CHAPTER XXVIISHOT ON THE ROOF
“Therascals!”
Such were Joe’s words, as he gazed around the looted cabin. Yes, every small article of value was gone, including the knives and spoons, the trinkets belonging to the girls, and Mrs. Parsons’ sewing outfit.
“Even the fishing poles are gone—and those new hooks I got last week,” said Harry.
“They took that old Dutch pistol, too,” added Joe. “I hope it bursts to pieces the first time they try to use it,” he went on bitterly.
“Do you suppose they found the money?”
“I don’t know. We can soon see.”
Between them Mr. Winship and Mr. Parsons had had about thirty pounds—a hundred and fifty dollars—in cash. Before leaving to hunt up the Indians they had placed this money in an earthen jar and secreted it under the flooring of one of the bedrooms. Without delay the boys ran into the bedroom and pulled up the puncheon log under which the jar had been hidden.
“It is gone!” came from Joe’s lips.
“Gone?” groaned his chum. “Are you certain?”
“Of course I am. Here is the very spot where the jar rested in the ground.”
“Perhaps my mother took up the jar before she left the cabin.”
“Did she say anything about it to you?”
“No.”
“Then I reckon your mother didn’t touch it. But I would like to be sure.”
They hunted around the cabin, but could see nothing of the jar. Then they visited the loft of the home. This had also been robbed of the few articles of value that it had contained.
“They came pretty close to making a clean sweep of it,” remarked Joe disconsolately.
“They are bound to make us give up living here, Joe.”
“It looks like it, Harry, but”—Joe drew a deep breath—“they shan’t scare me away—at least, not as long as anybody else is willing to remain in Boonesborough.”
“I say the same.”
A little later they returned to the fort and acquainted Mrs. Parsons and the girls with the conditions of affairs.
“I feared as much,” said Mrs. Parsons, with ashake of her head. “’Tis truly awful. But, Harry, art thee sure the jar is missing?”
“Yes, mother.”
“I touched it not, my son. If thee has not seen it, then the Indians stole it.”
“And all the cooking things gone!” put in Harmony. “However are we going to cook?”
“You’ll have to do as we do when we are on a hunting tour,” said Harry. “I believe they left one old iron pot—the one with the broken side.”
“It’s enough to wish you were back in the East again,” said Cora. She was more hurt over the loss of a brooch than over anything else. This had been given to her by her grandmother, and was considered valuable.
There was nothing left to do, however, but to go back to the cabin, and this they did, and all hands searched around to find such things as were absolutely necessary. Then Harry and Joe paid a visit to two neighbors who had not been robbed, and borrowed several pots and kettles, and a few knives and spoons, and also several towels.
“It is as bad as beginning all over again,” said Mrs. Parsons. “But let us thank God that our lives have been spared,” she added reverently.
Not long after this attack on the fort at Boonesborough, Colonel Boone called the settlers together for a “war talk,” as it was called.
“The Indians mean to do their best to wipe us out,” said Boone. “I feel certain that before a great while they will attack us again, and with increased numbers. Now, I want to know what you wish to do. If you want to retreat, there is yet time to do so. If you want to stay, we must set to work to strengthen the fort.”
There was a moment of silence, and then an old pioneer with white locks and beard arose.
“Colonel Boone, ye listen to me,” he said, clearly and almost harshly. “I kem out hyer to settle, an’ I hev settled, an’ no Injuns is gwine ter unsettle me, onless they kill me fust. Ye kin go back if ye want to, but ole Bob Chassey stays hyer.”
“Hurrah for Bob Chassey!” cried several.
“That’s the talk,” said another pioneer. “Talk about going back! Whar are we a-going back to? I aint got no place to go to. I sold out, clean and clear. I’m a-going to stay here.”
“So am I! So am I!” was heard on every side.
“If the Injuns want to fight, let’s fight ’em,” said another.
These various speeches made Daniel Boone smile broadly. “I see you are of one heart,” he said. “And I am with you. We’ll stick and fight it out, if it takes years to do it. I believeif we give the Indians one good sound licking when they come again, they will leave us alone for a good long spell.”
The very next day men were set to work to strengthen and extend the stockade of the fort, which now took in not only the defense proper, but also a number of cabins close by. Each man and boy had to work two days per week on the fort, and some worked more, so anxious were they to have all in readiness should another attack come in the near future.
For the stockade of the fort a goodly number of small trees were needed. All those in the immediate vicinity of the stronghold had been cut down, so the pioneers had to go up and down the river for more logs. Trees growing close to the water’s edge would be cut, and a number would be formed into a raft, to be floated or poled to the spot desired.
One day in the middle of the week found Joe, Harry, and Darry Ford hard at work up the river. They had already brought down six trees of fair size, and were at work on three more. When these were down they intended to build a rude raft of the nine logs, and float them to a spot Colonel Boone had mentioned to them.
Not far from where the three pioneers were working was the log cabin of Andrew Pembly.Here the pioneer resided with his wife and six small children. The trees that were being cut were on Pembly’s land, but he was perfectly willing to have them taken away for purposes of defense.
Pembly was not at home, but his wife and children were, and several of the little ones came down to the river front to see the boys at work.
“I don’t think you ought to be down here,” said Joe to a little girl of six, Mary by name.
“Why can’t I be here?” questioned Mary innocently.
“I don’t think it is quite safe. There may be Indians around watching us.”
“Oh, I am not afraid,” was the ready reply.
“But you ought to be. Better run up to the house where your mamma is.”
“No, I am going to stay here,” answered the little girl, tossing her yellow curls. “If the bad Indians come you can shoot them all down with your big gun.”
“Well, if that isn’t cool!” exclaimed Harry, with a laugh. “Joe, she has cut out a neat bit of work for you.”
“And it’s such an easy thing to do, too,” put in Darry Ford. “Of course, the Indians will all stand up in a row for you, so that you won’t have any trouble in knocking them over.”
“If I had a gun I could shoot an Indian,” went on little Mary. “Let me have your gun, and I’ll show you.”
“No, no, don’t you touch the gun,” answered Joe hastily.
Presently the little children began to pick up the chips of wood. These they carried to the stream, and tossed them in to see them float away.
“That’s a waste of good chips,” said Harry. Then he continued to one of the little boys: “Here, Freddy, you go to the house, and get a basket for those chips. Your mother will want them for the fire.”
At once Freddy started off, and all of the others but little Mary went with him. The little girl continued to throw chips into the stream, a proceeding that seemed to interest her very much.
The three trees were now almost down, and the young pioneers worked with a will to complete their day’s labor in the forest. Harry’s tree came down first, and Darry’s was quick to follow. Joe had five minutes more of work, and went at it with renewed energy.
Just as the third tree came down a scream from the river bank startled all three of the boys.
“It’s Mary Pembly!” cried Darry.
Darry was right; the scream had come from the little girl. She had ventured too close to thewater, her feet had slipped, and down she had gone, over her head.
The current was swift, and by the time the boys reached the water-front the little girl was fully fifty feet away. She had come to the surface, and was spluttering and crying wildly.
“Take me out!” she cried. “I don’t like the nasty water!”
“She’ll be drowned!” ejaculated Darry.
“Not if I can help it!” came from Harry.
He flung off his jacket and shoes, and without hesitation ran down the river bank a hundred feet or more. Then he plunged in and began to swim toward the little girl with all the strength at his command.
Ordinarily Harry was a good swimmer, but the chopping down of three trees had tired him, and by the time he gained the middle of the river Mary Pembly had floated past the spot. Panting somewhat for breath, Harry made after her.
She was going down again, when he caught hold of her arm, and drew her toward him.
“Oh, help me, please!” she spluttered, and then caught him around the neck in a tight embrace.
“Don’t—don’t hold me so tight!” he gasped. “I’ll—I’ll save you.”
But he could not reason with her, and in herfright she only clung tighter than ever, until he was nearly strangled.
“Harry is having his hands full,” cried Joe, as he ran along the river bank watching the scene.
“If he isn’t careful, they’ll both go down,” put in Darry.
“I’m going to run ahead to the bend, Darry. Perhaps I can give him a lift there.”
The bend was two hundred feet further down the river, and Joe sped to the spot with all speed.
Here there was a low-bending tree, with branches spreading far over the watercourse.
Without hesitation the young pioneer leaped into the tree, and made his way out on the branches, that hung but a couple of yards above the surface of the river.
At first, owing to the thick growth in that vicinity, he could see little or nothing.
“Harry, where are you?” he called.
“Help, Joe, help!” was the answer. “She is dragging me down!”
With these words Harry and his burden came into view. Little Mary clung as tight as ever, and it was next to impossible for Harry to do any swimming. He was treading water, but had gone down over his head twice.
Nearer and nearer swept the pair in the stream,and bending low Joe managed at last to catch little Mary by the arm.
“Come up here,” he said. “I will save you.”
She hardly understood the words, so great was her terror. But she saw the tree and Joe, and, letting go her hold of Harry, clutched both in a death-like grip. Then Joe caught her tight and soon carried her to the shore.
“My, but that was more than I bargained for!” gasped Harry, when he managed to crawl from the stream.
“I don’t like the river at all,” came from little Mary. Then she looked at her wet and muddy frock. “Oh, my beautiful dress! What will mamma say?”
“Never mind the dress,” answered Joe.
He took her to the log cabin, and Harry followed. One of the children had just brought in word that Mary had fallen into the river, and Mrs. Pembly was highly excited.
“My child! my child!” she exclaimed. “Is she safe?”
“Yes, she’s all right,” answered Joe. “Harry saved her.”
“Joe had something to do with it,” put in Harry.
The story was soon told, and Mrs. Pemblythanked them over and over again for their services.
“I have warned Mary not to go near the river,” said she. “She was a naughty girl to go.”
“Mary will never, never go there again,” said the child. “The river is all muddy and wet—it aint a nice river at all!”
Harry was given a shift of clothing belonging to Andrew Pembly, and this he put on while his own were drying at the fire. Fortunately neither the youth nor the little girl suffered from the wetting received.
“I shall never forget your kindness,” said Mrs. Pembly. And she never did.
It was no easy work to bring the nine logs together and float them down to the fort, and it was after dark when the task was finally accomplished.
The news of the rescue had preceded them, and Harry was hailed as a hero, something that made him blush a good deal.
“I reckon I only did my duty,” he said. “It wasn’t much either. I could have gotten to shore easily if she hadn’t caught me by the neck and cut off my wind.”
“You’re a hero right enough,” said Darry. “And Joe deserves some credit, too.”
The time for planting was once again at hand, and Joe and Harry worked early and late, and always with their weapons where they could lay hands upon the guns at the first intimation of danger. How little do boys of to-day realize the perils and hardships of the years gone by!
In the cabin Mrs. Parsons and the girls were equally busy. All arose at four o’clock in the morning, and it was rarely that anybody turned in to sleep before nine or ten in the evening. In those days there were no such things as amusements, for the dread of another attack by the Indians was on every mind. Every Sunday a service was held at the fort by a traveling preacher, who had come there some months before, and this service was the only gathering Mrs. Parsons and the girls attended.
On the Fourth of July—just one year after the Declaration of Independence had been declared—Joe and Harry were hard at work in the field, when a horseman, his steed covered with foam, dashed up to the cabin.
“The Indians are coming!” he shouted. “To the fort with all speed!” And then, having made sure that his message was heard, he rode off as rapidly as he had come.
“The Indians! The Indians!” shouted one and another.
It had been decided long before what should be done in case of such a warning, so there was little confusion. Mrs. Parsons had a large cloth handy, and into this she and the girls dumped such things as they wished to take along. In the meantime the boys came running up, obtained all their available weapons, and then shut up and otherwise secured the cabin.
Inside of ten minutes all were on their way to the fort. They were soon joined by several neighbors, and from one of these learned that Colonel Boone had discovered that the red men were marching on Boonesborough, not less than two hundred strong.
“And they are sending other bands of Indians to the other settlements,” went on the pioneer.
“That is too bad,” answered Joe. “For in that case we can’t look for outside help.”
“It’s going to be a fight to a finish, this time, Joe.”
When they arrived at the fort they found but a handful of hunters and pioneers present. Many men were off a great distance, and although they were notified, they did not come in until several days later. All told, there were exactly twenty-two men on hand, and nine youths over the age of twelve.
Soon the outposts announced that the Indianswere less than a mile away, and coming toward the fort as fast as they could travel. Colonel Boone immediately assembled his force and gave each man and youth his station, and also told the women and girls what they might do if called on for assistance. Every part of the fort and grounds was wet down, so that there might be no danger of fire.
The first shock of the attack was not long in coming. Relying upon their superior force, the Indians advanced boldly, sending a flight of arrows against and over the stockade, and also firing off the few muskets they possessed. Their yells and war-whoops were deafening, and the pioneers answered with a ringing shout of defiance.
Boone’s men had been cautioned, time and again, to save their powder and bullets, and not one fired until he could make sure of his aim. As the Indians hurled themselves against the stockade the rifles of the pioneers spoke up and fully a dozen red men were either killed or wounded.
After this first savage assault, the red men retired to the shelter of the forest, and for half an hour nothing was seen or heard of them.
“They are up to some new trick,” said Joe. “The Indian is at his worst when he is quiet.”
Several sharpshooters were in the trees inside the stockade and they now announced that the red men had built several camp-fires at a distance.
Then came another shout from the forest, and fully thirty Indians appeared. Each had a flaming arrow fixed to his bow, and this he let drive over the stockade among the various buildings within.
“They are going to try to burn us out!” called out a number of the pioneers.
“Put out the fires!” ordered Daniel Boone, and he himself went around stamping out one arrow after another. The women appeared with buckets of water and wet swabs, and soon every arrow but one was extinguished. This arrow was on a sloping roof and burned fiercely.
“I reckon I can get that,” called out Harry, and, throwing down his musket, he started to climb to the top of the building.
“Have a care there!” called out Daniel Boone.
“I’m on the watch,” answered Harry.
It was no mean task to reach the roof of the log building, and once there Harry had a hard task of it to put out the flames, which were spreading in spite of the wetting the building had received.
“Here is a wet cloth,” called out Joe, and threw the object up to his chum.
HE DROPPED, A DEAD WEIGHT, INTO JOE’S ARMS“HE DROPPED, A DEAD WEIGHT, INTO JOE’S ARMS.”—P.291.
“HE DROPPED, A DEAD WEIGHT, INTO JOE’S ARMS.”—P.291.
“HE DROPPED, A DEAD WEIGHT, INTO JOE’S ARMS.”—P.291.
Harry caught the cloth and was just on the point of pounding out some more of the fire with it, when another flight of arrows came into the inclosure.
One arrow struck the young pioneer in the leg, and another in the arm.
“Oh!” he cried. “I am struck!”
“Harry! Harry! come down!” called out Joe.
He had scarcely spoken when Harry pitched headlong on the roof of the building. Then he rolled over and over down to the edge and dropped a dead weight into Joe’s arms.