24
“I don’t know what arrangements father made,” replied Rodney, uneasy in mind because of what MacGregor had told him. He knew his father was not considered a good business man, but always believed the other man as honest as himself. “Anyhow I’m much obliged to you, Angus, for the warning. Come over and see me, will you?”
“Thank ye, I’ll do that,” was the reply, and the boys parted friends.
While working in the field that afternoon, Rodney was so absorbed in assisting and giving Thello directions about the work they were doing, that he did not notice the approach of a tall man on horseback until a pleasant voice greeted him: “Is this David Allison’s son?”
“Yes, sir,” Rodney replied, recognizing Mr. Jefferson of Monticello.
“I overheard some of your directions about the work, and concluded you have a good understanding of it.”
The boy flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, sir. Thello thinks I’ve a lot to learn.”
“’Deed no, Marse Rodney. Yo’ certain sho––”
“Modesty is a good quality, my boy. I had a long talk with your father the other day. He is anxious for you to have all possible advantages. Now I have books in my library which I’m sure would afford you both interest and profit. If you will come to Monticello soon we’ll select some,” saying which he rode away.
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“’Scuse me, Marse Rodney, but dey’ll sho’ think yo’s not one ob de quality ef yo’ talks dat ar way ’bout what ol’ Thello thinks.”
Rodney made no reply. He stood looking after the man on horseback who had spoken so kindly and who had such pleasant eyes, clear hazel in colour, and which so invited one’s confidence.
David Allison was an enthusiastic admirer of Thomas Jefferson, and, on coming to Charlottesville, had at his first opportunity called on him with a letter of introduction. At times he would speak so enthusiastically that Rodney would notice a smile on his mother’s face as she said: “You should remember, David, that you often have too much confidence in men. There are those who say that he is striving to be popular and to win success, and, to please the rabble, would destroy laws and customs under which the Old Dominion has flourished.”
“Aye, lass, that’s true o’ the part but not of all. Look ye at the lack o’ schools. Teaching is honourable work in the old country and in New England. What is it here, an’ what chance have the childer to ither teaching than I’m able to gie them? Thomas Jefferson is an inspiring leader under God’s direction I do believe. He’s surely a fine man to meet an’ seems disposed to help our Rodney.”26
CHAPTER IVRODNEY’S VISIT TO MONTICELLO
One day there came to David Allison’s house a stalwart young man clad in the typical garb of the hunter, fringed deerskin hunting shirt belted at the waist, and breeches and moccasins of the same material.
This was no less a person than George Rogers Clark, who was to bear such a conspicuous part in the Revolution, as a daring leader of the forces which saved the great territory north of the Ohio River to the United States. His little brother, then but two years old, was, thirty-six years later, with Captain Lewis, to conduct the Lewis and Clark expedition from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean and thus enable our government to secure the territory of the great Northwest.
“Cap’n George,” as he was familiarly called, was now planning to establish a settlement near the Ohio River, and had called to interest David Allison in the project.
Rodney listened with open-eyed attention to Clark’s27glowing accounts of fertile lands apparently only waiting for a little enterprise to be developed into a perfect paradise.
The boy saw that his father was much interested, but hesitated, saying that circumstances were such that he must remain where he was for a few years. Rodney thought he knew the reason but said nothing.
“Perhaps you may yet see your way clear, Mr. Allison,” said Clark on leaving. “I expect to pass this way again in a few days, and will call to see if you haven’t changed your mind.”
After the caller was gone Rodney said: “Father, I’ll go to Monticello, to-morrow if I may. You know Mr. Jefferson invited me.”
“Glad to have you, my boy.”
The morning gave promise of a beautiful day. By the time Rodney came to the hill, up which the road led to Mr. Jefferson’s residence, the sun shone hotly and the dust lay thick, but the boy’s thoughts were on the visit, and his heart beat quickly.
The country round about is hilly, but “Little Mountain,” as the hill was called before Jefferson gave it the Italian name, Monticello, was queen of them all, though Carter’s Mountain, a short distance west, is somewhat larger.
Rodney always remembered that morning in May, when Nat “single-footed” the hill without stopping. No knight ever stormed a castle, no pilgrim ever approached a shrine with greater earnestness. So eager was he that he did not fully appreciate the glorious28beauties of the landscape. The Rivanna River looked like a ribbon of silvery satin laid on green velvet, all in striking contrast with the red soil of the tilled fields. The Blue Ridge mountains, nearly fifty miles distant, were, in the clear air, a massive and misty blue background for the picturesque Ragged Mountains near at hand.
There was little about such small portion of the house as was then built to indicate to the boy what its future charms would be. Later, when Mr. Jefferson talked with him, and explained the plans he had made, Rodney understood and admired what, after thirty years in building, thousands have since admired, the beautiful “Monticello.”
Mr. Jefferson was found in his garden, working among his early vegetables. His face was red from sunburn and he was dressed in a blue coat, gray waistcoat and green knee breeches. He recognized the lad at once, and greeted him pleasantly. He had been measuring the growth of various plants, during stated periods, and with different fertilizers, and was recording these facts in his neat handwriting, such as four years later was to appear on the famous Declaration of Independence.
“That’s a fine colt you have there,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, as he noted the horse Rodney had ridden, and which was being held by a small black boy.
“Nat is a fine animal, sir.”
“And well groomed.”
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“I care for him myself. He belongs to me, for father gave him to me when he was a little fellow. He has learned several tricks. Nat, do you want to go home?”
Nat pawed the ground twice and whinnied vigorously.
“That’s his way of saying yes, isn’t it, Nat, boy?”
The colt’s answer was to thrust his velvety muzzle caressingly against the lad’s cheek, blinking his large purplish eyes the while.
He was truly a fine animal with breeding in every line, dark bay in colour, with a black stripe running from mane to tail.
Seeing an opportunity, Rodney said: “Mr. Jefferson, may I ask your advice?”
“Certainly you may.”
“I––I’m afraid father made a mistake when he bought our place of old––er Mr. Denham. I’ve been told two other men bought it and made a failure, having a mortgage on it. I don’t know whether father gave Denham a mortgage, but I do know that, while he wants to go out on the Ohio and take up his soldier’s claim to land, he doesn’t think it wise to leave home, I suppose on account of debts. I feel sure he ought to go. I want to go with him, but if I can do more by staying at home I ought to. Don’t you think he should go?”
“Was the boy seeking a loan?” thought Jefferson, but he said: “I would not like to advise. Your father doubtless knows better than we what is best. There30is great eagerness on the part of many people to seek new homes in the great West, but many who go over the mountains will return poorer than they went, and many others will never return at all. That part of the country has a glorious future, and there’s much excitement over the prospects. The pioneer spirit is resistless, but, were I your father, I should not wish to take my family. The Indians are troublesome and growing more restless.”
“I would be willing to stay at home if I could earn some money to help along.”
“You ought to be at your studies.”
“I suppose so. I’ve had a pretty good training in the three Rs and am half way through Cæsar. I can study a little in the evenings.”
The boy noticed that the look the man gave him was one of warm good will.
“Indeed, you certainly haven’t been idle. Don’t give up. Labour and learn, that must every boy or man do to succeed, and if he learns thoroughly he’ll see that good character is also essential to the success which endures. I rise at daylight, winter and summer. Yes, my boy, there is something I can get for you to do, though the recompense will not be large. I’m having some land surveyed and you could serve as an assistant and acquire some practical knowledge besides; that is, if your father will permit it.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m sure he’ll be proud to have me in your service.”
“We’ll now go to the library and see what we can31find, for I’m of the opinion that what the Reverend Mr. Stith said about King James won’t apply to you.”
“What was that, sir?”
“In his History of Virginia he writes that King James’ instructor had given him ‘Greek and Latin in great waste and profusion, but it was not in his power to give him good sense.’ By that don’t think that Greek and Latin are not both excellent. I would advise every boy to study them if possible.”
They were walking toward the house when they met Mrs. Jefferson. Rodney was introduced, and was received most graciously. He flushed with pleasure, and thought how gratified his father would be at the kind manner with which he was received.
“What book would you especially like, Rodney?”
“May I have ‘Josephus?’ I began that down at the old home but father loaned it, and the borrower never brought it back.”
“Which assures me I’m perfectly safe in loaning to you. Yes, here’s ‘Josephus.’ It’s well to know history, especially these days when very important history is in the making.”
When Rodney mounted his horse, Mr. Jefferson stood stroking the animal’s nose, for he ever admired a fine horse, and he said: “If worse comes to worst this colt would help pay off the mortgage, and, should you decide to sell him, I would like to have a chance to buy him;” then, seeing that the lad’s face had become32very serious, he quickly added: “but there won’t be any need of that yet awhile. By the way, why did you give him the name, ‘Nat?’”
“I named him after Nathaniel Bacon. Father says he’d rather have had Bacon’s fate and reputation than Lord Berkeley’s.”
“Berkeley didn’t believe in encouraging boys in Virginia to read books, so he and I wouldn’t have agreed,” and as the boy rode away he said to himself, “and the Berkeleys in this generation think the good English blood of these colonies can be ruled like serfs!”
As for Rodney, the brightness somehow seemed to have departed from the bright day which had held such promise. His mind had been full of the importance and pleasure of his visit. Now, he could only think, “Must I sell Nat?” It had never occurred to him until suggested by Mr. Jefferson. Was it his duty to part with the colt? Well, if necessary he would do it, “But first I’ll work my fingers off, Nat,” and he patted the glossy, arching neck while Nat champed impatiently at the bit.
By the time they reached the cabin, the boy had recovered much of his cheerfulness, and entertained his father with a glowing account of his visit.
David Allison was busily engaged in cleaning the old rifle he had carried through the French and Indian war. It was apparent that he had not put away altogether his desire to join Clark’s company.
When Rodney told of Mr. Jefferson’s offer to give33him work, his father, turning to his wife, said, “Harriet, I think I should go.”
For some minutes nothing was said. Rodney noted the shadow on his mother’s face. Finally she replied, “It does seem that the hand of Providence is shaping matters,” and both father and son knew that the struggle was past; she would spare no effort to assist in her husband’s departure.
The thought of what the wives and mothers endured, in the work of winning this mighty land, ought to bring the blush of shame to the face of every son of woman who does aught to sully its fair fame!
One week later David Allison left for the land “over the mountains,” and disappeared into the great forest, which swallowed him as a huge cave the one who explores it. Both wife and son noticed that he did not seem bent and old as he had of late. He was the brave soldier going forth to battle again.
Before he left he arranged, if all went well and another party the following year should leave for the West to join them, that Rodney might go with them.
The next day the boy began his work at Monticello, but saw little of his employer, who was a very busy man. Though but twenty-nine years old, Jefferson was a leader in the colonial legislature, the House of Burgesses. He had been first among those who pledged themselves not to buy imports from England, he favoured better schools, and was known to admire34the methods of government in New England, especially the town meetings.
These were not held in Virginia. There, the control of parish affairs was kept in the hands of a few leading families, and the large estates were handed down to the eldest son, and so kept entire; whereas, in New England property was divided among the children. This, Jefferson was trying to have changed, and consequently incurred the ill will of those who preferred the existing methods and laws.
The summer passed quickly with Rodney. The crops were scanty and his earnings meagre but enough to warrant his hope that it would be possible for him to join his father the following spring.
Angus was a frequent visitor at the Allison home. He was generous, impulsive and rough, and had not many home advantages, but his friendship for Rodney never wavered. Like all the boys, he disliked Denham, who was a fat little man with a greasy smile and eyes like a pig’s. He was said to be a miser, and a cheat, and a coward, which, in the eyes of the boys, was an unforgivable weakness.
One night Rodney and Angus had been over to a quilting party at the Dawsons’, or rather to the frolic which followed the quilting. There had been dancing to such music as the squeaky fiddle of Ander Byram could afford, also refreshments, in which a big ham and a roast of venison were two prominent features. The boys left early, Rodney because he had to rise by five o’clock the next morning, and Angus because he35had quarrelled with Betty Saunders. They came out into the crisp December air singing, “Polly put the kettle on, we’ll all take tea.”
Rodney, being in a confidential mood, told his companion of his plans for joining his father in the spring, and then said: “Angus, I should feel a lot better about leaving mother if I knew there was some one like you to help her out of any trouble that might come up. She might be sick, you know, and old Denham might try to cheat her in some way.”
“I’ll shake hands on that, Rod. Don’t you worry. Jimminy Jewsharp! but I wish I was goin’ too.”
36CHAPTER VA PLUNGE INTO THE FOREST
March fifteenth, 1773, Rodney Allison set out with a party of five men who were leaving to join Clark’s party on the Ohio.
The task would be somewhat like finding the needle in the haystack, perhaps, but all were confident and went away in high spirits.
Mrs. Allison smiled bravely and Naomi called after him, “You bring back a little bear for me to play with,” whereat they all laughed, but the laughter was very near tears. Indeed Mam threw her apron over her head and fled to the cook-house.
“You don’t want ter look so blue, Rod,” cried Angus, coming into the yard. “I only wish I was goin’ along. Alec Stephens’ father says thar’s prairies out thar where buffalo hev wallered great traces through the grass, thet’s higher’n yer head, an’ the deer an’ elk are thicker’n skeeters in the swamp. He ’lows as how them as gits the land will sure beat the tide-water gentry on ther home stretch.”
Thus encouraged the boy turned his face westward.37There were two pack horses in the party and they were heavily laden. The journey to the river was without special incident. Many were going over the trail, and scarcely a day passed that they did not fall in with others. On arrival at the river the horses were left and the goods were loaded into canoes.
It was April and the great stream was filled to its banks. At the start Rodney felt as though he were paddling their frail craft out to sea toward an unknown shore. There was something sullen and irresistible in the might of that dark, swollen river, and the craft was swept along like a twig on the great waters.
The red buds were showing on the trees, a sign of hope, thought the boy. On his calling attention to them one of the men remarked: “They ain’t the only red thing that’s out. We want to be on the lookout, fer the word from the posts is thet the redskins are gittin’ sassy.”
The third day Dominick Ferguson was Rodney’s partner in the canoe. He was a vigilant and powerful man, speaking a rich brogue, and when he laughed all who heard him laughed with him. He had lived in this country for twenty years, coming here as a soldier, and had passed much of that time on the frontier. It appeared that he was a man of some education as well as valuable experience.
“I’m of the opeenion,” he remarked, “that there’ll be doin’s out i’ this country ere long. Virginny’ll not yield her claims to the country wi’out speerin’ the why,38an’ Pennsylvania Dutchmen will cling to what they ha’ like dogs to a root. I’ve noticed aboot half the parties we’ve met are from that colony.”
“Do you think there will be fighting?”
“Will there be fightin’ at Donnybrook fair, do ye ask? Sure there will be fightin’, an’ while the two white clans are tryin’ to eat each the ither, the red devils will be lookin’ for a mouthful, I’m thinkin’.”
“You talk as though ’twould have been better for us never to have left Virginia.”
“I’m not sure but ’twould ha’ been, but nothin’ venture nothin’ have is a sayin’ as true now as iver. You don’t want to turn back?”
“I surely do not.”
“That’s the Scotch in ye; an’ ’twould ha’ been the like if ’twere Irish. Now I ha’ the advantage o’ gittin’ it both sides. Me mother’s eyes were as blue as any colleen’s in all Leinster, while the father o’ me was from Argyll, which is sayin’ muckle. The one was papist an’ the father a Presbyterian. When they tell ye oil an’ water’ll not mix, look at me.”
“I’ve heard they don’t ask a man about his religion out in this country.”
“Right, lad, but a mon ha’ need o’ all his religion, I’m thinkin’.”
“Well, as for me, mother is of the established church an’ father is a Dissenter.”
“Either’ll do an’ the both ought. It’ll be no fault of our forebears if we ha’ not religion in plenty, an’ some o’ the gude as should gang wi’ it.”
39
Rodney thought of the morning prayers at home, his father kneeling by the old splint-bottomed chair. Tears came to his eyes, he knew not why, for was he not soon to see his father and were they not to prosper and go back in the fall for his mother and sister? Yet he looked out on the swirling water as through a mist.
“One of the men said you had seen long service as a soldier in the king’s army, Mr. Ferguson.”
“That’s how I came to this country, an’ when I laid by me red coat I thought this a bonny place to bide in. I got me a good team an’ was makin’ a tidy bit cartin’ supplies ower the mountains when the war broke oot. I drove me team with Braddock’s army an’ afterward joined the militia.”
“Father was a soldier under Braddock. I’ve heard him tell how brave some of the teamsters were in the midst of the panic and how cowardly were some of the others.”
“Same old story; all kinds o’ folks to make a world. I mind well the grit o’ one o’ them, Daniel Morgan was his name. We drove our teams ower Braddock’s grave in the road so’s to hide it from the redskins. Morgan’s a mon as belongs at the head o’ the column. He fears naught on the face o’ the earth, an’ such men lead oot in this country where courage an’ skill at war are more account than any ither place i’ all the world. Morgan an’ I were teaming supplies to Fort Chiswell i’ the summer of 1756. One o’ the British officers got mad at him an’ struck him wi’ the40flat o’ his sword when Morgan he oop-ended the officer’s person wi’ a smart crack o’ his feest. That was fat i’ the fire you may be sure. Insubordination don’t go i’ the army an’ they tied Morgan to his cart wheel an’ laid five hundred lashes on his bare back. ’Twas a wicked sight, the flesh o’ him hung i’ strips, an’ he as cool as a cowcumber an’ countin’ every stroke. He always declared they missed a stroke. A braw lad be that same Dan Morgan.”
“I should have thought it would have killed him.”
“Keel him! Lad, ye don’t know the stuff o’ which such men are made. Why, after he’d gone into the service he was ambushed by the savages an’ was shot i’ the neck, the bullet comin’ oot the mouth an’ takin’ the teeth o’ one side along wi’ it.”
“What became of him?”
“He settled doon i’ Winchester, which was then weel nigh the jumpin’ off place, licked every mon in town as wanted a fight, an’ then married a fine woman an’ bided there as respectable as ye please. I sure thought, tho’, he would go to the dogs. I’m o’ the opeenion that wife will be the makin’ o’ him. What the boats ahead doin’, lad?”
“They are landing at the mouth of the little creek, there.”
“I have it; ’tis nigh sundown an’ I reckon they hope to shoot something fer supper,” saying which he began to sing in a rollicking voice the following, which may be presumed to be of his own composition:
41
“Swate Widdy Hogan’s married rich FlannaganTo provide for Hogan’s heirs;All tin twins o’ thim great at shenannegan,An all o’ thim born i’ pairs.“Pat an’ Terry, Tom an’ Tim,Peter, Mary Ann,Dinnis, Nora, Shaughn an’ Fin,Wid Kathleen an’ Dan,”
“Never mind the rest o’ the family, Ferguson, come ashore an’ help with the work.”
“Help wi’ the work, is it, Joseph, me boy? Joseph wore a coat o’ many colours, ye know, but he was the same old Joe all the time. You’ll niver improve, I’m thinkin’.”
Rodney was left to build a fire and told to keep his eye “peeled,” for a prowling savage might happen along any minute.
When he had a good blaze started, he sat down to wait. After a few minutes, hearing nothing, he decided to take his rifle and go up the creek a short distance in the hope of seeing game.
That those returning and finding him gone need not be alarmed, he cut a piece of bark from a young tree and with the point of his knife wrote on the inside: “Up creek, back soon.”
The boy had not gone far when he came upon a path made by animals passing to and from the creek. He noticed no fresh tracks but concluded this as good a place as any where one might lie in wait for a sight of game.
42
He selected the trunk of a fallen tree which commanded a view of the path and where he would be screened from the observation of any animal passing.
It was near sunset and the rosy light shone through thin places in the foliage overhead. Not a sound could be heard save the murmur of the water in the creek. Rodney had paddled all day and was tired. He began to feel drowsy. That would not do and he shook his head vigorously, resolving to keep awake. He was fond of hunting and thought it would be very gratifying if he might return to the fire with something to show for his efforts.
Back in the woods a fine buck came walking along the narrow path. When fully six rods from the creek he suddenly stopped, and lifting his delicate muzzle snuffed the air inquiringly. The next instant his tail was lifted, showing the white of the under side, the “white flag,” as the hunters term it, and with a bound he was off in the forest.
A few minutes later a dark form cautiously came along, careful not to break a twig beneath his moccasined feet. He was naked except for a breech-clout. The tuft of feathers fastened to his “top-knot” and the paint on his face indicated that he was on the warpath.
Turning, the Indian followed the narrow trail in the direction of the creek for a short distance and then, leaving the path, made a detour on the side where Rodney had taken his station.
The boy slept! The sun had gone down and only43twilight remained. He dreamed that a huge bear appeared on the path, its shambling feet softly treading. He tried to raise his rifle but his arms were powerless, seemed paralyzed! The bear came on, now faster. Stopping before him it rose on its hind legs and hugged him with its fore paws, and he struggled to scream but could not utter a sound. He opened his eyes. A brawny hand was over his mouth, a powerful arm about his arms pinioned them to his side. The hand was red, and on the wrist was a copper bracelet!
A guttural voice spoke low but harshly in his ear: “Um no speak. Die!”
Then the boy felt his arms being bound with leather thongs and he looked into the face of the savage, saw the hideous paint on it, the bright, beady eyes, the whites of which looked yellow; noted the high cheekbones, the nose like an eagle’s beak, the cruel mouth like a thin slit in the face, and fear was upon him, such, as he never had known.
“Halloo.”
Surely that was Ferguson’s voice, and must be calling him.
“Halloo!”
The last call was from the other side and it was not Ferguson’s voice.
The Indian lifted his tomahawk and the lad expected it to be buried in his head. Instead came the low-spoken word: “March!”
Guided by the savage from behind and stepping cautiously, as he believed should he break a twig or44make other noise he would be struck down on the instant, Rodney went on into the forest.
They had thus advanced less than twenty rods when, through the trees and standing back to them, they saw a man. He appeared unconscious of their presence. Yes, that must be Ferguson! The thought flashed through the boy’s mind and, unconscious of his own safety, his lips opened to cry the alarm, which would have sounded his own death knell, when he saw a tomahawk hurtle through the air and bury itself in the man’s brain. He fell to his knees without a moan. The Indian, leaping to his side, had scalped him before Rodney realized what had happened. Then, seizing the lad by the shoulder, he ordered him to “Run.”
When they stopped the boy was breathless, but the savage was as cool and snakelike in his movements as at the first. Soon they were joined by other Indians. The boy was bound to a tree and they left him.
“They’ve gone to ambush our party,” thought the boy. What would become of him should the savages be driven off and he left tied to a tree in that wilderness?
A squirrel running behind him startled him so the perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that it would be better to starve to death tied to a tree than to be burned to death tied to a stake.
He tugged at his bonds until the blood started on his wrists. A rattling fire of musketry was heard in the direction of the river. After a lull there were45more shots followed by yells, which indicated that the savages had been successful in driving off the whites.
All was still for many minutes. Then he felt, rather than saw, that he was not alone. A heavy hand was laid on his wrists, untying the thongs, and his captor’s voice again ordered him to “March.”
The moon had risen and its light filtered through the tree-tops. Stumbling forward, and guided as before, he went on till they came up with the main party of Indians.
He looked to see if there were other scalps, shuddering as he did so; but, save that one at the belt of his captor, he saw none which had been freshly taken. He therefore concluded the others of his party had escaped in the boats, leaving him to his fate. There were other scalps, but they were not from white people. Evidently the Indians had been South and had battled with their hereditary enemies, the Cherokees.
For several miles the Indians continued their march. Rodney was faint from hunger and thirst when finally they camped for the night. Dried venison was eaten, the boy receiving his share with the others, also an opportunity to drink his fill at a cool spring. He then was stretched upon the ground and each wrist and ankle was tied to a separate sapling. The red men prepared for sleep and no one was assigned to guard. Little sleep came to him. Thoughts of home, of his father in the great wilderness, flitted through his mind all night and he rose unrefreshed and sore in every muscle.
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The next day they continued their journey, from sunrise to sunset, stopping at noon for a hasty lunch. The second night he was treated as on the first, but slept soundly because of sheer exhaustion. The following day the party killed a deer. The Indians, as was their custom, gorged themselves on the meat, eating it half raw. They cut up some of the best of it to carry along with them.
That night, their heavy eating made the savages sleep soundly. Rodney, bound as on the previous nights, lay looking up through the trees at the moon, occasional glimpses of which it was possible to get through the branches.
For a time his thoughts were far away from his surroundings. Suddenly he became conscious of something cold and metallic under his right hand.
It was a knife!
Evidently one of the Indians, when cutting up the meat, had accidentally dropped it.
Somewhat awkwardly, for his hand was tightly bound, he managed to clutch the blade in such a manner that after persistent effort he succeeded in cutting his bonds.
His joy at the sense of freedom almost made him faint when he found himself clear. Quietly and slowly, it seemed as if the beating of his heart must waken the savages, he got possession of one of the rifles. He knew that a snapping twig would probably mean his destruction. He had heard of captives, who, in such straits as his, had slain their captors while they slept.47The thought was revolting to him. Cautiously creeping away into the outer darkness, it seemed hours before he dared press forward without fear of making a noise.
48CHAPTER VIA WILD FLIGHT
Many a time in his wild flight that memorable night the boy thought what good fortune it was that the sky was clear and the moon shining. By its light he was able to make good progress and avoid walking in a circle, as otherwise he doubtless would have done.
He directed his course toward the east, with the moon slightly on his right. Many a fall he had over slippery, moss-grown logs, and his face was bleeding from scratches received while rushing through the bushes. He could not conceal his trail, hoping to do that by daylight. During the night he must make every effort to travel as fast and as far as possible.
His nerves were at the utmost tension. He realized that any moment he might hear a yell or see some shadowy form glide alongside. The instant an Indian awoke and discovered his escape the chase would begin.
The picture of the poor fellow murdered back at the creek was before his eyes and the horror of it spurred him to his utmost. Just at dawn he arrived at a small49stream so nearly exhausted that he stumbled and fell while crossing it, yet he dared not stop to rest. He must first conceal his trail, which up to this place the savages could easily follow.
After crossing he walked a short distance alongside on the bank down stream, leaving plain imprints of his feet in the soft soil. Then he again entered the water and turned up stream.
For nearly an hour he forced himself onward, stumbling over the slippery rocks and not once leaving the water. Finally he came to a bare ledge jutting into the brook. He stepped from the water to this, careful to leave no imprints of his feet. At the farther end was a fallen tree. Walking along the trunk of this as far as he could, he stooped to the ground and rejoiced to note that it was firm, so that his moccasins left no impress on it. One who has never tried the experiment cannot realize the care necessary in walking through the woods not to displace a leaf or break a twig, which would attract the attention of a wary savage.
Rodney succeeded so well that, after he had gone nearly half a mile and came to a dense clump of underbrush, he decided it would be safe to hide there and sleep. He believed the Indians would think he had fled in the direction of the Ohio River, and, seeing his footprints on the bank, would follow down stream. He could not remember when he had been so tired and soon was in a sound slumber, not waking till nearly noon. He was very hungry but found a spring of50sweet water and some checkerberry leaves, and, thus refreshed, continued his flight.
He did not rest again till nightfall. He had seen no game save squirrels and, having but one load for his rifle, hesitated to waste that on small game. From the first he had thought his only chance of escape would be to follow some stream flowing in the direction of the Ohio. At dusk he came to one and concluded it now safe to follow it, but soon he must eat, for he was very weak.
Selecting a convenient place he sat down to wait for a chance glimpse of game. Possibly a deer might come that way to drink, and a deer would be worth his one bullet. Rodney by this time concluded his pursuers had lost his trail and he felt as though he were alone in the great forest. His eyelids were heavy, but, recalling what happened to him through falling asleep three days before, he rose to his feet the better to keep awake. As he did so he was startled by a shot, fired a little way down the stream.
The boy’s eyelids were no longer heavy. He experienced something like a chill and he asked himself, “What if I had seen game and fired?” After waiting a few moments, it occurred to him that there was a possibility that the shot had been fired by white men. Of course it was improbable, but he must investigate. If they were Indians, they would gorge themselves with the meat and sleep soundly so that he ought to have no trouble in getting past them. Moreover, unless many were in the party, they would leave a portion of the51carcass if it were a deer they had shot. Why might he not secure that? He was hungry enough to eat the flesh raw.
Cautiously approaching he finally saw the gleam of firelight among the trees and then shadows of men, and his heart sank. They were Indians! Two came up to the fire from the stream and the boy noted the direction whence they came. After the moon appeared he entered the brook to descend it and look about for signs of the place where the game was killed. At last he found it, and the carcass of a deer from which the hind quarters had been cut. Quick work with his knife secured him a goodly portion of what was left and with this he hurried on down the brook, on the slippery bed of which he kept his footing with difficulty. His hunger urged him so that after going about a mile he decided he was far enough away to risk a fire.
He gathered a lot of dried twigs and rubbed them between his palms, thus making a small powdery mass into which, after mixing with it a few grains of powder from the priming, he struck sparks from the flint and steel of his rifle. The smell of the cooking meat made him ravenous and, like an Indian, he ate it half raw. He then lost no time in extinguishing his fire and renewing his journey.
The good food and the reflection that so far he had outwitted the savages, put him in a very happy frame of mind. He was congratulating himself on his good luck when he heard a dry twig snap in the dense52growth beside the brook. It was a moment of horror for the lad and he instantly crouched in the shadow of the bushes and cocked his rifle. The noise continued, a shuffling sound, and then his straining ears detected the snuffing of some animal. One may imagine his relief.
The animal soon emerged from the bushes, a black, shaggy bulk with muzzle uplifted, following the scent of the meat which Rodney carried.
Now, being followed by a hungry bear under such conditions would not be agreeable to most people, but the boy’s courage was good and his relief at finding his pursuer not an Indian was so great that he felt like laughing; instead he hastened his pace.
The chase continued, mile after mile, though to the tired lad stumbling over the slippery stones it seemed league upon league. Occasionally he stepped in a hole to his waist, but he was too excited to heed the drenching or the fatigue.
An hour passed, and bruin yet followed. “Reckon he’s hungry as I am,” Rodney remarked to himself. Then came the thought, why not divide with the bear? Suiting action to word the lad quickly cut his meat in two pieces, flinging one behind. With a growl the brute savagely seized it and the boy hurried on. The respite was brief, however, for not many minutes passed before he heard his pursuer, appetite whetted by what he had eaten, following the trail.
Rodney was now more exasperated than frightened. The dangers through which he had passed seemed to53embolden him, though he knew his plight would indeed be unpleasant should he attempt to shoot bruin and by some cause miss fire. The muskets sold to the Indians were usually of the cheapest quality, and the one he carried certainly appeared to be of that variety. He looked behind. The bear was gaining. Seeing this, the lad resolved on extreme measures. First, he would try the effect of a rock and he picked one up, about as large as his two fists.
Rodney had thrown many stones in his life and most of them had been well aimed. This was no exception and landed fairly on bruin’s snout. The animal stood on the bank not twenty feet distant and he turned a somersault, in his pain and rage, landing in the water with a loud splash.
Young Allison did not stop to laugh, as he felt like doing, but put as much distance between himself and his pursuer as possible. After a time, hearing nothing of bruin, he concluded the old fellow had given up the chase and lay somewhere curled up and nursing his sore snout. Now that the excitement was past the boy began to be sensible of his fatigue. Nature was asserting herself and he must eat and sleep.
Just at dawn he noted a clear space among large trees on a knoll a little way from the brook, which now had grown to a considerable creek. He reconnoitred and, finding no trace of an enemy, built a fire. While broiling a piece of the venison it occurred to him that he should husband what was left of the meat as it might be a long time before he could find venison,54killed and dressed by Indians, awaiting him along the route. Accordingly, after eating a hearty breakfast, he cut crotched sticks and drove them into the ground on either side of the fire and placed green poles across, over the fire. By hanging the meat on these he planned to smoke and dry what remained, after cutting it into strips. Rodney seemed to forget about both Indians and the bear and was whistling softly as he worked when a noise behind him caused him to turn.
Not over fifteen feet away was the bear! He smelled the cooking meat and evidently was in an ugly mood. Scarcely thinking what he did, the boy, snatching a brand from the fire, threw it full in the face of the brute and sprang for his rifle. The firebrand only seemed to infuriate the animal and he charged. Hastily Rodney fired.
A growl of rage and pain followed the report, and through the clearing smoke the boy saw the bear biting at the wound in his side. Round and round bruin whirled until he caught a glimpse of his assailant, when he rushed forward. As in a haze the boy saw the huge bulk almost upon him, the little fiery eyes gleaming like coals of fire, the open jaws flecked with bloody froth. The boy clubbed his rifle with no thought of running. The bear rose on his hind legs. One blow from his powerful paw, and all would be over. Rodney struck, shattering the stock of the gun, and sprang aside. He now was helpless!
The bear, full of fight, struck, his claws ripping the boy’s sleeve. Crack! A well-aimed shot from behind55brought bruin down with scarcely a struggle and the huge bulk lay stretched at Rodney’s feet.
A child’s scream of delight followed the shot. A white boy of about ten years, accompanied by an Indian, came out of the thick woods, the little fellow crying, “He’s mine. I want him, Caughnega.”
To this pleading the Indian paid no heed. Confronting Rodney he demanded, with a sweep of his arm: “Pale face no hunt; Indian country.”
Rodney, by this time, was in a somewhat hysterical condition. The idea that he was there for the pleasure or profit of hunting bears struck him as so ludicrous that he laughed loudly, a performance that evidently puzzled the redskin not a little.
The little fellow here renewed his plea, saying: “I saw him first and I want him to play with; he’s mine,” and he stamped his foot like a petty tyrant and seized Rodney by the hand, saying, “You’ll play with Louis?”
“I’ll be very glad to do so,” Rodney replied, looking at the Indian rather than at the boy who tugged at his hand.
“No hunt, what for here?” the Indian asked and his voice was stern.
Rodney hesitated a moment. The red man’s beady eyes, noting this, glittered. “I’m lost,” Rodney finally said, adding, “I want to get back to the river.”
“Humph!” And, having thus expressed himself, Caughnega turned to the work of skinning and cutting up the bear, in which task Rodney endeavoured to56assist, his efforts, however, being received quite ungraciously.
When all was done, the meat was tied into two bundles, one of which the Indian ordered Rodney to take and walk ahead. Now, walking ahead of a hostile savage is not a pleasant arrangement, but the boy tried to comfort himself with the thought that, so long as the Indian might wish the bundle carried, he would not kill the carrier. Then the little fellow ran alongside and took the older lad’s hand, an act of confidence and friendship the latter never forgot.
They forded the creek and climbed the bank to a small plateau overlooking a meadow through which the creek wound its way. Here, on this high land, were clustered about twenty huts or wigwams, some covered with skins and others with bark. As no one expected them, their approach did not excite especial commotion, fortunately for Rodney, otherwise he might have been compelled to run a gauntlet.
Caughnega stopped in front of one of the wigwams and motioned Rodney to enter.
Louis protested, saying, “He is mine, I found him,” but to no avail. Disappointed, he ran away, crying bitterly, while the scowling savage flung his prisoner into the hut, and indicated by word and gesture that the lad was not to leave it on peril of his life. Then he stalked away, and Rodney was left to the bitterness of his reflections.