of sight among the bushes lining the opposite bank.
By the time the ranger came up, Dave was nearly as far gone as Henry. The old soldier was a powerful fellow and easily brought both to the bank, which was only a short distance off. Here Dave sank down in a heap, while the other soldiers did what they could to revive Henry.
The report that a wildcat had attacked some bathers quickly spread throughout the camp and many flocked in that direction to learn the particulars. Both Dave and Henry were given the best of attention, and by the following morning each said he was able to resume his duties. But both were stiff from the treatment received from the wild beast and on Henry's neck were deep scratches which he was destined to carry with him to the grave.
"After this I'm going to be mighty particular where I bathe," he said to Dave, when on the march.
"Yes, and particular where you dive from," returned Dave. "If you see another wildcat on your spring-board better let him finish his nap without disturbing him."
The march to Cumberland was more difficult than had been anticipated, and the young soldiers were glad when it came to an end and they found themselves encamped just outside of the fort, which both had visited more than once when on a trip to Will's Creek. Soldiers were coming in from all directions, and soon the camp was full to overflowing.
"Wonder how long we'll stay here," said Henry, after they had been at Cumberland over a week. "I had an idea we were to march straight on to Fort Duquesne."
"There is some trouble over that new road to the fort," answered Dave. "I understand Colonel Washington is awfully cut up over it. He thinks they ought to use the old Braddock road and polish up the Frenchmen in short order."
"It was the delay that brought on defeat before, that's certain, Dave. It's a pity the British generals won't take Washington's advice."
What Dave said about trouble over the road was true. The Braddock road, originally selected by the Indians, was as good as any to be had or made, yet despite all arguments against it, it was decided to cut a new road through to Fort Duquesne from Raytown. It was true such a road would be a little shorter than the old road, but to cut it would take all summer and to keep up the campaign during the winter would be well-nigh out of the question.
When a part of the colonial troops, including the company to which Dave and Henry were attached, reached Raytown they found the new road already started, with two hundred men engaged in cutting down trees, removing big stones, and burning brushwood. This was kept up week after week, and in the meantime the troops suffered greatly through sickness and lack of proper food. Many of the colonials grew disgusted at the slow progress of the campaign and would have gone home had not the military regulations forbidden it.
It was in the midst of this that Sam Barringford came in and hunted up Henry and Dave. "Thought you'd like to set eyes on me," he said, on shaking hands. "Jes' got in with Dave's father. We did some tall hunting I kin tell ye."
"And Nell?" asked Henry, quickly.
"She's a prisoner up to Fort Duquesne. We got thet putty straight."
"Not of the French?"
"No, of the Injuns hangin' around thar—the Jean Bevoir crowd, as Dave's father calls 'em—a bad lot, too."
Barringford had decided to take part in the campaign now in progress and it can well be imagined that the two young soldiers were right glad to have their trusty old friend with them once more.
"It will seem like old times," said Dave. "If only we could move ahead to-morrow!"
It was late in October when Dave brought in news. He rushed up to where Henry and Barringford were industriously sewing up some holes in their jackets.
"Hurrah, we are to move at last!" he cried. "Major Grant is ordered ahead with eight hundred men, and our company is to go with the body."
"Only eight hundred," returned Barringford. "Thet ain't many. Kind o' a scoutin' party, I reckon."
Yet, he too was glad to make a movement of any kind, and prepared at once for the departure. Two days later the command was on the road, those left behind wishing them the best of success.
The English were still many miles from Fort Duquesne when the French scouts brought word to their commander that the enemy were approaching. Without waiting to be attacked the French marched forth to do the approaching English battle.
"The fight is on!" cried Dave, as several shots rang out from in front. "We are in for it now!"
"Well, we came to fight," answered Henry. "And the sooner the battle is over the better."
The real battle, however, did not take place until the next day. Then the French did their best to surround the English, and in a short while the contest waxed hot on all sides. Part of the battleground was a small opening and the rest of the fighting took place in the forest. Soon the smoke became so thick that but little could be seen on either side.
"Tell ye wot, them Frenchers mean business!" ejaculated Barringford, while reloading his firearm, which was so hot he could scarcely hold it. "We've lost a sight o' men already."
What he said was true. The loss had been frightful, and the dead and dying lay on every side. Moans and shrieks rent the air, in a fashion to turn the stoutest heart sick. Major Grant rushed around heedless of danger, giving directions and doing all he could to encourage those under him.
"Don't retreat! The battle is ours!" he called out. "Stand where you are!" And then his voice was lost in the rattle of musketry and the mad yelling of the Indians, who had come up to aid the French and steal what they could from the English.
Dave, Henry and Barringford were behind a fallen tree, blazing away as rapidly as possible. The French were before them and the Indians on their left, and for some time it was as if pandemonium had broken loose. Suddenly Barringford gave a yell.
"Duck, boys, duck!"
They fell flat and not a second too soon, for half a dozen arrows whizzed over their heads. Then the old frontiersman leaped to his feet.
"I'll pay ye back!" he roared. "That fer ye, ye sarpints o' the Evil One!"
He took a quick but careful aim at the leader of the Indians, who was rushing straight forward, with tomahawk lifted. The hammer of his flint-lock musket fell. A terrific explosion followed and Barringford was hurled flat while Dave and Henry were also struck and knocked down. The gun had exploded.
Then before any of the party could recover, the Indians were upon them, shouting like demons and flourishing their tomahawks and their keen-edged hunting knives.
The explosion of the musket had been so unexpected that for the moment Dave and Henry hardly knew what had happened. Dave felt something hit him on the bottom of his left cheek and putting up his hand withdrew it covered with blood. Henry, too, was hit by a flying fragment of the gun barrel which clipped off a lock of his hair. Poor Barringford lay like one dead.
Before Dave could recover the Indians were on them, whooping as if their very lives depended upon it. One threw a tomahawk at Dave, but the aim was poor and the weapon buried itself in the log which had sheltered our friends.
But just at this moment, when all seemed lost, the battleground shifted and instantly thirty or forty English red-coats burst from the woods directly behind the Indians. A volley rang out and four of the redmen pitched forward, shot through the back. Other bullets hit the log behind which our friends lay, but Dave, Henry, and Barringford were not touched.
Attacked so unexpectedly from a new quarter, the Indians appeared dazed. They attempted to turn upon the English soldiers, but when two more were laid low, they fled to one side, where there was a dense growth of walnuts. The soldiers at once made after them, and another skirmish took place in the forest.
"Are you hurt much, Sam?" asked Henry, when he had recovered sufficiently to speak.
"I—I reckon not," was the gasped-out answer, after a long silence. Barringford opened his eyes and gazed ruefully at the gun stock which lay at his feet. "Busted! Well, by gum! Didn't think Old Trusty would do it nohow. Ain't ye ashamed?" And he shook his head dolefully. He had carried the firearm for many years, as our old readers know, and to have it "go back on him" like this hurt him more than had the explosion.
"It singed your beard pretty well," said Dave. "You can be thankful it didn't blow your face to pieces."
"We must get out of here!" cried Henry. "See, the French are coming!"
Henry was right, the French column had suddenly appeared on the brow of a neighboring hill. Those of the English who were in view received a galling fire and then the enemy came forward with a rush. Our friends were glad enough to retreat, and join the main body of rangers once more.
Unfortunately for the English, Major Grant had divided his force and now as the French commander came on he ordered that the smaller of the English commands be surrounded. This was done, and though Major Grant did his best to bring his command together again, it was impossible to do so. The English became hopelessly separated, and by the time the fighting came to an end the major and a large number of his officers and men were made prisoners.
"We are catching it and no mistake," panted Dave, after another stand had been made, during which Barringford had provided himself with another gun—one taken from the hands of a dead grenadier. "The French mean business."
"Here they come again!" exclaimed Henry. "Look! look! they seem to have re-enforcements!"
Henry was right, and it must be admitted that the attack of the French, with the Indians on the left flank, was a superb one. The shock of the two armies coming together was terrific, and soon hand-to-hand encounters were taking place in hundreds of places at once. Guns and pistols rattled constantly and the keen frosty air of late fall was filled with smoke. The grass being wet with dew many slipped and fell and not a few soldiers were trampled to death by frightened horses. It was a scene not easily forgotten and reminded Dave strongly of that other battle when General Braddock had suffered bitter defeat and death.
And bitter defeat was again to be the portion of the English. Major Grant's force was not strong enough to resist the combined onslaught of French and Indians, and at last word came to retreat, and in the gathering darkness the English fell back, taking with them a number of their wounded. How many of the wounded were left on that cold battlefield to die from exposure will never be known. Snow was now falling and a wind came up that chilled every soldier to the bone.
"It's another Braddock victory," said Barringford, sarcastically, as he limped painfully along, a horse having stepped on the toes of his left foot. "Them reg'lars don't understand fightin' in the woods nohow. Ye hev got to fight Injuns Injun fashion, an' French likewise. 'Twon't do no good to set yerself up like a target to be shot at."
"We have lost about three hundred men, killed, wounded and captured," said Dave. "I wonder what General Forbes will say to that?"
"I fancy he's too sick to say much," said Henry. He spoke thus for General Forbes had been on a sick bed for several weeks and had had to be carried forward on a litter whenever his command moved.
The news that Major Grant's command had been whipped and driven back, and the major and many of his officers taken prisoners, was quickly sent to General Forbes, and at once a council of war was held. It was decided that the entire army should be sent forward without delay, and the soldiers moved onward as rapidly as the state of the road permitted. By the time the re-enforcements arrived the French and Indians had retreated to Fort Duquesne, for additional ammunition and general supplies, and to take care of their wounded and prisoners.
Once again Washington urged that a swift march be made on the fort. "It is our only chance of success," he said. "In a few weeks winter will be on us and then the campaign in this wilderness must come to an end."
There was no disputing his words, for the snow continued to fall and when it did not snow it rained and the wind kept growing colder and colder every day until even the most hardy of the soldiers began to grumble over the discomforts of camp life. Forward went the whole army, toiling painfully through the forest, where only an imperfect Indian trail led the way. General Forbes was now weaker than ever and others urged him to go back. But, full of determination, he refused, and continued to direct the movements of his army from his sick bed. His devotion to duty was wonderful and something well worthy of being remembered.
Dave and Henry suffered with the other soldiers. Frequently when night came they had to rest in clothing that was soaked through and through, and the one grain of comfort they extracted from their situation was the thought that each day's march brought them so much nearer to the spot where they supposed little Nell was being kept a prisoner.
"I won't complain if only we get her back," said Henry. And Dave agreed heartily.
It was now the middle of November, and winter had begun to set in in earnest. Ice was forming on every pool and slow-running brook and snow storms were frequent, although none of them amounted to much. The nights were the worst and many a large camp-fire did the soldiers build to keep themselves warm. An advance guard was out constantly, to guard against a surprise, but no French or hostile Indians appeared.
Late one afternoon there were a number of shots fired in the distance and half an hour later a small vanguard came in bringing with them a number of French and Indian prisoners. These prisoners were closely questioned and from them it was learned that the French and Indians at the fort were suffering greatly from sickness and from a lack of supplies,—the latter having failed to reach Fort Duquesne on account of the English victories in the north.
"If you hurry you may take the fort with ease," said one of the prisoners, who wished to curry favor with his captors.
This news was most encouraging and it was ordered that the main body of soldiers should push on again, leaving the artillery and supply wagons to come up later. The news placed Dave and Henry in the best of spirits, and they pushed on as quickly as anybody, with Barringford beside them.
But progress was slow, for there were many hills to cross, and on retreating the French had left many fallen trees in the pathway, and in one spot was a dangerous pitfall, into which the enemy had thrown several wolves. A couple of grenadiers fell into this pitfall and were sadly bitten by the half-starved beasts before being rescued.
At last those in advance reckoned that they were now but one day's journey from Fort Duquesne. The ground looked familiar to Dave and presently Barringford pointed out the spot where the young soldier and his father had been re-united after the battle under Braddock.
Soon from a distance came a hurrahing, which every instant increased in volume. "The fort is deserted! The French and Indians are retreating!"
"Can that be possible?" burst from Henry's lips. "Come, let us find out!"
He rushed forward, and Dave and Barringford quickly followed. Soon they were in the vanguard, which was scrambling over fallen trees and brushwood and climbing the last hill which separated the English soldiers from the fort. There was a thick smoke ahead and presently they saw a column of flame shoot up, followed by a dull explosion.
"They have fired the fort," said Barringford. "Reckon as how they'll burn everything they can't carry."
By the time the soldiers reached the vicinity of the stronghold the fire was burning low. Only a small portion of the stockade was gone, with one or two small buildings and what had been left of the stores. An Indian was found nearby, suffering from a broken leg, and he gave the intelligence that the French command had retreated down the Ohio. Some had gone only a few hours before and others had left three days previous.
"And what of the prisoners they had?" asked Henry, as soon as he could get the chance.
"The prisoners were taken away three days ago."
"Were there any little girls among them?"
"Yes, four little maidens. One from the south and three from the east, with two women and forty-one men," was the reply.
"Three girls!" murmured Henry. "One of them must have been Nell! And they took them off three days ago? Oh, Dave, I'm afraid we have lost her forever!"
Dave could do but little to comfort his cousin and if the truth be told he felt almost as sad as Henry, for little Nell, with her bright ways and sweet disposition, seemed more dear to his heart now than ever.
"It's certainly too bad, Henry," he said, after the interview with the Indian had come to an end. "We might follow down the Ohio, but if they have three days' start there is small hope of our catching up. They'll think the English soldiers are after them and they'll push ahead just as hard as possible."
"Do you think General Forbes or Colonel Washington will go after them?"
Dave shook his head.
"No, General Forbes is too sick and winter is now at hand. He is certain to rest on his laurels."
So it proved. A small detachment was sent down the Ohio, and with this went our young soldiers and Sam Barringford. But this detachment returned to the fort three days later, having captured but three Indians and one French trader, all of whom were found in a canoe too intoxicated to make good their escape.
The trader thus taken was named Varlette. He had once been attached to Jean Bevoir's trading post. Dave knew the man, having met him when out gunning with Barringford.
From Varlette they gained the information that Jean Bevoir had been at Fort Duquesne, having come in after the raid upon the homes of the Morrises, Uriah Risley and others. Some of Bevoir's bloodthirsty acts had been discountenanced by the French general in authority, and in something of a rage Bevoir had taken himself off, with his Indian followers and their prisoners.
"Now it ees for him to become von vite chief of de Indians," said Varlette. "Dat will suit heem, and will bring heem in von pot of money, for he vill make de vite peoples pay heem big money for de prisoners."
"The contemptible rascal!" cried Barringford. "Ef the rangers git holt o' him they'll hang him higher nor the tail o' a kite, hear me!"
"He'll deserve hanging, if he misuses little Nell and the others," returned Henry.
As soon as it was possible to do so, the fort was put in thorough repair, and the name was changed to Fort Pitt, in honor of the prime minister of England. To-day this ground is covered by the city of Pittsburg, with its gigantic iron and steel works. What a mighty change from the lonely forest lands of less than a hundred and fifty years ago! Then called the West, or the Western Country, Pittsburg is now considered in the East. So has our country grown.
The fall of Fort Duquesne brought to a close the campaigns of 1758. The taking of this stronghold was hailed with delight by all the settlers in this section of the colonies, and they hastened to re-possess themselves of the homesteads which they had been forced to abandon during the two or three years previous.
As soon as the victory at Fort Duquesne assured peace upon the frontier for some time to come, Washington retired from the colonial troops and returned to Mount Vernon, to the large estate left by his brother, and which now demanded his attention. It may be added here that soon after this he married Mrs. Custis, afterward known to all as the gentle and loving Martha Washington. This was Washington's last appearance on the scene of battle during the French and English War. When next he took up the sword it was for American Independence.
It was not until early spring that Dave and Henry were released from duty and marched with a number of the militia back to Winchester. Their coming was hailed with delight by Mrs. Morris and the others, although all were downcast at the news that little Nell was still missing.
It was found that Joseph Morris was doing nicely and that Rodney was feeling better than ever. James Morris had been out to the homestead and had already cut the timber for another cabin, to take the place of that burned down.
"I also rounded up the most of our cattle and have all our horses and a new lot of chickens and pigs," said he. "So, although we have lost a good deal, we are not as bad off as we might be. The worst loss is the furniture we brought here when we came, years ago. That came from England and Germany and can't be replaced. But I'm reckoning on getting a few fancy pieces for sister Lucy from Annapolis, so things will look kind of homelike after awhile."
"Oh, James, you are very good!" cried Mrs. Morris. "But it won't be home until Nell comes back to it."
A few weeks later found all the Morrises at the homestead, if such the spot can be called. The burned place had been carefully cleaned off by James Morris, and a temporary shelter had been made of a new cattle shed. Here the family went to live while the men and the boys began the construction of the new cabin. Rodney could not do such hard work but kept himself busy with the cattle and the poultry; and thus several weeks passed swiftly away.
Carpenter work pleased Dave and he was set at work making doors and window frames, and also several benches and a table or two, while the others attended to the raising of the cabin frame and the roofing and side boarding. Soon the cabin was fit for use and they moved in, and then Mr. James Morris made several trips to Winchester and one to Annapolis, taking Henry along, to buy the hundred and one things which were needed and which had either been burnt up or carried off by the Indians and their French allies. In the meantime Mrs. Morris busied herself in weaving a new rag carpet and toweling, and in making some necessary clothing, for to buy many of these things was, in those days, out of the question. Then Dave and Henry went hunting and brought down several deer and a number of rabbits and foxes, and once, when out with Sam Barringford, all three brought down a bear, and these skins were all properly tanned and then used for bed coverings and rugs.
On his return from Annapolis James Morris brought news of a new campaign against the French.
"We are going in for the entire conquest of Canada," he said. "Major General Amherst has been put in command of all the British forces, and the army is to be divided into three parts, one under Wolfe against Quebec, another under Amherst himself against Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and a third under General Prideaux, who is to march against Fort Niagara."
"Hurrah!" shouted Henry, "I hope we take Niagara. If we do it will cut the French entirely off from the Ohio and the Mississippi, and this ground will be safer than ever."
"Is Fort Niagara on the Niagara River?" questioned Mrs. Morris.
"It's located on the eastern bank of the river, just where that stream flows into Lake Ontario," replied her husband. "I understand it's a first-class stronghold—a good sight better than Fort Duquesne was. General Prideaux will have no fool of a task reducing it."
"I don't see how he's going to get there, unless he starts from Fort Duquesne and fights his way through the Indian lands," said Rodney. "If he tries that he'll certainly have his hands full."
"No, he's not to go that way," was James Morris's answer. "He's going up to Albany first and from there through the Mohawk valley to Oswego. At Oswego, if everything is favorable, he will take his way westward to Fort Niagara. They didn't say so, but I think he'll go by water from Oswego to Niagara. If he had the boats it would be the safest and quickest route."
"Is he going to take any rangers along?" questioned Dave, eagerly.
"Why, Dave, do you want to become a soldier again?" asked his father, turning to study his son's face.
"Yes, sir," was the prompt response. "I'll tell you why. So long as Canada remains unconquered just so long there is going to be trouble here and elsewhere. But once we show the French we are masters in America we'll have no further fuss, either with them or with the Indians. I go in for settling the matter, and doing it thoroughly and right away, too."
"Gallinippers!" ejaculated Barringford, who stood by, oiling up his flint-lock musket. "Dave, you're a reg'lar lawyer, hang me ef ye ain't! An' the argyment's right to the p'int, too. The Frenchers won't know they're beat until we lick 'em good an' hard, an' I go in fer doin' the lickin' right now. Then, arfter it's done, we kin set out an' plow, an' raise cattle, an' hunt an' trap in peace,—an' the Injun who wants to raise a sculp every ten minits now will sit on a tree stump an' smoke his pipe an' look on," and Barringford shook his head earnestly. "Ain't no ust to talk," he went on. "It's like damming a stream—you dam it about half tight an' the fust lively rain will break the dam to bits; but you dam it good an' hard an' it will stick, no matter how hard it rains and by-an'-by the water will find out it's got to go a new way—an' the French an' Injuns will find they've got to leave the English alone. I ain't much on eddication, but I kin figger thet out, an' so kin any man whose head is level;" and Barringford resumed his gun oiling.
James Morris had much to tell that night—of his many purchases, and of the war talk he had heard at Annapolis and other cities he had visited. He, too, was interested in the expedition against Fort Niagara, for he felt that if the French power was broken in this direction he would be able to return to his trading post on the Kinotah without much fear of molestation from either French or Indians.
It was late that night when there came a sudden thumping on the cabin door. All sprang to their feet in alarm, and each of the men and the boys reached for his firearm, which they were in the habit of having close at hand.
"Who is there?" demanded James Morris.
"It is I—Uriah Risley," came in the well-known voice of the Englishman. "Let me in. I've good news."
At once the cabin door was unbarred and flung back. All crowded forward, to behold Uriah Risley outside, on horseback. Beside him, also on horseback, was his wife, pale and thin, a mere shadow of her former self, but still able to ride alone.
"Well, I declare, Caddy Risley!" screamed Mrs. Morris, and ran out to greet the woman. "Is it really you or your ghost?"
"'Tis really me," was the answer, "although I sometimes feel like a ghost, I'm that thin."
"But mercy on us! Where have you been—with the Indians?"
"With them and with the French. I was with the Indians first—for many weeks—and then some French soldiers rescued me. They turned me over to some traders just before a battle with the English, and then the Indians and some French under Jean Bevoir got hold of me. They took me up through the Mohawk valley to Lake Ontario, and there I met a lot of other prisoners, your Nell with them."
"Nell!" the name came from several lips simultaneously.
"Yes, Nell and the Rose twins. They were with some Indians who are under Bevoir's thumb."
"And what of Nell now?" asked Mrs. Morris quickly.
"I think she is still with the Indians. A French soldier came along one day and carried me off in a canoe. He wanted to marry me, but I told him I was already married and then he set me ashore in the wilderness. I tramped for miles and miles, until I was so weary I could scarcely stand and I was almost dying of starvation, when I fell in with some German settlers. They took me to Fort Stanwix and from there I was taken to Albany, and finally made my way to Philadelphia, and then came on here. Uriah and I met at Winchester."
"Yes, and I nearly dropped dead from joy," put in the Englishman. "It was like getting her back from the grave. I could not at first believe my eyes. But it's really and truly my good wife, and I pray God we may never be separated again," concluded Uriah Risley, reverently.
Once inside the cabin, Mrs. Risley related her story in detail, to which the others paid the closest attention. Her trials had been great, and the quick tears of sympathy coursed down Mrs. Morris's cheeks as she listened, and the others were also affected.
"It was enough to kill you," said Mrs. Morris, at the conclusion. "But now you are back, safe and sound, we'll do our best by you. You can stay here until your husband builds another cabin and gets everything else into proper shape for living on your land." And so it was settled.
When Dave and Henry retired once more it was not to sleep but to talk in an undertone, the subject of the conversation being little Nell and the twins with her.
"I'm going to do what I can to rescue her," declared Henry. "It makes my blood boil to think of her being among those dirty redskins and French."
"I believe the best thing we can do is to join the army under General Prideaux," declared Dave. "His force will most likely go right through the Mohawk valley to Lake Ontario and then along the lake to Fort Niagara—just the territory where those Indians and French must be."
"I've got another idea," said Henry, after a thoughtful pause. "I got the news through White Buffalo. General Johnson has been commissioned to stir up the Indians in the Mohawk valley and get them to join in the attack on Fort Niagara. White Buffalo and his followers are going to join Johnson's force. Why not go with the white men in this crowd? We'll be sure to hear more about those Indians and the French traders in that way than if we went with the regular army."
"But to train with redskins, Henry!"
"We needn't train with 'em. There will be at least a dozen white men with the crowd and we can go with them. I once met General Johnson. He's a big-hearted Irishman, full of hard, common sense, and I know we could get along with him. And when he heard our story he might put himself out to help us."
So the youths talked on until at last they fell asleep—to dream of fierce fights with the French and Indians and daring rescues of little Nell. But these were only dreams. Little did they realize how many real difficulties and perils still awaited them.
In the morning Dave insisted upon talking the matter over with Sam Barringford. They found the old hunter ready enough to listen to what they had to say.
"I'm with ye!" he exclaimed, after they had finished. "It ain't no half bad plan nuther. I know Sir William Johnson like a book—fact is, I know him a heap sight better nor any book. As ye say, he's whole-souled and chock full of common sense. The Injuns love him as they love few white men—an' all because he's treated 'em fa'r and squar'. Why he's done more fer the English government nor any dozen Indian Commissioners put together. He knows jest how to handle 'em, an' he makes friends o' foes almost afore ye can turn a hand. Yes, let us go to him by all means and I'll warrant when ye tell him the whole story he'll set some Injuns out to find little Nell an' them Rose twins."
That afternoon the subject was brought to the attention of the whole family. Mrs. Morris did not know whether to be glad or sorry, but in the end she told the boys to go, but be careful and not run into unnecessary danger, and in private she asked Barringford to watch over them carefully.
"I'll do my level best, ma'am," said the frontiersman. "And ef I can make it, they'll come back to ye unharmed. But they're putty hot-like when they strike a trail as suits 'em, ye know thet as well as I."
Preparations were at once made for their departure. Both Dave and Henry were fitted out with new hunting suits of the regular trapper pattern and each took along the best gun he could obtain. Sam Barringford had bought another rifle, which he christened Old Trusty No. 2. They went on foot, not knowing if their progress with the whites and Indians would admit of riding on horseback.
In the meantime it was decided that James Morris should remain at the cabin, to finish the building and do the planting, thus giving his brother ample time to regain his health and strength, and also making it easier for Rodney, who during the past few weeks had been working harder than was good for his constitution.
"Good-bye, my son," said James Morris, when the trio was ready to start. "Be careful, but do not forget that we look to you to bring little Nell back, if such a thing is possible;" and then Mrs. Morris kissed the boys; and the long journey into what had been the Indian country was begun.
Dave felt somewhat sober so long as they were in sight of the newly built cabin, but when the last rise of ground was passed, and they had waved a parting farewell, to which Mrs. Morris had answered by a wave of her apron, his spirits returned, and soon he, Henry, and Barringford were chatting as though nothing out of the ordinary was occurring, yet down in his heart, each felt that this search for little Nell was going to prove a serious and, most likely, a dangerous undertaking.
"Where is Sir William Johnson now?" asked Dave, presently, after several miles of the trail through the forest had been covered.
"Somewhere near Fort Johnson," answered Barringford. "He's out to get the Six Nations to join General Prideaux's army either at Fort Stanwix or at Oswego—if Prideaux can get that far. Johnson is the very best man they could send to the Indians."
"Were you ever out with him?" asked Henry.
"Many a time, lad. He's a great hunter, too, let me tell you—can hit the bull's-eye at a hundred paces without half trying. And when it comes to dancing an Indian war dance he can do that, too."
"And yet he's an Irish nobleman!"
"Yes, I allow as how he's an odd mixture of a man. But that mixture makes him just the right kind for the redskins. He understands 'em—top, bottom and sides, as the saying goes. He appeals to their brains as well as their instincts—and when he once makes friends of 'em they are willing to lay down their lives for him. In 1756 he was appointed sole superintendent of the Six Nations Indians, and he made a perilous trip all the way to Onondaga, their capital, and staid with 'em two weeks, and got 'em to swear that they would remain neutral. That was a big feather in his cap. Then the next year he joined Webb at Fort Edward with some of his Indians, but he was too late to do anything, although I've heard he was more than willing to fight. He was also on hand to fight Montcalm when Abercrombie attacked Ticonderoga, but his three hundred Indians didn't see the use of being slaughtered in the open at mid-day and they refused to fight, although they told Johnson they would take part in the battle in their own way."
"It's queer the English soldiers can't fight as we do," said Henry. "I really can't understand it. They get out in the open and the Indian gets behind a tree, and who has the best of it? Certainly not the man in the open."
"I think the English soldiers have learned a lesson or two," said Dave. "I don't believe you'll find General Prideaux marching on Fort Niagara in the broad sunlight."
They were trailing through a dense forest, with trees on every side, lifting their heads a hundred feet and more to the sky. Gigantic roots lay sprawling on every side and they had to pick their way with care, for fear of pitching headlong or spraining an ankle. It was clear and moderately warm, and would have been warmer had the sunlight reached them.
"Years ago this was a great ground fer b'ar," said Barringford, as they rested for their noonday lunch, eating some things they had brought along from the cabin. "There war a cave 'bout two miles from here whar the b'ar ust to gather to the number of fifteen or twenty. But the cave was cleaned out so many times ain't likely to be any b'ar left."
"Shall we go near the cave?" questioned Dave. "I'd like to have a look at the spot."
"Yes, we'll go putty clost, lad. But you don't want to waste no time on game jest now, do ye?"
"Not unless it came very easy. If we got a bear it would give us some fine meat to take along, and we could sell the skin at Cherry Run."
"Ain't no b'ar there, I'm putty sure on it. But we can stop an' see—jest out o' curiosity sake."
They did not rest long, for they were anxious to join General Johnson at as early a date as possible, and knew that it would take them at least two weeks to make the trip. They were on rising ground, but soon they struck a downward path, filled with rough rocks and loose stones, where the footing was far from certain.
"The cave is over yonder," said Barringford, pointing with his hand. "The opening to it is on the other side. Come, I'll show ye the way. And have your guns ready—in case a b'ar should turn up."
After this no more was said, and they went forward, side by side—so that no one might hinder the aim of a companion. There was a slight undergrowth between the rocks but for the most part only tall trees, bare for a distance of thirty feet upward, marked the locality.
Suddenly Barringford put up his hand, to warn his companions. All came to a halt and listened, at the same time straining their eyes to see what might be ahead. They heard a low thump, followed by another, and then all became as silent as before.
"What was it?" at last whispered Dave.
"Some wild animal," returned Barringford, in an equally low tone. "Don't reckon as how it was a b'ar though."
They waited a moment longer, and then the old hunter again led the advance. There were several large rocks to cross and then they rounded one end of the cave, which, on top, was shaped very much like a huge rocky egg.
"A deer!" ejaculated Henry. "Look out!"
All looked and saw a magnificent deer standing close to the mouth of the cave, gazing cautiously forward. Suddenly a fox leaped out of the opening and the deer started back in alarm.
Bang! It was the report of Barringford's rifle and the deer leaped high in the air, to fall dead immediately afterward.
"A good shot—" began Henry, when a noise behind him caused him to swing around swiftly. What he saw filled him with horror. A huge buck was glaring at him from the opposite end of the rocky eminence. In a second more the buck charged the crowd, rushing forward with lowered antlers and with the swiftness of the wind.