CHAPTER XXVII
"This is truly horrible!"
Rodney uttered the words, after listening to the account of another attack by the Indians. The party had been at Carlisle three days, and a dozen men had come in with reports of the settlement in Shearman's valley, and on the Juniata. It was the old story of bloodshed and burned cabins and haystacks, and stolen cattle. A boy was there—a tall, half-crazed youth of thirteen,—who had seen his father, mother, and two sisters slaughtered before his eyes. No one could comfort the lad, although many tried.
"I have father's rifle," he said. "I am going to kill Indians as long as I live!" And tradition tells us that this boy kept his word. During the Revolution he joined Daniel Boone in Kentucky, and then went out on the Missouri. For every red man killed he cut a notch on his rifle stock, and when he was slain, at about the age of fifty, the stock of the firearm was found literally covered with notches.
Carlisle was overcrowded with men, women, and children, who had come in from all directions. Every house and barn was filled to overflowing, and hundreds slept in the open, as at Fort Cumberland. The majority had lost their all and would have starved to death had it not been for the kindness of those who still had a little to give. Colonel Bouquet had expected to march upon the Indians immediately, but there was a delay in getting horses and supplies, and, consequently the middle of July was reached before the advance was ordered.
The colonel was willing enough to take the volunteers with him, but warned all such that they would have to look after their own supplies. To this they agreed, and a company of twenty-seven men was formed. Nearly every one of the number had done army duty before, so very little drilling was required. Each could shoot well, and that was of first importance.
"I wish we had more of the rangers along," said Dave. "Those green fellows from the West Indies know nothing of Indian fighting. They may make the same mess of it that Braddock's men did."
"Most of the rangers want to stay behind to protect their families, and you can't blame them for that," answered Rodney. "I shouldn't want to leave a wife and children here all alone."
It was a great day for Carlisle when the little army marched out. Everybody wished the soldiers the best of luck, but many a head was shaken gravely. What could five hundred or six hundred men do against thousands of Indians, and especially in a forest fight, where the red warriors were perfectly at home?
"They'll never come back," croaked one old man. "Their bones will bleach with the bones of Braddock's men."
The town left behind, the army plunged directly into the wilderness of the Cumberland valley. The road was bad, and the sweating horses had all they could do to draw along the rough wagons and carts carrying the supplies. The rangers, by their own choice, were permitted to take the lead. A constant watch was kept for Indians, but for several days no red men put in an appearance.
"They know better than to fight so close to the settlements," said Barringford. "But wait till we get out a bit—then, like ez not, they'll do their best to ambush us."
The first stop of the army was at Shippenburgh, a lonely settlement about thirty miles from Fort Cumberland. Here they found nearly fourteen hundred men, women, and children, who had fled to the place for safety. These people reported that Fort Ligonier, in the mountains, was surrounded, as was also Fort Bedford, and that all communications with Fort Pitt had been broken off.
"Perhaps Fort Pitt has fallen," said Dave, sadly.
"Let us hope for the best, Dave," answered Rodney. "You know it's a pretty strong place."
A band of thirty soldiers, led by some rangers who knew the way, was immediately dispatched for Fort Ligonier, and the main body of the army marched directly for Fort Loudon, and then for Fort Bedford.
"What a solitary place," was Rodney's comment, as they came in sight of the latter stronghold, perched among the mountains. Only a handful of soldiers were there, and with them more starving families.
"We have been pestered by Indians for weeks," said Captain Ourry, who was in charge. "Not a soul has dared to leave the fort. All of the houses in this vicinity have been burned down and the cattle stolen."
"Have you any news from Fort Pitt?" demanded Colonel Bouquet.
"I have not, sir. The messengers cannot get through, for the Indians are watching every trail. You will undoubtedly find hundreds of them within only a few miles of here."
"We must get to Fort Pitt even so," was Colonel Bouquet's brief rejoinder.
Yet the commander realized that the dangerous part of his mission was now before him, and a rest of three days was given to the soldiers, during which time some additional supplies were gathered in. From Fort Bedford, nothing but the unbroken wilderness lay before the army, and the road, because of the heavy growth of brush and branches, was in spots almost impassable. What had become of the party that had pushed by side trails to Fort Ligonier was not known.
The weather proved unusually warm and a dry spell covered the road with thick dust. Slowly and painfully the army toiled along, over hills and through hollows, often having to cut away the brush and branches to let the wagons pass. A strict watch was kept for the enemy, and the supply were jealously guarded by the regulars, while the rangers "beat up the brush," so that nothing like an ambuscade might surprise them.
"This is rough walking, truly," observed Rodney, as he marched forward with the perspiration running down his face.
"How does your leg feel?" questioned Dave. "I hope this doesn't prove too much for you."
"Oh, I reckon I can pull through," said the former cripple, bravely.
On went the army as gallantly as before, but with added caution. The silence of the wilderness was profound, and not a single Indian showed himself. Yet they were watching the English soldiers with jealous eyes, as later events proved.
There was a series of hills to cross, and in one spot the road was so bad the army had to wait until it was repaired, so that the wagons might get through. They marched until nightfall, and then gathered in a small circle, with guards on all sides, that they might not be surprised.
"Colonel Bouquet has learned his lesson well," said Dave. "He doesn't intend to be caught as General Braddock was."
At last the army came in sight of Fort Ligonier, which was located a hundred and fifty miles from Carlisle. Only a few Indians were seen besieging the stronghold and they ran away as soon as the army came up.
"The others have arrived here in safety," was the cry which went up, and it proved true. A small fight had taken place, but nobody had been hurt.
"I am thankful you have come," said the commandant of Fort Ligonier to Colonel Bouquet. "We are in great danger, and the danger is increasing every day."
"Any news from Fort Pitt?"
"Not the slightest, sir. One messenger tried to get through last week but was shot down. The Indians have been hemming us in closely for a month."
Satisfied now beyond all doubt that Fort Pitt had either fallen or was in sore straits, Colonel Bouquet resolved to push forward more vigorously than ever.
"Every hour counts," he said to his under officers. "I shall leave my wagons here, and also the oxen, and take only some pack horses along."
The advance from Fort Ligonier was begun on the fourth of August. A few sharpshooters, including Sam Barringford, went ahead, and then followed the regular troops and the rangers, having in their midst about three hundred and fifty pack horses and thirty-odd cattle—the latter for fresh meat for the soldiers.
"We are coming to a dangerous part of the road now," remarked Dave, as they marched along. "Just ahead of us is a deep hollow, with a little stream at the bottom. If the Indians catch us there we'll be like rats in a trap."
Dave was right. The stream he mentioned was Turtle Creek, and as Colonel Bouquet had been warned by the officers at Fort Ligonier of the danger of the locality, he resolved to go ahead cautiously and, if necessary, cross the creek during the night, when the red men would not have such a good opportunity to fire on his army.
A short distance to the eastward of Turtle Creek was another small stream called Bushy Run, and here it was resolved to make a halt until darkness was at hand. Taking the route step, the soldiers trudged along steadily until noon, and then, after a midday repast, went on again.
"What a magnificent lot of timber there is around here," remarked Rodney, as he gazed at the stately trees on both sides of the road.
"You are right," replied Dave. "Not an ax has ever been used here, excepting to clear this road."
"Look, Dave, there is a bee tree yonder!"
"True enough. What a pity that we can't stop and get some of the honey. It would be worth several pounds at least."
"We could mark the tree—if we thought we should ever come this way again."
"There is no telling about that. If Fort Pitt has fallen and the trading-post is in the hands of the Indians and French, perhaps father won't want to stay out here—that is, supposing he is safe, which is doubtful."
"Oh, I hope he and Henry escape, no matter what happens to the fort."
"Perhaps Fort Pitt will suffer as Venango did, Rodney. Every man at Venango was killed." And Dave shook his head sadly.
At one o'clock the army was within half a mile of Bushy Run, when a shot was heard ahead, followed by several others in rapid succession.
"The sharpshooters have discovered the Indians!" was the cry, and then followed more shots, and several rangers came running back towards the main body of troops.
Colonel Bouquet at once halted his soldiers and then, as the sounds of warfare increased, he ordered a charge. Leaving the pack horses and cattle behind, the regulars and rangers swept along the road, with bayonets fixed and eyes on the alert for the first appearance of the Indians.
"There they are!" came the cry, and on the instant fully a hundred painted warriors leaped from behind the trees and sent a volley of arrows and bullets at the soldiers. The latter fired in return, and several red men went down, never to rise again. Then a second band of Indians appeared from another quarter, and the fighting became general.
The sharpshooters had fallen back, to keep from being surrounded and cut off, and it was not long before Sam Barringford ranged up beside Rodney and Dave. The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible. Bullets were flying in all directions and men were dropping everywhere.
The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible.
The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible.
The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible.
"We're catching it this trip!" muttered the old frontiersman, grimly. "We'll be lucky ef we git out with a whole skin!"
For half an hour the battle continued hotly. Then, in the midst of the tumult, came a volley of shots from the rear.
"The Indians have attacked the pack-train!" was the cry. "They are coming up behind us. We are hemmed in on all sides!"