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“The Garden of Eden with a redskin for sarpint,” was the remark of weather-beaten Dick Saunders, when first he looked upon it.
“We’ll do him no ill an’ consider weel before taking his advice aboot forbidden fruit,” replied David Allison.
On the eastern side of the little prairie, near the forest, a stockade was built of big logs, sharpened at both ends and set close together in the ground, enclosing about an acre in the form of a rectangle, on one side of which, and forming part of the stockade, were several cabins.
The work of construction was arduous and occupied the greater part of the summer but when completed it afforded a wall of protection, and a place where, another year, such cattle as they might be able to drive over the mountains could be sheltered from Indians.
As yet no sign of the red men had been found. While this country was part of the neutral ground between the savages of the North and those of the South, a territory over which all hunted, yet through it warlike bands frequently passed on their expeditions, for there was a chronic state of hostility between these savages.
The new settlers planted a little corn, but for other food relied upon hunting. Late in the fall all but three, of whom David Allison was one, left for home, planning to return in the spring with their families. Clark had not remained with the settlers as he had other ventures. Mr. Allison sent a letter to his wife by the91only one of those returning, who lived in Charlottesville; but he, being taken sick on the way, did not reach home till the following spring, after Rodney had started to join his father.
The winter months passed slowly for David Allison. Most of his companions were uneducated men, accustomed, as he was not, to the rough life. They respected him and he did his share of the work uncomplainingly, though an older man than the others.
One bitter day an Indian called. As there had been no alarm, the entrance to the stockade had carelessly been left open and he readily gained admittance. It appeared he had been with a hunting party, but became separated from them and was nearly famished. He was given something to eat and was then told to go along about his business. In those days some Indians would hang around a settlement, living off the bounty of the inhabitants, and these men didn’t intend to encourage the habit. A storm threatened and the Indian was loath to leave. Mr. Allison took him to his cabin and kept him until after the storm was past.
This act did not please the others of the party and one of them remarked, “Ye’ll find that handlin’ lazy, sneakin’ redskins is different from teachin’ school boys.”
“I’m of the opinion there’s human nature i’ the whole o’ them,” was the quiet reply.
The three men got along without unpleasantness until spring. One day in March Peter Cogan went out92to hunt and did not return. Later he was found dead and scalped.
For the first time in his life the horror of Indian treachery in time of peace was forced upon Mr. Allison’s mind. He had fought them and knew of their cruelty in time of war, but he had never lived on the frontier and had supposed the stories of outrages somewhat exaggerated and due to ill treatment. His views had been similar to those held by the Quakers of Pennsylvania. Surely this fiendish deed was unprovoked. With but two left, there was need of the utmost caution and neither of the men ventured far from the stockade.
One evening in May several guns were discharged in succession outside the enclosure. The first party from Virginia had arrived and the warmth of their welcome may be better imagined than described.
“What of home?” were the first words.
“All well.”
“But I thought to see the lad along wi’ you,” said Mr. Allison.
Then was told the story of the attack on the Ohio, when one man had been killed and Rodney had disappeared, whether killed or captured was not known.
“An’ you left, deserted him!” he cried, and his cry sounded like a scream. “Cowards each one o’ ye! Who’ll go with me to find the laddie? Not one? Then I’ll go alone.”
It was with difficulty that he was restrained, and finally convinced of the folly of such an undertaking.
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“You have a wife an’ child at home yet to care for,” said one, “an’ it’s not yer duty to throw yer life away,” and the wisdom of this prevailed with him. But he was never the same man again. The stoop came back to his shoulders never to leave them. He said little and worked unceasingly, as though in that way to forget. On his first opportunity he turned his face toward Virginia, resolved never to bring his wife and little girl into the perils of the wilderness. The journey back to Charlottesville was uneventful. Nearly as many weeks were required for the making of it, as hours in this age of swift transportation.
How he dreaded breaking the news to his wife! She was always so patient with his many failures. Yet, the courage displayed by Mrs. Allison at the setting out of husband and son was such as to leave no doubt she would meet the new ordeal bravely, as indeed she did. From the first, she expressed great hope that the boy had been made a captive and in time would be restored to them, and so strongly did she urge this view of the matter that her husband regained a little hope. In his heart, however, there was a bitterness he could not overcome and, as rumours of Indian outbreaks were more frequent, he became uneasy. When, the following spring, General Andrew Lewis was ordered by Governor Dunmore to lead an expedition down the Kanawha River, and across the Ohio River to the Shawnee towns, David Allison resolved to go. The men of the party from which Rodney was captured94declared that their assailants were Shawnees and this induced him to enlist under Lewis.
The mortgage on the little place was as yet unpaid. Mr. Allison on his return had reopened his school, but the pupils were few. He went to Denham, told him of his desire to join the expedition against the Shawnees and his reasons, and asked him if he would not allow him longer time on the payments.
“All the time you want, Meester Allison, all the time you want,” and he smiled his greasy smile!
95CHAPTER XIIIN THE MIDST OF INCREASING PERILS
Rodney did not dare to follow François back to the village, nor did he think it wise to return to the tree. Being thirsty, he risked a visit to the spring, waiting till the dusk deepened and the last squaw had filled her kettles or the deerskin bottles in which they carried water. Having drank, he concluded he would pass the night on a little dry knoll near the spring, and from which he could observe what was happening in the village.
As he lay looking out upon the bluff, whereon sat the village, and down on the broad meadow, he admired the location with the eye of a young pioneer. What a delightful spot for a plantation! His boyish imagination pictured a home like “The Hall” on the bluff overlooking the creek. Back of that he would have the negro cabins and the stables, for he would have fine horses like Nat. With such a home he would be as important a man as Squire Danesford and his father need be under obligations to no man. Had Lisbeth married her cousin and gone to England? And so day dreams drifted into those of sleep.
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The next morning he returned to Ahneota and told him what had occurred. The old chief seemed contrite after his debauch, but did not mention it. As Rodney left him he said: “Better be Ahneota’s brother,” but the boy shook his head, saying: “You know why I cannot be.”
François had left the village. Caughnega did not look at the boy as they met. That evening Conrad came and, much to the boy’s surprise, suggested that they go fishing in the morning. Rodney readily agreed and the following morning they went up the creek several miles to a place where the stream broadened out into a small pond. Its shores were lined with lily pads under which the pickerel lay in wait for their prey, motionless as sticks, which they resemble.
Rodney, who had fished there, led the way to the mouth of a little inlet, where a tree had fallen into the water. He had cleared away the rotten limbs so that he might go far out on the trunk and be able to cast the bait at a specially inviting spot. Wishing to be friends, he offered Conrad the place at the farther end and also the loan of his better fishing gear. Conrad, who was very glum, hesitated, but finally accepted the offer.
Now, there is luck as well as skill in fishing, as every one knows who has tried it. Again and again they would both cast their minnow bait, which was exactly similar, and Rodney’s would be the hook that was seized. Once, while the latter was baiting his hook, a huge pickerel, darting like a flash of light, took Conrad’s97and he, being too eager, yanked vigorously before the fish had taken the bait far enough into the mouth to be securely hooked. Rodney immediately skipped his bait over the place and the fish, taking that, was skilfully landed. He was a beauty. The look of hatred in Conrad’s face startled his companion but he soon forgot it in the sport he was having. Tired at last, he said: “Let’s go back to the village, Conrad. We’ve got enough for one day.”
“Yah! You back go vith basket full an’ show Louis an’ ol’ chief vat a smart brave you be.”
Rodney made no reply, but turned and carefully picked his way over the slippery trunk toward the shore. While doing this a thought of the look of hatred in his companion’s face prompted him to turn his head.
Close behind him, with his hatchet uplifted in the act of striking, was Conrad!
Rodney thrust his pole backward as one would thrust a spear and the butt hit the other boy full in the chest, knocking him off the slippery log into the water.
Squirming and spluttering, he tried to regain his feet but, instead, sank deeper and deeper.
He had fallen into a quagmire!
By the time Rodney had recovered his self-possession Conrad had sunk to his chin. The delay of another minute and he would have disappeared from this story.
Rodney ran back and reached out his pole. The98other seized it and was pulled to safety, covered with mud.
The boys stood looking at each other. Conrad said nothing, but looked more sullen than ever, though his blazing wrath was well extinguished. Finally Rodney spoke.
“Why did you try to kill me?”
“Och! me, I hate you.”
“What for?”
“You, you a paleface.”
“That’s not the reason. So are you.”
“Nein, me, I a Wyandotte brave; ain’t so.”
“I never wronged you.”
“Louis my brother vas und you come. You tell him Conrad not goot brother, alretty.”
“That’s false. I never said a word against you. Some one has been lying to you.”
“Maman heard you, yet.”
“She heard nothing of the kind. She wants me killed for some reason, and is trying to have you murder me, kill me from behind like a coward.”
“Red man’s vay for me goot enough.”
“Well, it’s not good enough for me. ’Twould have been an Indian’s way, I suppose, to have let you go down out of sight in the mud. If I’d had the slightest enmity to you that would have been my chance after you tried to murder me, you blockhead! I’ve a good mind to give you a thrashing. Maman and Caughnega have been making a catspaw of you to do their dirty work. If you had a spoonful of sense you’d99know, now anyway, that I have nothing against you. If you are jealous of me, help me to go back to Virginia out of the way. Don’t try to strike me down from behind.”
Conrad hung his head. He had not lost his sense of shame altogether, and, noticing his embarrassment, Rodney, prompted by an impulse he could not have explained, held out his hand, saying, “Let’s shake hands and be friends, to each other and to Louis. He’ll need us both.” Conrad met the offer and they returned to the village, no word being spoken on the way.
About a week later Conrad came to his wigwam and said, “Go to Ahneota’s lodge. François has a Shawnee brought, vat say you to heem belong.”
This was startling news indeed; François’s revenge!
Rodney lost no time in reporting to the chief, who remarked, “They have been long in coming,” from which it appeared he had expected them.
François, bustling and important, announced a messenger from “our brothers, the Shawnees, who has come for this paleface, a runaway.”
“Let him enter,” replied Ahneota, with dignity.
A villainous looking fellow, accompanied by Caughnega, entered the lodge. Rodney did not recognize him, which was not strange; indeed, he may not have been one of the party that captured the boy.
Having entered, he made formal demand for the return of the captive. To this Ahneota replied: “Our people are at peace with the paleface. They have100wronged us, but we wait. Leaves do not fall until the tenth moon. The hatchet is buried. The paleface sits by our fires and smokes the pipe of peace.”
To this the Shawnee responded: “I have come for my prisoner. Our brother would not warm at the fire of the Wyandotte the snake from the lodge of the Shawnee.”
“Do you, my brother, come from the mighty Cornstalk, wise in counsel and fierce in war?”
The Shawnee hesitated, and Ahneota continued: “Has he declared war on the paleface?”
The Shawnee drew himself up, he was tall and strong, and replied:
“If Shawnee meet Wyandotte bringing venison to his lodge does he ask him where he got it and take it from him?”
“If my brother kill the paleface and bring war on the tribes when there is peace, shall my lodge be burned by the braves of the paleface? No, my brother. Go back to Cornstalk and say Ahneota would sit in council with him before the hatchet is dug up,” saying which the old chief signified that the talk was at an end and the Shawnee withdrew discomfited.
When Rodney learned what the old chief had done in his behalf his heart warmed in gratitude toward the old savage. At first opportunity he thanked him, but the Indian made no reply. Caughnega soon after left the village and did not return before the village was moved that fall farther north, where the hunting was said to be better.
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One day Louis came to him, crying, to bid him good-bye as Maman was to take him to the river, which he supposed meant back to his former home. She had told him he was to see Father Arbeille again and was to be taught how to be a wise boy. Louis did not want to go, and Rodney feared ill for the little fellow. There was nothing he could do, however. He did speak to Ahneota about it, and said he thought she had stolen the boy and intended no good toward him.
“She would be like bear for cub, she would die for him. Would Little Knife do as much?”
This name the savage had lately given the boy. The Indians termed the Virginians “Long Knives,” hence the name, “Little Knife,” applied to the lad.
That winter several of the men relied upon for hunting visited a distant tribe, and meat grew scarce. Since the departure of Caughnega and Maman, Rodney went about more freely and the old chief loaned his rifle and allowed him to hunt. He and Conrad made several excursions together. On one of these trips they set out with but little food and wandered for several days, nearly starved and half frozen. On the third day Conrad, discovering a hole half way up the trunk of a big tree, stopped.
“Vat you tink?” asked Rodney, mimicking his companion’s speech, for now they were excellent friends.
“I tink dat one goot hole for bear, ain’t so?” was the reply.
“You suppose an old fellow has a nest in there?”
“I tink some look in be goot.”
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They cut down a sapling standing near, “lodging” it against the big tree. Then they built a fire and, collecting the tips of green boughs and long grass damp with frost, tied them into a bundle at the end of a pole. While Conrad “shinned” up the sapling till the pole would reach the hole, Rodney lighted the bundle which smoked like a “smudge.” Conrad thrust the smoking bundle into the hole and, a minute later, a wheezing sound was heard. Bruin was there and was waking from his winter sleep!
Rodney seized the rifle while Conrad slid to the ground. But the bear looked out and made no effort to descend.
Conrad then relighted the torch and climbed up far enough to thrust it in the bear’s face. This angered him and he began to back down the tree.
Unlike Rodney’s first encounter with a bear, the lad now had ample time for taking steady aim and the brute fell mortally wounded.
How delicious the meal, which followed, tasted after their long fast!
Taking as much of the choicest cuts as they could carry, they returned to the encampment to find the Indians in a famished condition. Ahneota for the two previous days had given his allowance of food to the children.
The winter, what with hunting and trapping, passed quickly. The wild, free life with all its hardships and annoyances appealed to Rodney, and he came to understand how children taken captives by the Indians, and103later returned to their parents, would occasionally run away and rejoin the red folk. His home ties were too strong, however, for him to entertain such a thought, and he lay awake many nights wondering how he might make his escape.
The severity of the winter had greatly weakened Ahneota. The skin was drawn over his cheekbones like parchment. He was so lame with rheumatism that he needed constant care and the boy served him in many ways.
The hunters, though few in number, had gathered a fine lot of furs, and, when the ice was breaking up in the streams, the sugar maples were tapped. Their implements for this purpose were crude. Their method consisted in cutting a gash through the bark with a tomahawk and into this driving a chip which served as a “spile” to conduct the dripping sap into the dishes of elm bark, from which it was taken and boiled into sugar. This sugar was often mixed with bear’s fat and stored in sacks made of skins, a mixture much prized by the Indians.
A little later the tribe returned to the bluff where Rodney was first introduced to its life, there to plant the corn and tobacco.
Rumours of trouble with the whites increased. The latter part of May François returned, but without Maman and Louis, and he brought, to trade for the valuable furs, rifles and ammunition and brandy, and waxed rich, while the savages with their new implements of war became more restless.
104CHAPTER XIIITHE BEGINNING OF WAR
From the history of those days one learns that there were white savages who compared unfavourably with the red ones.
Of such were those border ruffians who, tempting the family of a friendly Indian with liquor till they were stupefied with drink, murdered them.
The Indian chief returned to find them weltering in blood. He was an Iroquois who had moved his family from New York to the Ohio River.
His Indian name was Tahgahjute, but he was commonly called Logan from the fact that he had in early life lived with a white family of that name. Ever after he had been a staunch friend of the whites. Now he became almost insane in his natural anger, and went about among the various tribes calling on them to avenge his wrongs.
Had those border ruffians desired to bring on an Indian war they could not have so quickly done it in any other way. Soon, tales of pioneer families murdered by the Indians were brought over the mountains105into Virginia. Logan’s friends were seeking vengeance.
Undoubtedly the war would have broken out later had not Logan’s family been murdered. The Indians believed they must fight or be overrun by the white immigrants pouring into the western country.
The royal governor appointed by the king over the colony of Virginia was, at this time, Lord Dunmore. He was an ardent loyalist, but he also is said to have been interested financially in some of the land ventures, concerning which there was much interest in the colony, also much speculation. Though Governor Dunmore knew that the policy of the English ministry at the time was conciliatory, he did not hesitate to prepare for a war which should bring the savages to submission.
Just why the English ministry tried to discourage immigration into the western country is not definitely known. Doubtless there were various reasons. England wanted peace with the savages. Only a few years before, her representative, Sir William Johnson, had made a treaty at Fort Stanwix with them and given them many presents. They had been told they should have, as their own, the country north of the Ohio. The laws which governed the province of Quebec, recently captured from the French, were to be applied to the western country, a plan which did not meet with the approval of the colonists who wanted laws of an English character.
There were influential men in England who were106interested in the fur trade with the Indians, which would be seriously injured if the country were opened up to settlers. Besides, the colonies of Virginia and Pennsylvania made conflicting claims to the new land and each had friends in England.
Many of the colonists declared that England feared to have the powerful colonies increase in power with new territory, and wished to confine them to the seaboard. Be that as it may, Dunmore resolved on establishing Virginia’s claims by prompt and effectual warfare. Perhaps he thought to divert the colonists’ minds from the increasing hostility to England. Instead he was to take the first step toward securing that rich land to the United States of America.
This is but one of many instances when the plans of supposed wise men result in the opposite to that intended.
The assembling for this war might be likened to a swarming of bees and hornets, the one for the sweets of fertile lands and adventure, the other for vengeance on account of wrongs received at the hands of the Indians.
There came a British officer, pompous and resplendent in scarlet and gold; the British soldier for his first experience in border warfare; the trapper with his long rifle and frontier garb; the sturdy settler in homespun. Nor were the camp followers altogether absent, those who hang about for pickings and have little intention of fighting.
One heard the polite accent of culture, the soft107spoken Southerner, the dialects of Scotch and Irish and the gutturals of the German. About them were the green woods and filtering through the leaves overhead the hot sunshine of summer.
Early in the season that already famous frontiersman, Daniel Boone, had been sent to the Falls of the Ohio to lead back to the settlements a party of surveyors. He did it, for in the ways of the wilderness no savage was his equal.
Governor Dunmore, on July 12, 1774, ordered General Andrew Lewis, who twenty years before had been with Washington at Fort Necessity, to raise four regiments of volunteers and, going down the Great Kanawha River, to cross the Ohio River and march against the Shawnees on the Scioto. In this expedition was David Allison.
Another expedition was to meet near Wheeling to assist General Lewis. For this purpose Major Angus McDonald marched seven hundred militia and frontiersmen over the mountains in the latter part of June. Daniel Morgan assisted in raising a part of this little army from among his neighbours and acquaintances, which were many, for he had served in the two previous wars with French and Indians and was a natural leader of men.
Under the supervision of George Rogers Clark, none other than “Cap’n” Clark who had induced David Allison to try his fortunes on the Kanawha, Fort Fincastle was built. In the latter part of July these troops moved down the Ohio River to Fish Creek and108started on a raid against the Indian villages on the Muskingum River, which is fed by the creeks that flow through the country where Rodney Allison had been passing his months of captivity, one of them the creek overlooking which stood the lodge of Ahneota.
Of this motley army some were in canoes, some in pirogues and others in batteaux. In a large canoe, third back from the prow, sat a fine-looking man, distinguishable from his associates in more ways than may be easily described. His clothes were such as one would see on the well-dressed man about the streets of Philadelphia; his companions were in the garb of the frontier. He was broad of shoulder with erect, military figure; while they were lithe and sinewy. His features bore marks of good breeding and his voice and language were those of a man of the world.
His companions had discovered that he knew nothing of woodcraft, but much of military matters. Just where Morgan found him or he Morgan does not yet appear. On the day the militia assembled Ezekiel Holden of Boston had given him a name. Ezekiel was a character, Yankee to the backbone. He had found his way to Norfolk on a coasting vessel a few months before and was “lookin’ araoun a leetle.” “Zeke” was fond of argument and delighted in arguing with Virginians about what he considered the superiority of New Englanders. He was for liberty and “pop’lar rights,” “first, last an’ all the time,” and the rich Virginians he looked upon as part of the English aristocracy, descendants of those who had fought for109King Charles, while “Zeke” wished it understood his forebears fought under Cromwell.
When he saw this man he was in the midst of his pet argument and exclaimed: “There’s one o’ them chevaliers naow,” meaning cavalier, but pronouncing it “Shiverleer.” From that moment the rather distinguished looking recruit was known among his fellows as “Chevalier,” and in truth the name fitted his manner excellently. Furthermore he appeared to like the nickname and to take delight in letting his companions know that he considered himself their superior, though, be it said, this was in a spirit of humour rather than of conceit, and he was ready to share toil or rations with his mates. Yet this air did not please them and there was consequently much chaffing.
The afternoon was hot and the men tired, just the moment when a little inspiration was needed. One of the men said to his fellow in the prow of the canoe, “Nick, ah reckon it’s about time fer you to lead off with a tune, one we kin hit the paddles to,” and this was Nick’s response:
“The only good Injun, he died long ago.Shove her along, boy, shove her along.An’ thar’s nary one left on the O-hi-o.Push her along, boy, push her along.”
“Bravo, my worthy companion in toil. Verily thou makest the bending ash to glide through the water like a swan’s wing. Another verse and we bid adieu to work.”
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“If it affects the Chevalier that ar way, better give him another, Nick,” said one of the men.
“The trees do grow tall where the corn ought to grow,Push her along, boys, push her along.Virginny’s a-comin’ an’ she don’ move slow.Shove her along, boys, shove her along.”
“I would applaud, but my paddle is now going of itself and I dare not let go. Methinks we’ll find around the next bend Pan with his flocks of aborigines assembled and kneeling in adoration. I’m not sure but he’ll have the moon goddess with him.”
Now the Chevalier’s three companions knew nothing of Pan or the moon goddess, with the possible exception of Nick, whose knowledge of mythology, if he possessed it, had not as yet appeared. Not knowing, they resented this intrusion of classical subjects and one remarked, “Your talk has a sweet sound; ’sposin’ you sing us a verse.”
“Oh, melody is a wayward minx and vouchsafes her treasures of song to few. Were it springtime and had I the gift I would sing:
“‘When the red is on the maple and the dogwood is in bloom.’”
“Keep right on, you’ll bloom right soon,” said Nick with a laugh in which all joined.
“Keep her goin’, Chevalier,” said another.
“Forsooth, my merry men, Puritans, Roundheads, I’ll try:
“When cavalier doth draw his steelThe ranks fall back and yeomen kneel,For that is as they should.111The pikes may gleam in thousands strong,But men who ride shall right the wrong.For throne and home they stood.”
“Sure they stood not on the order o’ goin’, or I’ve misread me history,” laughed Nick.
“Ho, ho! my merry figure-head at the prow, this from you,et tu Brute! I feared the lines would not scan, but it’s not expected that every man in the crew must be an Adonis because the figure-head of the craft is a thing of beauty. One failure begets another, ’tis said, so perhaps you’ll like this no better:
“Oh, the paddle, the knife and the trusty gun,And a land in which to roam;The stars at night for my beacon light,Wildwood for my home;What care I for the gay cavalier,His plumes and his flashing steel?He rides not here in the grassy mere.In grateful shade of the forest gladeWe laugh at those who kneel.”
“Ah! but that’s worse than the first. I yield the palm of song to him who goes before me.”
This bantering was interrupted by a stalwart man sitting in the prow of a canoe which overtook them at this point. He was as fine a specimen of rugged manhood as all the border could produce, being over six feet in height, of commanding figure and boundless energy and courage. He was Daniel Morgan and, laughing as he spoke, he said: “I’ve heard of hunting Indians with fife and drum, but charmin’ ’em with song is something new, I reckon.”
112CHAPTER XIVHORNETS WITH AND WITHOUT WINGS
During François’s visit a runner came in with the report that two Indians, descending the Ohio River in a canoe, had been fired upon and killed by the whites. Inflamed by the brandy they had drank, and infuriated by the report, several of the younger men blacked their faces, set up a war post and danced around it in the firelight like demons, yelling and throwing their hatchets into the post. The following morning a party of them set out for revenge.
On such occasions Rodney kept in hiding as much as possible and his mind was dark with forebodings, so that he would wake in the night from dreams of torture and find himself wet with perspiration.
A little later Logan himself came to the village, pleading that the Indians dig up the hatchet and unite in a war of revenge upon the whites for the outrage committed against him. He was a distinguished looking Indian, straight and tall, a typical chieftain of the better sort. Ahneota pleaded the necessity of delay,113but, that being of no avail, urged him to secure the services of Cornstalk, the wise and wily Shawnee chief.
Rodney sympathized with the Indians until a returning party brought back scalps torn from the heads of women and children as well as from men, and then his heart sickened and he looked on them with trembling to see if among them he could discover that of his father.
Having no rifle, the boy armed himself with the bow, this being his only defence in case of attack, though he knew it would be of little use against savages armed with rifles. One day, in the latter part of July, he was strolling through the forest not far from the village when he heard voices.
During his captivity Rodney had learned to stalk game and this training he now put to use. Stealthily approaching, he saw a group of strange Indians, and with them Caughnega. The latter had set up, in a little opening among the trees, his wigwam of skins, in which he was accustomed to perform certain of the rites of a “medicine man.” The boy knew that Caughnega’s fame was not confined to the local tribes, and at once concluded these Indians had come to consult him, probably as to what the spirits, good and evil, might have to say respecting the approaching war.
Evidently Caughnega had begun his work, for he was now ready to enter his wigwam. Silence came upon the group waiting patiently outside. After quite a long wait a medley of sounds issued from the interior114of the wigwam in which Caughnega was shut and the structure itself rocked as if in a gale. Knowing that Indians can mimic the sounds of all animals and birds with which they are acquainted, the boy had no doubt these sounds were made by Caughnega himself. If so, he was certainly an artist, and the assembled group sat around awestruck, for they had no doubt the noises were made by the spirits.
After the disturbance subsided, Caughnega came out and, standing before them, addressed them, telling what, he said, the spirits had told him. The message incited the savages to great ardour, which they manifested by brandishing their tomahawks and yelling.
“So this is the work that villain is doing unknown to Ahneota,” thought Rodney. Just then he espied a large nest of hornets suspended to a limb overhanging the group. He recognized the nest as that of a variety of hornet which is large and valiant. The spirit of mischief entered the boy and, taking careful aim, he shot an arrow, which struck and tore away a portion of the paper nest.
Now a hornet does not hold a council of war when disturbed, but instantly attacks, like an Indian, the first object that presents itself, and in this instance Caughnega was the first target.
He stood, his back toward the nest, pouring out the words of the message in sonorous tones. Suddenly this flow of language was punctuated by a blood-curdling yell, as one of those winged bullets struck him115just behind the left ear. About the same moment others in the group were hit. Yells and back somersaults were mingled for a moment, and then those doughty warriors fled as never from the face of a white man.
Rodney lay on the ground in convulsions of silent laughter.
On returning to the village the boy related his story to the old chief, who listened gravely and at the end said, “The Great Spirit will be angry.”
“Do you believe the ‘medicine man’ can talk with him?” asked Rodney, incredulously.
“Ahneota knows the ways of the birds and the beaver, but the ways of the spirits he does not know. I see the medicine lodge tremble and hear voices; they are not the voices of Indians.”
Rodney did not dare to argue the matter, and there was silence for a long time. In the flickering firelight the old chief’s face was ghastly.
The boy fell into an unpleasant reverie. Soon would come the moment when he must flee, for to remain, he was sure, would mean his death. The difficulties of escape, because of the uprising among the Indians, had greatly increased.
“Between here and La Belle Riviere are many Mingoes, Delawares and Shawnees. Little Knife cannot fly nor leap from tree to tree like panther. He must be brother of Ahneota.”
The boy was startled. It seemed to him that the Indian had been reading his thoughts.
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“The paleface comes and Ahneota’s brother must take his scalp. That Little Knife cannot do,” Rodney replied.
Silence of many minutes followed. Rodney became uneasy and was about to leave when the chief, taking a stick in his trembling hand, drew it over the sand and began to describe the country which lay between them and the Ohio River.
“Before another moon,” he said, “the palefaces will come in many canoes to the Indians’ country. Little Knife will run to meet them. He will not be the brother of the chief. He must go to his people. He must go like the fox.”
The following day Ahneota called in several men of the village and Rodney. Then, giving his rifle to the boy, he said: “Little Knife has been brother of Ahneota, has brought him meat when he starved. He must have gun to bring more meat, for the chief is old and cannot hunt.”
The Indians did not look pleased, for the rifle was a valuable one and much coveted. One said, “White blood must be washed away,” but, as the old chief made no reply, they went away.
As the boy started to leave the lodge the Indian lifted his head and said, “When Little Knife points the old chief’s gun at man, let him not see the colour of skin.”
Rodney now began to store up, against the emergency he knew was approaching, a stock of dried venison, and hominy and parched corn. His experience117when surrounded by hostile savages had taught him the difficulty of securing food on the march.
As he lay in the shadow of a bush one day he noticed a little worm travelling along a twig. It was the variety commonly called an “inch worm,” which advances by pulling its rear up to its forward feet, its back in a curve, and then thrusts forward its length. As the boy watched its laborious progress he thought, “If one may only keep going he’ll get there in time,” and somehow he felt encouraged. Had he not thought it his duty to remain and care for the old chief he would have set forth that very hour.
As he came near the village several guns were fired in quick succession down at the creek and he knew a party of savages had returned from one of their raids!
The inmates of the village hurried down to meet the newcomers, but the boy lagged behind. Soon they came running back and formed two lines. Some captive must run the gauntlet!
The prisoner was a man of forty years or more. His hair was long and matted and his arms were bound. Evidently his captors had found him a difficult subject with whom to deal. In running the gauntlet he could not ward off the blows, his arms being tied, but he delivered one well directed kick that doubled a brave up in agony. He got through, but was horribly beaten. All the while he was yelling at the savages in derision, calling them old women and apparently doing everything in his power to enrage them.
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A post was set in the ground in front of the encampment, and the prisoner was led out and tied to it. On the way he kicked an Indian, who in his rage would have killed him on the spot, had not another interfered. Sudden death in preference to torture was evidently what the captive sought, but it was not to be granted.
Thinking Ahneota might prevent the torture, which now seemed inevitable, Rodney hurried to the chief’s lodge. Within, it was almost dark and he could but dimly see the figure of the man seated on a bear skin, his back against a bale of furs. His head was inclined forward, his chin on his breast.
“Ahneota!” called the boy loudly in his excitement, but there was no answer.
Thinking the Indian slept, the boy grasped him by the arm to wake him.
Ahneota had passed to the “happy hunting ground!”
119CHAPTER XVA WELCOME VOICE
Dense bushes fringed a bluff looking down on the Muskingum River. In these, concealed from view, lay a boy of fifteen. His face was worn and thin. His moccasins and leggins were frayed from much running through undergrowth. He was peering through the branches to a bend in the river. He had lain there hours, watching. That morning, a canoe containing two savages came up past him. The Indians were paddling vigorously. Why their haste? That was what the boy would know.
The reader has guessed the lad’s name and so will readily understand that Rodney Allison concluded if the Indians were being pursued it was by white men.
Ah! was it? Yes, surely that was the shadow of a canoe. Now he could see its sides under the overhanging branches which concealed its occupants from his view.
“An’ all tin twins o’ thim great at shenannegan,An’ all o’ thim born in pairs.Pat an’ Terry, Tom an’ Tim,Peter, Mary Ann––”
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“Halloa!”
“There’s one of ’em coming down through the bushes now, Nick,” exclaimed a man in the stern of the canoe.
“I never could sing that song without interruption, Chevalier.”
The speaker had shipped his paddle and grasped his rifle, saying as he did so: “Look out, boys, the voice is white but there may be red shenannegan behind it.”
Rodney Allison leaped to the beach below in full view of the party. There he stood, panting and staring as though at a ghost.
“I say, sonny, if ye’ve objections to our looks now’s the time to put ’em on file,” said Nick.
“Dominick Ferguson! I thought you were dead!” gasped the boy.
“Aisy now, don’t feel so bad bekase I’m not. Whereabout did ye find the handle o’ me name, lad?”
“So you’re not the man the Indians killed, that day down on the Ohio, when they captured me?”
“Do I look loike I was?” Then dawning comprehension showed in the man’s face. “Ah reckon poor Job Armistead was the unfortnit one; he never showed up. May your name be Allison?” he asked.
“It is. Have you room in the canoe for one more?”
“We’ll make room,” spoke two of the men at the same moment, turning the craft to shore. Thus, after long months of captivity and days of fleeing through121a country infested with warlike savages, Rodney Allison came back to his own people.
“You must have seen my father, then, Mr. Ferguson?” said the boy as he stepped into the canoe.
“Sure; found him expectin’ ye an’ he was nigh crazy. You ought to heard him call us cowards an’ knaves fer leavin’ ye. He wanted to start right off alone to bring ye back, an’ would, but we told him thar were others in his family to think about.”
“Where is he now, and have you any news from Charlottesville?”
“He went back to Virginny an’ give up the enterprise down on the Kanawha. Saw a man the other day who said he heard yer father had joined the men under Lewis. Now if he’d come along with us we’d had a family gatherin’ right out here in the woods. The family’s well, I reckon, or yer dad wouldn’t hev gone sojerin’.”
The next day the expedition left the river and began a march toward an Indian settlement known as Wappatomica Town. In the order of this march the division under Captain Wood went ahead, much to the disgust of some of the men with Morgan, for they were greedy for glory, and a chance to win laurels and the consequent promotions.
As they were marching through a part of the country through which Rodney had passed in his flight, he remarked to Ferguson, “I don’t envy the fellows on ahead when they come to a place about a mile from here. If I know anything about Indians, they’ll lie in122wait for us there,” and he described a locality where he had hidden from a party of savages, one of the critical experiences in his flight.
“Me lad, you come with Ferguson,” and Rodney was conducted by him to Morgan and introduced.
“Well, my boy, if you got out alive we ought to be able to get in.”
“Captain Morgan, from where I lay in hiding that day a dozen men could shoot down fifty marching below.”
“This lad, Captain, knows what he’s talking about. The chief of the village where he was captive was the redskin that shot ye through the neck and chased ye an’ threw his hatchet at yer head.”
“Yes, Ahneota said the Great Spirit turned the tomahawk aside so that you might live to persecute the Indians.”
“I hope the old rascal was right. I think, young man, we’ll need you for scout duty.”
“Askin’ yer pardon, Captain, but the lad’s had his share o’ risk, to my thinkin’.”
“Nick, we are here to do something. Every man must do the best he can. This boy can do that work better than you or I. If you were the best man would ye shirk it?”
“I’ll go, Captain,” replied Ferguson, “but don’t send the boy.”
“I want to do what I can, Captain Morgan,” said Rodney.
“I can tell ’em, Ferguson, I can tell ’em,” and the123look of approval Morgan gave the boy as he spoke was one for which Rodney Allison would have stormed an Indian town alone and single handed.
“Now, young man, you run ahead and warn Wood. Tell him Morgan sent ye.”
Rodney ran forward with alacrity, proud of the responsibility that had been placed on him. He had not gone far before he discovered that the place of ambush was much nearer than he had thought, an error wholly excusable, considering the conditions under which he had first seen the country.
He ran at top speed, but was too late, otherwise he might have been among the men who fell under the volley which a band of about fifty Indians, lying in ambush at the very place indicated by the boy, poured into the ranks of Captain Wood’s men.
Rodney hesitated and then ran forward, joining in the mêlée.
A moment later there was yelling and commotion behind, and Morgan and his men came running to their support. A heavy hand was laid on the boy’s shoulder, and Captain Morgan demanded of him, “Do you know of any place where we can get behind the red devils and dislodge ’em?”
“This way, Captain,” and Rodney ran to the right. He recalled the way he had left the hiding place. Up that bluff they might attack the Indians in the rear.
“Come on, boys,” Morgan shouted, and a rush was made upon the heels of young Allison.