A Virginia Scout

by Hugh Pendexter

  CHAPTER XI

  BACK TO THE BLUE WALL

  We reached the Ohio and I soon found a canoe. The trip down the Scioto hadits danger thrills, and twice we narrowly escaped meeting bands ofwarriors on the main trace. I stuck to the path because of its advantages.None below us knew we had left the upper town, and would not be lookingfor us. In the beaten path there was much less chance of leaving signs forsome scout to pick up and follow. I knew warriors would be scouring thecountry in all directions once the news of our escape was carried toChillicothe, but the Scioto path was the last one they would expect us totake.

  I had remembered Lost Sister's warning and planned to follow the Big Sandyuntil its head waters interlocked with those of the Clinch and Holston. Itwas nerve-wearing work, that crossing of the Ohio. With each dip of thepaddle I expected rifles to crack behind me and canoes to poke their nosesthrough the overhanging foliage and make after us. I could not see thatthe girl breathed during the crossing, and I kept her in front of me asher face was a mirror to reflect instantly any danger on the Indianshore.

  We landed at the mouth of Four-Mile Creek without any disturbingincidents. I told her we were four miles above the mouth of the Scioto andshe was for placing more distance between us and that river at once. Butit was impossible to travel all the time. Now we were foot-free, and as Ihad my rifle the Shawnees would pay high before catching up with us, Iassured her. I had been at Four-Mile Creek the year before to survey fivehundred acres of good bottom-land for Patrick Henry, and was of coursefamiliar with the locality.

  Five hundred yards back from the Ohio was an old fort. I took the girlthere to rest while I patched our moccasins. The Indians said thisstructure was so ancient that no one knew who built it. As a matter offact it was the remains of George Croghan's stone trading-house. Traces ofan Indian town, antedating the fort, were also to be observed. Verypossibly it was occupied by the Shawnees before they built their firsttown at the mouth of the Scioto on the west bank. It was from this Sciototown that Mary Ingles escaped in 1755, and the history of her daring andhardships rather belittled my feat in bringing Patricia from the uppertown.

  The poor girl continued extremely nervous and I feared she would collapse.Now that she had tasted freedom she feared the Indians were hot on ourtrail. Her gaze was constantly roving to the Ohio. She was fearing tobehold the Shawnees paddling across to recapture us. The moccasins had tobe mended, however, as the night travel down the Scioto path had sadlydamaged them.

  As I sewed the whangs through the rips and hastily patched the holes Icould see her worriment was increasing. That period of delay was moretrying to her fortitude than when we were making the detour aroundChillicothe and our very lives hung on luck, or the mercy of her manito.

  "There is something in the river," she whispered, her slight figuregrowing rigid.

  "Only a log," I told her.

  "Look! Isn't there something moving in the bushes?" And she clutched myarm.

  "Only the wind ruffling the tops," I soothed.

  She was silent for a few minutes and then confessed:

  "I dread and hate the river, Basdel. I wish we could get out of sight ofit."

  "It's a short trip in the canoe to the Big Sandy."

  "And with the possibility of an Indian hiding behind every stump and logalong the shore!"

  "Then we will hide the canoe and strike across the bend. A few creeks tocross, and inside of two days we should reach the Big Sandy. It's aboutthirty-five miles and there is the blaze left by the surveyors. Do youwish that? It will be harder for your feet than riding in the canoe. Itmay be easier on your nerves."

  "Anything, Basdel, to get away from the river! And can't we start now? Iknow we shall see the Indians coming across to catch us if we stay heremuch longer."

  I tossed her her moccasins and quickly mended mine and put them on.Leaving her to wait until I could draw up the canoe and hide it, Iproceeded to conceal all traces of our landing as best I could, and thentold her I was ready.

  The bottoms on this side of the river are narrower than on the Indianshore, and the old surveyors' blaze proved to be a wet path. The smallcreeks were bordered with cane and when we encountered them it was hard onthe girl. But she minded hardships none, and once we were out of sight ofthe river she regained some of her spirits. But a glimpse of the blueriver brought back her old fears as though the Ohio were some monster ableto reach out and seize her.

  Before night I proved the river could be good to us. Against her will Ihad swung down to the shore and was leading her along a narrow beach inorder to escape a bad tangle of briers when I had the good fortune todiscover a bateau lodged against the bank. The girl begged me not to gonear it although it was obviously empty. I insisted and was rewarded witha bag containing a bushel of corn. Now we could have cooked it in ourkettle had we been provided with that indispensable article. As it wasthere was life in munching the corn.

  The undergrowth was a nuisance, being composed of pea-vines, clover,nettles, cane and briery berry bushes. I would not stop to camp until Icould reach a tract free from the stuff. As a result it was nearly sunsetby the time we halted in a mixed growth of hickory, ironwood and ash onthe banks of a tiny creek. Here we could pick a path that left no signs.We rested a bit and then followed the creek toward its outlet for half amile and came to a log cabin.

  The girl dropped to the ground, glaring as if we were beholding thepainted head of a Shawnee. I assured her it was a white man's cabin andprobably empty. Leaving her behind an elm, I scouted the place andsatisfied myself there had been no recent visitors there. I called to herto join me and proudly displayed an iron kettle I had found by the door.But when I would have left her to make the kettle boil while I looked fora turkey, she refused to stay and insisted on accompanying me.

  Fortunately I perched a turkey within two hundred feet of the cabin. Ihung the kettle in the fireplace and built a good fire under it and thendressed the turkey. For some reason the girl preferred the open to thecabin and remained outside the door. As I finished my task she called tome excitedly. Grabbing my rifle, I ran out. She was pointing dramaticallyat a big blaze on a mulberry-tree. The scar was fresh, and on it some onehad written with a charred stick:

  Found some people killed here. We are gone down this way. Douglass.

  "What does it mean?" she whispered, her eyes very big as she stared at thedusky forest wall.

  "That would be James Douglass," I mused. "He came down here with Floyd'ssurveying-party last spring. I wonder who was killed."

  "Enough to know the Indians have been here," she said, drawing closer tome. "Can't we go the way they did and be safe?"

  "We might make it. But 'gone down this way' means they started for NewOrleans. A long, roundabout journey to Williamsburg."

  "Oh, never that! I didn't understand," she cried. "I will be braver. Butif the nearest way home was by the Ohio I would go by land. Anything butthe river! Remember your promise that we are not to be taken alive. Nowlet's push on."

  "And leave this excellent shelter?" I protested.

  "Men have been killed here. I can't abide it. A few miles more--please."

  Of course she had her own way, but I made her wait until we had cookedsome corn to a mush and I had broiled the turkey. I could have told her itwould be difficult for us to select any spot along the river which had notbeen the scene of a killing. So we took the kettle and left a stout, snugcabin and pushed on through the darkness to the top of a low ridge, whereI insisted we must camp. We made no fire.

  I estimated the day's travel to have been twelve miles at the least, whichwas a good stint for a man, let alone a girl unused to the forest. Nor hadthe work wearied her unduly. At least she had gained something from hercaptivity--a strength to endure physical hardships which she had neverknown before. With good luck and half-way decent footing I believedanother sunset would find us at the Big Sandy. That night was cold and Isorely regretted our lack of blankets.

  Before sunrise I had a fire burning and the kettle of
mush slung on agreen sapling for further cooking. Patricia was curled up like a kitten,and I recovered my hunting-shirt and slipped it on without her knowing Ihad loaned it to her for a covering. She opened her eyes and watched me afew moments without comprehending where she was. With a little cry shejumped to her feet and roundly unbraided me for not calling her to help inthe work.

  I pointed out a spring, and by the time she was ready to eat the hot mushand cold turkey, the fire was out and we were ready to march. Our lack ofsalt was all that prevented the meal from being very appetizing. We werenot inclined to quarrel with our good fortune, however, but ate enough tolast us the day. As the first rays touched the tops of the trees weresumed the journey.

  We covered a good ten miles when we had our first serious mishap sinceleaving the Indian village. Patricia had insisted she be allowed to takethe lead where the blazed trees made the trace easy to follow. I humoredher, for she kept within a rod of me. We struck into a bottom and had topick our way through a stretch of cane.

  Afraid she might stumble on to a bear and be sadly frightened, I called onher to wait for me. But she discovered a blaze on a sycamore beyond thecane and hurried forward. Half-way through the cane she slipped on a wetroot and fell on her side. Ordinarily the accident would not have beenserious, but the moment I saw the expression of pain driving her facewhite I knew she was hurt. I dropped the kettle and picked her up. Shewinced and groaned and said it was her arm. I carried her to the highground and made her sit while I examined her hurt. I expected to find thebone broken. I was happily disappointed, and yet she was hurt grievouslyenough. A section of cane had penetrated the upper arm near the shoulder,making a nasty wound. As the cane had broken off in the flesh it wasnecessary for me to play the surgeon. Using a pair of bullet-molds Imanaged to secure a grip on the ugly splinter and pull it out. She gave alittle yelp, but did not move.

  "The worst is over," I told her. "Now we must dress it."

  Returning and securing the kettle, I dipped water from a spring andlighted a fire and hung the kettle to boil. Then I hunted for Indianmedicine. I soon found it, the bark of a linn or bee-tree root. This Ipounded and bruised with the butt of my rifle and threw it into the kettleto boil. Patricia remained very patient and quiet, her eyes following myevery move.

  "You're as useful as a housewife, Basdel," she remarked. "More useful thanmost women could be."

  "Only a trick learned from the environment," I lightly replied. "Does ithurt much?" This was rhetorical, for I knew a stab wound from the canesmarted and ached most disagreeably.

  "Not much," she bravely replied. "I'm sorry to bother you, though."

  "You'll soon be as fit as a fiddle," I assured her. "Border men arecontinually helping each other in this fashion."

  As soon as the kettle boiled I washed the wound in the liquid and madesure all of the cane had been removed. This additional probing caused herpain but she showed no signs not even by flinching. The application atonce had a soothing effect. We waited until the medicine had cooked downto a jelly-like consistency, when I applied it as a salve, working it intoand thoroughly covering the wound. Then I tied it up with a strip tornfrom her skirt. Rather rough surgery, but I knew it would be effective.

  She bitterly lamented over the time we were losing, and blamed herself soseverely that I finally consented to go on, providing she would keepbehind me. Had the hurt been in her foot we would have been forced to campfor several days.

  Toward night the country grew more broken and much rougher, and I knew wewere nearing the Sandy. I feared she might trip over some obstacle, and wecamped before the light deserted us. I told her we were within a few milesof the river and that we ought to strike it at the mouth of Savage Creek,some four or five miles from the Ohio. After starting a fire, shevolunteered to remain and feed it while I looked for game. This in the wayof doing penance, perhaps. I had the good luck to shoot a deer and wedined on venison.

  After we had eaten she sat close by the fire and was silent for manyminutes. That she was meditating deeply was shown by her indifference tothe night sounds which usually perturbed her. The howling of the wolves,and the scream of a panther, leaping to make a kill, passed unheard.Suddenly she declared:

  "You were right, Basdel."

  "About what, Patsy?"

  "About my not fitting in west of the mountains."

  "That was said before you were tried. No woman, even border-born, could bemore brave than you have been."

  "And I was so woefully wrong when I made fun of your long rifle. I wantyou to forgive me."

  "Patsy, don't. You are wonderful."

  "Still being good to me, Basdel. But I know the truth now. Back over themountains I was wicked enough to feel a little superior to frontier folks.No. Don't wave your hands at me. I must say it. I even felt a little bitof contempt for those brave women who went barefooted. God forgive me! Iwas a cat, Basdel. A vicious cat!"

  "Good heavens, Patsy! Say it all and have done with it. Call yourself apirate."

  She would not respond to my banter, but fell to staring into the handfulof coals. Then the tears began streaming down her face, and at last shesobbed:

  "Poor girl! Poor girl! She was a wonderful friend to me. She never had anychance, and you can never know how hard she tried to keep my spirits up;how ready she was to stand between me and harm--me, who has had everychance! And to end like that! And yet it was far worse to live like that.It's best as it is, but God must be very good to her to make up for whatshe lost. Tell me, Basdel, did she suffer much when she died?"

  She could be talking only of Cousin's sister. I declared:

  "She suffered none. It's best for her as it is."

  She fell asleep with her back against a black walnut, and I spread myhunting-shirt over her, for the air was shrewdly cool. In the dying coalsI saw pictures, wherein Kirst, Dale, and Lost Sister paraded in turn; thefate of each the result of race-hatred, and a race-avidity to possess theland. And a great fear came over me that the girl leaning against thewalnut, the mass of blue-black hair seeming to bow down the proud head,was destined to be added to the purchase-price the frontier was everpaying.

  It was her talk and tears that induced this mood, for I knew the Shawneeswould have overtaken us by this time had they found our trail on theKentucky shore. Common sense told me that for the remainder of our journeywe would, at worst, be compelled to avoid small scouting-parties that hadno intimation of our presence on the Big Sandy.

  But so many gruesome pranks had been played by Fate that I was growingsuperstitious. And I feared lest the girl should be snatched from me atthe last moment, just as safety was almost within sight. I slept poorlythat night and what little rest I did obtain was along toward morning.

  The girl awoke me; and I felt my face burning as I beheld her standingthere, staring down accusingly, the hunting-shirt spread across my chest.I sprang to my feet and slipped into the shirt, which was made like acoat, and waited for her to speak.

  "So you've been sleeping cold," she said.

  "Nay. Very warm," I replied, becoming busy with my moccasins.

  "After this I will keep awake nights."

  "I did not need it. I always take it off at night It makes me too warm."

  "You lie most beautifully, Basdel."

  "How is the arm this morning?"

  "Much better. But you must be more honest with me. You must not lie anymore."

  "You're making a mountain out of a hunting-shirt. It is too warm to wearat night in this mild weather."

  "You're hopeless. Of course it is not too warm in the warm sunshine."

  I was glad to let it go at that. And there was no warm sunshine thismorning. The heavens were overcast with gray cold clouds that rode highand brought wind rather than rain. We missed the sun. Town-dwellers cannever know the degree of dependence the forest wanderer places on thesunlight for his comfort and good cheer. Despair becomes gaiety under thegenial rays. It is not surprising the sun should be the greatest of allmysteries to the Indians, and theref
ore their greatest medicine or god.

  We ate of the venison and mush and started for the river. The distance wasnot great, but the way was very rough, and there were no more blazed treesto guide us, the surveyors' trace passing below us and closer to theshore. But I was familiar with the lay of the land and it was impossiblefor me to go far wrong as long as all streams flowed into the Ohio and wecrossed at right angles with their general course.

  I carried the kettle slung on my rifle and with my right hand gave thegirl aid when the path became unusually difficult. A wrenched ankle wouldleave us as helpless as a broken leg. It required three hours of painfuleffort to bring us to the Sandy.

  I found a fording and carried her across to the east shore and soonlocated a trader's trace. She never dreamed that her father often hadtraveled along this faint path in his visits to the Ohio Indians. Now thatthe footing was easier she had time to gaze about, and the aspectdepressed her.

  The immense hills of sandrock were worn into deep and gloomy ravines bythe streams. In the walls of the ravines black holes gaped, for caves werealmost as numerous as springs. To encourage a lighter mood I explainedthat these very caves made the country an ideal place for hiding from theIndians.

  She broke into my talk by moaning:

  "May the good God help us! See that!"

  She was pointing to a dark opening across the river. This framed the faceof the devil. For a moment I was sadly startled, then laughed hystericallyin relief.

  "It's a bear, with a white or gray marking on his face," I explained. "Heis harmless. See! He's finished looking us over and goes back into hisden."

  But the effect of the shock to her nerves did not wear off for some time.To prepare her against more glimpses of bruin I told her how the brokennature of the country made it a favorite region for bears, and that it hadbeen long known along the border as a famous hunting-ground for the bigcreatures.

  "I feel just as if it was the guardian spirit of an evil place, that it isspying on us and plotting to harm us," she confessed.

  Whenever the trace permitted I swung aside from the river and took to theridges. The tops of these were covered with chestnuts and their sides withoaks. More than once on such detours I sighted furtive furry formsslipping away from their feast on the fallen nuts, but Patricia's gaze wasnot sufficiently trained to detect them; and she wandered through thegroves without knowing we were literally surrounded by bears.

  While a wild country, it was relieved by many beautiful touches. Such werethe tulip-trees, or yellow poplar. Many of them towered a hundred feetwith scarcely a limb to mar the wand-like symmetry of the six-foot boles.Scarcely less inspiring were the cucumber-trees, or mountain magnolias,which here reached the perfection of growth.

  Scattered among these tall ones were white and yellow oaks; and they wouldbe considered giants if standing alone. These were the serene gods of theforest, and they had a quieting influence on my companion. It was withregret that I led her back along the rough shore of the river.

  I shot a young bear, but Patricia displayed a foolish repugnance and wouldeat none of it. Later in the day I killed a deer with such a minute chargeof powder as emphatically to establish my excellence as a marksman forthat one shot at least. We were nearly three days in making the Tug Forkof the Sandy.

  The girl bore the hardships well. The wound on her arm healed rapidly, andwhatever she actually suffered was mental rather than physical. Our kettleproved second only to my rifle in importance, and if the fare lacked thesavor of salt our appetites made up for the deficit. When we reached theTug we were in the region celebrated for Colonel Andrew Lewis' "SandyCreek Voyage of Fifty-six," as it was styled with grim facetiousness.

  It was one instance when Colonel Lewis failed of carrying out anenterprise against the Indians. It was a retaliatory raid against theShawnees and his force was composed of whites and Cherokees; and his lackof success was due largely to the inefficiency of the guides who undertookto pilot him to the mouth of the Sandy. I told the girl of the expeditionas it was lacking in horrible details, and with other carefully selectednarratives tried to keep her from brooding.

  She seldom mentioned her father, and when she did it was usually connectedwith some phase of life over the mountains. I believe that she was sothankful to know he escaped the torture that his death lost much ofpoignancy. Only once did she revert to his taking off, and then to ask:

  "Was there a single chance for him to escape?"

  And I emphatically declared he never had the ghost of a chance from themoment he fell into Black Hoof's hands.

  Another ruse to keep her mind engaged was to trace out our course with astick on a patch of bare earth. I showed how we should travel to the northfork of the Sandy and then strike to the head of Bluestone, and follow itnearly to the mouth before leaving it to cross New River; then a shortjourney to the Greenbriar and Howard's Creek.

  Had I had any choice I should have preferred to take her over themountains to Salem, but my time was not my own and it was imperative thatI leave her at the first place of safety and be about Governor Dunmore'sbusiness. My decision to make Howard's Creek was strengthened by anadventure which befell us near the end of our first day on the Tug. Wewere casting about for a place to camp when we came upon five Indians,three squaws and two hunters.

  Patricia was greatly frightened on beholding them, and it was some timebefore I could make her understand that they were friendly Delawares,accompanied by their women, and not painted nor equipped for war. Aftercalming her I addressed them and learned they were from White Eye'svillage. They were afraid to go near the settlements.

  Many "Long Knives," as they called the Virginia militia, were flocking tothe Great Levels of the Greenbriar, and a forward movement of a whole armywas shortly to be expected. As the presence of a large force of ourriflemen so near Howard's Creek would insure the safety of that settlementI knew it to be the proper ending of our journey.

  I induced Patricia to remain in camp with the Indians while I went out andshot a bear. The bear was very fat and I gave all the meat to the natives,for which they were grateful. One of them had a smoothbore, but no powder.I could spare him none.

  Patricia was now convinced the Indians would not harm us, but she wouldnot consent to making camp near them. We walked several more miles beforeshe was willing to stop and cook the kettle.

  My tally-stick gave the thirteenth of September as the date of our arrivalat Howard's Creek. The settlers informed me I had lost a day somewhere onthe long journey and that it was the fourteenth. Nearly all the young andunmarried men were off to fight in Colonel Lewis' army, and many of theheads of families, including Davis and Moulton.

  Those who were left behind gave us a royal welcome. Uncle Dick, the agedone, fell to sharpening his long knife with renewed vigor. Patricia and Ihad been counted as dead. Dale's death had been reported by young Cousin,and it caused no great amount of sorrow. The girl was never allowed tosuspect this indifference. In reply to my eager inquiries I was told thatShelby Cousin was at the Great Levels, serving as a scout.

  For once Howard's Creek felt safe. With nothing to worry about the men andwomen became garrulous as crows. The children played "Lewis' Army" fromsunrise to sunset. The Widow McCabe swore she would put on a hunting-shirtand breeches and go to war. The passing of men between the levels and thecreek resulted in some news and many rumors. The meeting-place at thelevels was called Camp Union. Colonel Lewis, pursuant to orders fromGovernor Dunmore, had commenced assembling the Augusta, Botetourt andFincastle County troops at the levels on August twenty-seven. Cornstalk'sspies had served him well!

  His Lordship was to lead an army, raised from the northwest counties andfrom the vicinity of Fort Pitt, down the Ohio and unite with Colonel Lewisat the mouth of the Great Kanawha. Colonel Charles Lewis, with someAugusta and Botetourt troops, had left Camp Union on September sixth todrive the cattle and four hundred pack-animals to the mouth of the Elk,where he was to make canoes for transporting provisions to the Ohio.

&nb
sp; The main army had marched from Camp Union on the twelfth, although ColonelLewis had received a letter from Dunmore, urging that the rendezvous bechanged to the mouth of the Little Kanawha. Colonel Lewis had replied itwas impossible to alter his line of march.

  From a fellow sent out to round up stray bullocks I learned the army wouldavoid the deep gorge and falls in the river by marching ten miles inlandand parallel to the east bank, joining Colonel Charles Lewis at the Elk.

  By another man I was told how the militia men were given to shooting awaytheir precious ammunition, and how the colonel had warned that unless thepractise ceased no more powder would be given out. That the Indians wereactive and not afraid of the troops was evidenced by an attack onStewart's Fort, only four miles from Camp Union. And this, before thetroops marched.

  Colonel William Christian was in command of the rear-guard, and his menwere much disgruntled at the thought of not being in the forefront of thefighting. What was most significant to me, although only an incident inthe estimation of the men left at Howard's Creek, was the attack made bytwo Indians on two of Lewis' scouts, Clay and Coward by name.

  The scouts had separated and one of the Indians fired on and killed Clay.Thinking him to be alone, the Indians ran to get his scalp, and Coward ata distance of a hundred yards shot him dead. Coward then ran back towardthe line of march and the surviving Indian fled down the Great Kanawha toinform the Shawnee towns that the Long Knives were coming.

  I lost no time in securing a horse and a supply of powder and in hurryingto say good-by to Patricia. She was very sober when I told her I was offto overtake the army. Placing both hands on my shoulders, she said:

  "Basdel, I know you've forgiven all the disagreeable things I've said toyou. I will wait here until I hear from you. I will pray that you have anequal chance with the other brave men."

  "I will come back and take you over the mountains."

  "If you will only come back you may take me where you will, dear lad, evenif it be deeper into the wilderness," she softly promised.

  And Mrs. Davis bustled out of the cabin and energetically shooed thecurious youngsters away.

  And now I was riding away to battle, riding right joyously over thechestnut ridges and through the thick laurel, through stretches of pawpaw,beech and flowering poplar, with the pea-vine and buffalo grass softunderfoot. And my heart was as blithe as the mocking-bird's and there wasno shadow of tomahawk or scalping-knife across my path.

  I knew the destiny of the border was soon to be settled, that it hinged onthe lean, leather-faced riflemen ahead, but there was nothing but sunshineand glory for me in that September day as I hastened to overtake thegrim-faced man who believed His Lordship, John Murray, fourth Earl ofDunmore, Viscount Fincastle, Baron of Blair, Monlin and of Tillimet, wasVirginia's last royal governor.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE SHADOWS VANISH

  I followed the river, the cord of the bow, and made good time where thearmy would have had difficulty to get through. A dozen miles below thefalls and near the mouth of Kelly's Creek, where Walter Kelly was killedby the Indians early in August, I came upon a scout named Nooney. We wereon the west bank and the river was two hundred yards wide at that point.Nooney begged some tobacco and pointed out a fording-place and gave me the"parole." This, very fittingly, was "Kanawha." He said I would speedilymake the camp and that Colonel Lewis was with the first troops.

  I lost no time in crossing and had barely cleared the river-bank before Iwas held up by an outpost. This fellow knew nothing of military red-tape.He was plain militia, a good man in a fight, but inclined to resentdiscipline. He grinned affably as I broke through the woods and loweredhis rifle.

  "Gim'me some tobacker," he demanded good-naturedly.

  "I suppose you'd want the parole," I replied, fishing out a twist ofVirginia leaf.

  "I got that. It's 'Kanawha.' What I want is tobacker. Don't hurry. Le'stalk. I'm lonesome as one bug all alone in a buffler robe. See any footin'over 'cross? I'm gittin' tired o' this outpost business. All foolishness.We'll know when we strike th' red devils. No need o' havin' some one tellus. Your hoss looks sorter peaked. S'pose we'll have a mess of a fightsoon? We boys come along to fight, not to stand like stockade-timbers outhere all alone."

  I told him I had important news for Colonel Lewis and must not tarry. Hetook it rather ill because I would not tell him my news, then tried tomake me promise I would come back and impart it. I equivocated and led myhorse on toward the camp, concealed from view of the river-bank by aribbon of woods. The first man I met was Davis, and the honest fellow wasso rejoiced to see me that he dropped his gun and took both my hands andstood there with his mouth working, but unable to say a word. Big tearsstreamed down his face.

  I hurriedly related my adventures, and his joy was treble when he heardthat Patricia was safe at Howard's Creek.

  "Shelby Cousin shot and kilt Dale. He told us 'bout that. Ericus thoughthe knew it all. Wal, them that lives longest learns th' most," hephilosophically observed. "Powerful glad to see you. We'll be seein' moreof each other, I take it. How's my woman? Good. She's a right forward,capable woman, if I do say it. Moulton's out on a scout. Silent sort of acuss these days from thinkin' 'bout his woman an' th' children. But a rarehand in a mess."

  "And Cousin?"

  "Say, Morris, that feller acts like he was reg'lar happy. Laughs a lot,only it don't sound nat'ral. He's a hellion at scoutin'. Poor Baby Kirst!I must 'low it's best for him to be wiped out, but it's too bad hecouldn't 'a' made his last fight along with us. There's th' colonel in hisshirt-sleeves smokin' his pipe."

  I passed on to where Lewis was sitting on a log. It was fearfully hot, asthe high hills on each side of the river shut out the free air and madethe camp an oven. On recognizing me, the colonel's eyes flickered withsurprise, as the report of my capture had spread far. He rose and took myhand and quietly said:

  "I knew they couldn't hold you unless they killed you on the spot. Whatabout Miss Dale?"

  I informed him of her safety and his face lighted wonderfully.

  "That's good!" he softly exclaimed. "A beautiful young woman, the kindthat Virginia is always proud of. Ericus Dale was lucky to die withoutbeing tortured. Now for your news; for you must be bringing some."

  I told him of the mighty gathering at Chillicothe and of the influx of thefierce Ottawas. Lost Sister's warning to me to keep clear of the GreatKanawha impressed him deeply. It convinced him, I think, that the astuteCornstalk had planned to attack the army before it could cross the Ohio,and that the Shawnees on learning of the assembling at the levels knew theadvance must be down the Kanawha. The Indian who escaped after Clay waskilled was back on the Scioto by this time. After musing over it for a bithe insisted that it did not necessarily follow the attack would be inforce.

  "That was Cornstalk's first plan. But now he knows Governor Dunmore has anarmy at the mouth of the Little Kanawha. He may choose to attack himinstead of me. I hope not, but there's a strong chance he'll do that whilemaking a feint to fool me, and then float down the river and give me areal battle."

  He kindly offered to attach me to one of the companies as sergeant, withthe possibility of appointing me an ensign, but I preferred to act asscout and enjoy more independence of action.

  "That's the trouble," he remarked. "All these fellows want to be scoutsand range the woods free of discipline. They want to whip the Indians butthey want to do it their own way. They persist in wasting ammunition, andit now looks as if we would go into battle with less than one-fourth of apound of powder per man.

  "If any man speaks up and says he is the best marksman in Virginia thenevery man within hearing challenges him to prove it. And they'll step oneside and have a shooting-match, even if they know Cornstalk's army iswithin a couple of miles of us. They're used to bear- and deer-meat. Theydon't want to eat bullock-meat. I'll admit the beef is a bit tough. Andevery morning some of them break the rules by stealing out to kill game.This not only wastes powder, but keeps the outposts alarmed."


  Before I was dismissed I asked about Cousin. The colonel's face becameanimated.

  "Oh, the young man with the sad history? He's out on a scout. That fellowis absolutely fearless. I am surprised every time he lives to return tomake a report. It's useless to lay down a route for him to scout; heprowls where he will. But he's valuable, and we let him have his ownway."

  On the next day we marched to the mouth of the Elk where Colonel CharlesLewis was completing arrangements for transporting the supplies down theriver. While at that camp I went on my first scout and found Indiantracks. One set of them measured fourteen inches in length. The men wentand looked at the signs before they would accept my measurements.

  The camp was extremely busy, for we all knew the crisis was drawing close.Our armorer worked early and late unbreeching the guns having wet charges.Three brigades of horses were sent back to Camp Union for more flour. Iwent with Mooney on a scout up Coal River and we found Indian signs fourmiles from camp. Other scouts were sent down the Kanawha and up the Elk.

  On returning, I found Cousin impatiently waiting for me to come in. He hadchanged and his bearing puzzled me. He was given to laughing loudly at thehorse-play of the men, yet his eyes never laughed. I took him outside thecamp and without any circumlocution related the facts concerning hissister and Kirst.

  "Tell me again that part 'bout how she died," he quietly requested when Ihad finished. I did so. He commented:

  "For killing that redskin I owe you more'n I would if you'd saved my lifea thousand times. So little sister is dead. No, not that. Now that womanis dead I have my little sister back again. I took on with this army so'sI could reach the Scioto towns. To think that Kirst got way up there! I'low he had a man's fight to die in. That's the way. Morris, I'm obleegedto you. I'll always remember her words 'bout sendin' a little sister tome. Now I've got two of 'em. We won't talk no more 'bout it."

  With that he turned and hurried into the woods.

  The men continued firing their guns without having obtained permission,and Colonel Lewis was thoroughly aroused to stop the practise. He directedthat his orders of the fifteenth be read at the head of each company, withorders for the captains to inspect their men's stock of ammunition andreport those lacking powder. This reduced the waste, but there was nostopping the riflemen from popping away at bear or deer once they were outof sight of their officers.

  I had hoped Cousin would return and be my companion on the next scout, butas he failed to show up I set off with Mooney for a second trip up theCoal. This time we discovered signs of fifteen Indians making toward theKanawha below the camp. We returned with the news and found a wave ofdrunkenness had swept the camp during our absence.

  The sutlers were ordered to bring no more liquor into camp, and to sellfrom the supply on hand only on a captain's written order. This served tosober the offenders speedily. The scouts sent down the Kanawha returnedand reported two fires and five Indians within fifteen miles of the Ohio.It was plain that the Indians were dogging our steps day and night, andthe men were warned not to straggle.

  We were at the Elk Camp from the twenty-fourth to the thirtieth, and onthe latter date the canoemen loaded their craft, and the pack-horse menand bullock-drivers drew two days' rations and started down-river. Itrained for three days and on October second we were camped near the mouthof the Coal. It was there that Cousin appeared, a Mingo scalp hanging athis belt. He informed Colonel Lewis he had been to the mouth of the river,making the down-trip in a canoe, and that as yet no Indians had crossedexcept small bands of scouts.

  Breaking camp, we encountered rich bottom-lands, difficult to traversebecause of the rain. Every mile or two there were muddy creeks, and thepack-horses were nearly worn out. Several desertions were now reportedfrom the troops, a hostility to discipline rather than cowardice being theincentive. Another trouble was the theft of supplies.

  As we advanced down the river signs of small bands of Indians becamenumerous; scarcely a scout returned without reporting some. I saw nothingof Cousin until the sixth of October, and as we were finishing aneight-mile march through long defiles and across small runs and wereentering the bottom which extends for four miles to the Ohio. The firstthat I knew he was with us was when he walked at my side and greeted:

  "There's goin' to be a screamin' big fight."

  He offered no explanation of his absence and I asked him nothing. It hadrequired five weeks to march eleven hundred men one hundred and sixtymiles and to convey the necessary supplies the same distance.

  As we scouts in the lead entered the bottom Cousin called my attention tothe high-water marks on the trees. Some of these measured ten feet. ThePoint itself is high. From it we had a wide view of the Ohio and Kanawha,up- and down-stream. It was Cousin who discovered a writing made fast to atree, calling attention to a paper concealed in the hollow at the base ofthe tree. We fished it out and found it was addressed to Colonel Lewis.Cousin and I took it to him. Before opening it, he gave Cousin a shrewdglance and remarked:

  "I am glad to see you back, young man."

  "If I've read the signs right I 'low I'm glad to git back," was the gravereply.

  The letter was from Governor Dunmore, and he wrote to complain because ourcolonel had not joined him at the Little Kanawha. He now informed ourcommander he had dropped down to the mouth of the Big Hockhocking, and wewere expected to join him there. After frowning over the communication,Colonel Lewis read it aloud to some of his officers and expressed himselfvery forcefully. It was soon camp gossip, and every man was free todiscuss it.

  Much anger was expressed against Governor Dunmore. And it did seem absurdto ask our army to move up the Ohio some sixty miles when such a tediousmaneuver would lead us farther from the Indian towns than we were while atthe Point. Had the order been given for the army to go to the Hockhockingthere would have been many desertions.

  I learned later that the letter was brought to the Point by Simon Kentonand Simon Girty, who with Michael Cresap were serving as scouts withDunmore. While the camp was busily criticizing the governor our scoutsfrom the Elk came in and reported seeing Indians hunting buffalo. Whenwithin six miles of the Point, they found a plowshare, somesurveying-instruments, a shirt, a light blue coat and a human underjaw-bone.

  Shelby Cousin said the dead man was Thomas Hoog, who with two or three ofhis men were reported killed by the Indians in the preceding April whilemaking improvements. Cousin insisted his death had been due to wildanimals or an accident, after which the animals had dragged his remainsinto the woods. He argued that an Indian would never have left the coat orthe instruments.

  We passed the seventh and eighth of the month in making the camp sanitaryand in building a shelter for the supplies yet to arrive down the river.Preparations also went ahead for moving the army across the Ohio. Most ofthe scouts were sent out to hunt up lost beeves, while a sergeant andsquad were despatched with canoes to the Elk after flour.

  Three men came in from the Elk and reported that Colonel Christian wascamped there with two hundred and twenty men, that he had only sixteenkettles, and was fearing his men would be ill from eating too much roastmeat "without broth." On the eighth there arrived more letters fromGovernor Dunmore, in which His Lordship expressed his surprise andannoyance because of our failure to appear at the Hockhocking.

  This time Colonel Lewis was quite open in expressing his disgust at thegovernor's lack of strategy. The Kanawha was the gate to Augusta,Botetourt and Fincastle Counties. To leave it and move up-river wouldleave the way open for the red army to stream into Virginia and work itssavagery while the colonials were cooped up on the Ohio or hunting Indianwigwams in the wilderness.

  In the package was a letter to our colonel from Colonel Adam Stephens,second in command to His Excellency, which was given wide publicity.Colonel Stephens reported very disagreeable news from Boston. It was tothe effect that General Gage had fired on the people at Cambridge. Laterwe learned that while some gun-powder and two cannon had been seized byHis Majesty's troops there had been no
massacre of the provincials. Butwhile the rumor remained uncontradicted it caused high excitement andgreat rage.

  On the evening of the ninth Cousin and I were ordered out to scout up theriver beyond Old Town Creek. Our camp was near the junction of the Kanawhaand the Ohio, almost at the tip of the Point. About a fourth of a mile tothe east is Crooked Creek, a very narrow stream at that season of theyear, with banks steep and muddy. It skirts the base of some low hills andflows nearly south in emptying into the Kanawha. Half-way between our campand Old Town Creek, which empties into the Ohio, is a small stretch ofmarsh-land extending north and south, with bottom-lands on each side.

  Cousin and I planned to keep along the Ohio shore until a few miles aboveOld Town Creek, when we would separate, one returning along our course tokeep an eye on the river, the other circling to the east and swinging backthrough the low hills drained by Crooked Creek. This double reconnaissanceshould reveal any spies.

  The men were very anxious to cross the river and come in contact with theIndians. They believed they would have the allied tribes within theirgrasp once they reached the Scioto. They were cheered by the report thatthe army would cross on the morrow. One tall Watauga boy boastfullyproclaimed that all the Shawnees and Mingos beyond the Ohio wouldn't "makemore'n a breakfast for us." Davis, because a man of family and moreconservative, insisted it would be a "pretty tough chunk of a fight."

  This was the optimistic spirit Cousin and I left behind us when we set outat sunset. Cousin was in a new mood. There was a certain wild gaiety,rather a ferocious gaiety, in his bearing. His drawn face had lost some ofthe hard lines and looked almost boyish and his eyes were feverishlyalight. He seemed possessed of superabundant physical strength, and inpure muscular wantonness went out of his way to leap the fallen timberswhich littered the shore.

  As darkness increased he ceased his wild play and became the prince ofscouts. We advanced most leisurely, for we had all night if we cared tostay out. We halted when abreast of the marsh-land and seated ourselves onthe banks of the Ohio and watched the starlight find a mirror in thewater. After a protracted silence he abruptly asked:

  "My sister said she was sendin' me a new sister, you say?"

  "Those were her words."

  "I wish she could know to-night I ain't needin' any new sister. Wish shecould know right now that she's always been my sister. When I reckoned I'dlost her I was just mistook. She was just gone away for a little while.She found a mighty hard an' rough trace to travel. I 'low the Almightywill have to give her many belts afore He smooths out the path in hermind. I 'low it'll take a heap o' presents to make up for the burrs an'briers an' sharp stones she had to foot it over. Thank God she diedwhite!"

  "Amen to that!"

  After another silence he asked:

  "You 'low she's with daddy an' mammy?"

  "I do."

  "That's mighty comfortin' to figger on," he slowly mused. "Much like ayounker gittin' mighty tired an' goin' back home to rest. Daddy an' mammywill do a heap to make it up to her for what she had to go through. Yes, Ican count on 'em, even if the Almighty happened to be too busy to noticeher when she first crossed the border."

  Dear lad! He meant no irreverence.

  The night was calm and sounds carried easily. We had passed beyond wherewe could hear the men singing and merry-making in camp, but the uneasymovements of a turkey and the stealthy retreat of a deer seemed very closeat hand. The soft pad-pad of a woods cat approached within a few feetbefore the creature caught the scent, and the retreat was marked by aseries of crashings through the undergrowth.

  After a while we rose and continued up the river.

  "No Injuns along here," murmured Cousin.

  We reached Old Town Creek and crossed it without discovering any signs ofthe enemy; nor were we looking for anything more serious than a strayscout or two. We went nearly two miles above the creek and turned backafter deciding we would separate at the creek, he taking the hills routeand I following the river. We reached the creek and he was about to leaveme when we both heard a new note, a splashing noise, very faint. Our handsmet in a mutual desire to grab an arm and enforce attention.

  "No fish made it," I whispered.

  "No fish," he agreed. "There!"

  The splashing came from across the several hundred yards of the Ohio'sdeep and silent current. It was repeated until it became almostcontinuous, and it gradually grew louder.

  "Rafts!" shrilly whispered Cousin.

  "They are paddling fast."

  "No! But there are many rafts," he corrected.

  We retreated up-stream a short distance and concealed ourselves in a deepgrowth. To the sound of poles and paddles was added the murmuring ofguttural voices. Then for a climax a raft struck against the bank and alow voice speaking Shawnee gave some sharp orders.

  "One!" counted Cousin.

  As he spoke another raft took the shore, and then they grounded so rapidlythat it was impossible to count them. Orders were given, and the Indiansworked back from the river and proceeded to make a night-camp. The landinghad been made at the mouth of the creek, but the savages had spread out,and some of them were due east from us.

  "There's a heap of 'em!" whispered Cousin. "Lucky for us they didn't fetchany dawgs along, or we'd be smelled out an' have to leg it."

  "I hear squaws talking."

  "Kiss the devil if you don't! There's boys' voices, too. They've fetchedtheir squaws an' boys along to knock the wounded an' dyin' in the head."

  "Then that means they feel sure of winning."

  And my heart began thumping until I feared its beating would be audible ata distance. And before my inner gaze appeared a picture of Lewis' armydefeated and many victims being given over to the stake.

  "Keep shet!" cautioned Cousin. "There it is again! A Mingo talkin', aSeneca, I'd say--Hear that jabber! Delaware--Wyandot--Taway (Ottawa). Witha blanket o' Shawnee pow-wow. By heavens, Morris! This is Cornstalk'swhole force. They've learned that Dunmore is at the Hockhockin' an' willbe j'inin' up with Lewis any day, an' old Cornstalk thinks to lick Lewisafore Dunmore's men can git along!"

  It was now after midnight, and I knew we should be back at camp andwarning Colonel Lewis of his peril. I knew from my last talk with him thathe did not expect to meet the Indians in any numbers until we had crossedthe Ohio. Our failure to find any Indians at the Point and our prospectsfor an immediate crossing conduced to this belief.

  The day before all the scouts had been instructed as to our maneuvers oncewe crossed the river and were searching for ambushes. It was terrible tothink of our army asleep only three miles away. I urged an immediatereturn, but Cousin coolly refused to go until he had reconnoiteredfurther.

  "You stay here till I've sneaked down to the mouth o' the creek," hewhispered. "'Twon't do for both of us to git killed an' leave no one totake the word to Lewis."

  "But why run any risk?" I anxiously demanded; for I feared he had some madprank in mind which would betray our presence and perhaps stop our warningto the army.

  "We must l'arn somethin' as to how many o' the red skunks there be," hereplied.

  "To venture near their camp will mean discovery. They're verywide-awake."

  "I ain't goin' near their camp," he growled in irritation. "I want to lookover them rafts. I can tell from them how many warriors come over, orpretty close to it."

  He slipped away and left me to do the hardest of the work--the work ofwaiting. It seemed a very long time before I heard the bushes rustle. Idrew my ax, but a voice whispering "Richmond," the parole for the night,composed me. Feeling his way to my side he gravely informed me:

  "There's seventy-eight or nine rafts an' a few canoes. It's goin' to be afine piece o' fightin'. At least there's a thousand warriors on this sidean' a lot o' squaws an' boys."

  I estimated our army at eleven hundred and I thanked God they were allfrontiersmen.

  Cousin now was as eager to go as I; and leaving our hiding-place, weworked north until we felt safe to make a detour to the east. Our p
rogresswas slow as there was no knowing how far the Indian scouts were ranging.Once we were forced to remain flat on our stomachs while a group ofwarriors passed within a dozen feet of us, driving to their camp somestrayed beeves from the high rolling bottom-lands to the east. When thelast of them had passed I observed with great alarm a thinning out of thedarkness along the eastern skyline.

  "Good God! We'll be too late!" I groaned. "Let's fire our guns and givethe alarm!"

  "Not yet!" snarled my companion. "I must be in the thick o' that fight.We're too far east to git to camp in a hustle. We must sneak atween thehills an' that small slash (Virginian for marsh). Foller me."

  We changed our course so as to avoid the low hills drained by CrookedCreek, and made after the warriors. About an hour before sunrise we wereat the head of the marsh, and in time to witness the first act of theday's great drama. Two men were working out of the fallen timber, andCousin threw up his double-barrel rifle. I checked him, saying:

  "Don't! They're white!"

  "Renegades!"

  "John Sevier's younger brother, Valentine. T'other is Jim Robertson."

  "Then Lewis knows. He sent 'em to scout the camp."

  "They're after game. James Shelby is sick with the fever. Yesterdaymorning he asked them to perch a turkey for him. Signal them. They knownothing about the Indians!"

  Cousin risked discovery by standing clear of the bushes and waving hishat. "There comes two more of 'em!" he exclaimed.

  This couple was some distance behind the Watauga boys, but I recognizedthem. One was James Mooney, my companion on the Coal River scout. Theother was Joseph Hughey.

  I jumped out and stood beside Cousin and waved my arms frantically. One ofthem caught the motion and said something. The four paused and stared atus. We made emphatic gestures for them to fall back. At first they wereslow to understand, thinking, as Sevier told me afterward, that I waspointing out some game. Then they turned to run, Robertson and Sevierfiring their rifles to the woods to the north of us.

  These were the first guns fired in the battle of Point Pleasant. From thewoods came the noise of a large body of men advancing. A ripple of shotswas sent after the hunters. Hughey and Mooney halted and returned thefire. A streak of red some distance ahead of the Shawnees' position, andclose to the river-bank, dropped Hughey dead. This shot was fired byTavenor Ross, a white man, who was captured by the Indians when a boy andwho had grown up among them.

  Mooney, Robertson and young Sevier were now running for the camp, passingbetween the Ohio bank and the marsh. We raced after them just as a mannamed Hickey ran from the bushes and joined them. The Indians kept up ascattering fire and they made much noise as they spread out through thewoods in battle-line. They supposed we were the scouts of an advancingarmy.

  It is the only instance I know of where insubordination saved any armyfrom a surprise attack, and possibly from defeat. To escape detectionwhile breaking the orders against foraging, the five men named had stolenfrom the camp at an early hour.

  By the time Cousin and I passed the lower end of the marsh small bodies ofIndians were making for the hills along Crooked Creek; others werefollowing down the Ohio inside the timber, while their scouts racedrecklessly after us to locate our line of battle. The scouts soondiscovered that our army was nowhere to be seen. Runners were instantlysent back to inform Cornstalk he was missing a golden opportunity by notattacking at once.

  Mooney was the first to reach Colonel Lewis, who was seated on a log inhis shirt-sleeves, smoking his pipe. Mooney shouted:

  "More'n four acres covered with Injuns at Old Town Creek!"

  Rising, but with no show of haste, Lewis called to Cousin and me: "Whatabout this?"

  "An attack in force, sir, I believe," I panted.

  He glanced at Cousin, who nodded and then ducked away.

  "I think you are mistaken," the colonel coldly remarked. "It must be a bigscouting-party." I tried to tell him what Cousin and I had seen and heard.But he ignored me and ordered the drums to beat To Arms. But already theborder men were turning out and diving behind logs and rocks even whilethe sleep still blurred their eyes.

  Colonel Lewis ordered two columns of one hundred and fifty men each tomarch forward and test the strength of the enemy. The colonel's brotherCharles led the Augusta line to the right. Colonel William Flemingcommanded the left--Botetourt men. The two columns were about two hundredyards apart, and their brisk and businesslike advance did the heart goodto behold.

  No one as yet except the hunters and Cousin and I realized the threehundred men were being sent against the full force of the Ohio Indians.Colonel Lewis resumed his seat and continued smoking.

  "You're nervous, Morris. It can't be more than a large scouting-party, orthey'd have chased you in."

  "They came over on seventy-eight rafts!" I replied, turning to race afterColonel Charles Lewis' column.

  The Augusta men were now swinging in close to Crooked Creek where itskirts the foot of the low hills. As I drew abreast of the head of thecolumn we were fired upon by a large force of Indians, now snuglyensconced behind trees and fallen timber along the creek. We were then notmore than a quarter of a mile from camp. The first fire was tremendouslyheavy and was quickly followed by a second and third volley. The Augustamen reeled, but quickly began returning the fire, the behavior of the menbeing all that a commander could desire. They were forced to give ground,however, as the odds were heavy.

  On our left crashed a volley as the Botetourt men were fired on. ColonelLewis ordered his men to take cover, then turned to Captain BenjaminHarrison and cried:

  "This is no scouting-party! But my brother will soon be sendingreinforcements."

  He had hardly spoken before he spun half-way around, a surprisedexpression on his face.

  "I'm wounded," he quietly said.

  Then handing his rifle to a soldier, he called out to his men:

  "Go on and be brave!"

  With that he began walking to the camp. I ran to help him, but he motionedme back, saying:

  "Your place is there. I'm all right."

  So I left him, a very brave soldier and a Christian gentleman, to make hisway alone while his very minutes were numbered.

  Half a dozen of our men were down and the rest were slowly giving ground.Up to the time Colonel Lewis left us I had seen very few Indians, and onlymere glimpses at that. Now they began showing themselves as they crowdedforward through the timber, confident they were to slaughter us. Above thenoise of the guns, the yells and shouts of red and white combatants, rosea deep booming voice, that of Cornstalk, and he was shouting:

  "Be strong! Be strong! Push them into the river!"

  We dragged back our dead and wounded as with a reckless rush the Indiansadvanced over logs and rocks up to the very muzzles of our guns. Butalthough the Augusta line gave ground the men were not suffering frompanic, and the smashing volley poured into the enemy did great damage andchecked their mad onslaught.

  Never before did red men make such a determined charge. In an instantthere were a score of individual combats, backwoodsman and savage beingclinched in a death-struggle with ax and knife. Now our line stiffened,and the very shock of their attack seemed to hurl the Indians back. Stillwe would have been forced back to the camp and must have suffered cruellosses if not for the timely reinforcements brought up on the run byColonel John Field, veteran of Braddock's and Pontiac's Wars.

  He led Augusta and Botetourt men, for it was no longer possible to keepthe two lines under their respective commanders, nor did any captain forthe rest of the day command his own company as a unit. With the coming upof Colonel Field the Indians immediately gave ground, then charged mostviciously as our men pursued. This maneuver was one of Cornstalk's cunningtactics, the alternate advance and retreat somewhat confusing our men.

  The second attack was repulsed and the riflemen slowly gained more ground.The firing on our left was now very heavy and Colonel Field directed me tolearn how the fight there was progressing. Some of our fellows werescreaming
that Fleming's column was being driven in, and our colonel hadno intention of being cut off.

  As I started toward the river I could hear Cornstalk exhorting: "Shootstraight! Lie close! Fight and be strong!"

  As I withdrew from the right column I had a chance to get a better idea ofthe battle. The Indians lined the base of the hills bordered by CrookedCreek, and were posted on all the heights to shoot any whites trying toswim either the Ohio or the Kanawha. On the opposite side of the Ohio and,as I later learned on the south bank of the Kanawha, red forces had beenstationed in anticipation of our army being routed.

  As I neared the Botetourt men I could hear between volleys the Indiansshouting in unison:

  "Drive the white dogs over!" meaning across the river.

  The Botetourt men were well posted and considerably in advance of theright column, as they had given but little ground while the right wasretiring after Lewis was shot. At no time did either column fight at arange of more than twenty yards, and when I crawled among Fleming's menthe range was not more than six yards, while here and there in the deepergrowth were hand-to-hand struggles.

  "A big chunk of a fight!" screamed a shrill voice, and Cousin was besideme, wearing a brilliant scarlet jacket. As he was crawling by me I caughthim by the heel and dragged him back.

  "You fool! Take that coat off!" I yelled. For the vivid splotch of colormade him a tempting target for every Indian gun. And the Shawnees wereskilful marksmen even if less rapid than the whites because of theirinability to clean their fouled weapons.

  Cousin drew up his leg to kick free, then smiled sweetly and said:

  "It's my big day, Morris. Don't go for to meddle with my medicine.Everything's all right at last. I've found the long trace that leads to mylittle sister. She's waitin' to put her hand in mine, as she used to do onKeeney's Knob."

  With that he suddenly jerked his leg free and sprang to his feet andstreaked toward the savages, his blood-curdling panther-screechpenetrating the heavier vibrations of the battle.

  He was lost to view in the brush and I had my work to do. I kept along theedge of the timber, and answered many anxious queries as to the fate ofthe right column. I reassured them, but did not deem it wise to tell ofColonel Lewis' wound. I found the column quite close to the river and bythe stubborn resistance it was meeting I knew the Indians were stronglyposted.

  "Why don't you whistle now?" they kept howling in concert, and referringto our fifes which were still.

  "We'll kill you all, and then go and speak to your big chief (Dunmore),"was one of their promises.

  And there were other things shouted, foul epithets, which I am ashamed toadmit could only have been learned from the whites. And repeatedly didthey encourage one another and seek to intimidate us by yelling:

  "Drive the white dogs over the river! Drive them like cattle into thewater!"

  While I kept well covered and was completing my reconnaissance I washorrified to see Colonel Fleming walk into the clear ground. He fired atan Indian who had showed himself for a moment to make an insultinggesture. He got his man, and the next second was struck by three balls,two passing through his left arm and the third penetrating his leftbreast.

  He called out to his captains by name and sharply ordered them to holdtheir ground while he went to the rear to be patched up. He was answeredby hearty cheers, but his absence was to be keenly felt by his officers.He started to work his way to the Point, but the exertion of bending anddodging from tree to stump sorely taxed him. I ran to his aid just asDavis, of Howard's Creek, sprang from behind a log and seized his rightarm. Between us we soon had him back in camp and his shirt off. The lungtissue had been forced through the wound a finger's length. He asked me toput it back. I attempted it and failed, whereat he did it himself withoutany fuss.

  On returning to the right column to make a belated report to Colonel FieldI ran across the body of Mooney, my partner on several scouts. He had beenshot through the head. It may here be said that nearly all the dead onboth sides were shot through the head or chest, indicating the accuracy ofmarksmanship on both sides.

  I found the Augusta men steadily pushing the Indians back. But when theygave ground quickly, as if in a panic, it was to tempt the foolhardy intorushing forward. The riflemen had learned their lesson, however, andmaintained their alignment. The advance was through nettles and briers, upsteep muddy banks and over fallen timber.

  The warriors rushed repeatedly to the very muzzles of our guns, and thusdisplayed a brand of courage never surpassed, if ever equaled, by theNorth American Indian before. It was Cornstalk who was holding them to thebloody work. His voice at times sounded very close, but although we allknew his death would count a greater coup than the scalps of a hundredbraves we never could get him. He was too shrewd and evasive.

  Once I believed I had him, for I had located him behind a detached moundof fallen timber. He was loudly calling out for his men to be brave and tolie close, when a warrior leaped up and started to run to the rear. ThenCornstalk flashed into view long enough to sink his ax into the coward'shead. It was all done so quickly that he dropped to cover unharmed.

  That was one of his ways of enforcing obedience, a mode of terrorizationnever before practised by a war-chief to my knowledge. It was toldafterward by the Shawnees that he killed more than that weak-hearted oneduring the long day. I saw nothing of the other chiefs who attended theconference in Cornstalk's Town while I was a prisoner. And yet they werethere, chiefs of Mingos, Wyandots, Delawares and Ottawas.

  "They're fallin' back! They're fallin' back!" yelled a voice in advance ofour first line.

  And the scream of a panther told us it was Cousin. He had worked acrossfrom the left column, and we were soon beholding his bright jacket in atangle of logs and stumps.

  The men advanced more rapidly, but did not break their line; and it wasevident the savages were giving ground in earnest. Our men renewed theircheering and their lusty shouts were answered by the column on theriver-bank, still in advance of us.

  As it seemed we were about to rush the enemy into a panic we received oursecond heavy loss of the day. Colonel Field was shot dead. He was standingbehind a big tree, reserving his fire for an Indian who had been shoutingfilthy abuse at him. Poor colonel! It was but a ruse to hold his attentionwhile savages up the slope and behind fallen timber drew a bead on him.Captain Evan Shelby assumed command and ordered the men to keep up theadvance.

  The Indians gave ground, but with no signs of confusion. Observing ourleft column was in advance of the right, Cornstalk was attempting tostraighten his line by pulling in his left. As we pressed on we discoveredthe savages were scalping their own dead to prevent their hair fallinginto our hands. From the rear of the red men came the sound of manytomahawks. Cousin, who for a moment found himself at my side, exulted:

  "Curse 'em! Their squaws an' boys are cuttin' saplin's for to carry offtheir wounded! They'll need a heap o' stretchers afore this day is over!"

  The sun was now noon-high and the heat was beastly. The battle was at itsclimax. The left column was near a little pond and about fifty yards fromthe river, or a fourth of a mile beyond the spot where Lewis was shot. Wehad evened up this lead, and the battle-line extended from the river andpond to Crooked Creek and half-way down the creek, running from west toeast and then southwest.

  Cornstalk's plan was to coop us up in the Point and drive us into theKanawha and Ohio. There were times when our whole line gave ground, butonly to surge ahead again. Thus we seesawed back and forth along a mileand a quarter of battle-line, with the firing equal in intensity from wingto wing. Nor had the Indians lost any of their high spirits. Their retreatwas merely a maneuver. They kept shouting:

  "We'll show you how to shoot!"

  "Why don't you come along?"

  "Why don't you whistle now?"

  "You'll have two thousand to fight to-morrow!"

  But the force that held them together and impelled them to make thegreatest fight the American Indian ever put up, not even excepting t
hebattle of Bushy Run, was Cornstalk. Truly he was a great man, measuredeven by the white man's standards!

  "Be strong! Be brave! Lie close! Shoot well!" flowed almostuninterruptedly from his lips.

  Davis, of Howard's Creek, went by me, making for the rear with a shatteredright arm and a ghastly hole through his cheek. He tried to grin onrecognizing me. Word was passed on from our rear that runners had beensent to hurry up Colonel Christian and his two hundred men. Among thecaptains killed by this time were John Murray and Samuel Wilson. It was afew minutes after the noon hour that Cousin emerged from the smoke on myright and howled:

  "There's old Puck-i-n-shin-wa!"

  He darted forward, clearing all obstacles with the ease of a deer. I sawthe Shawnee chief, father of Tecumseh, snap his piece at the boy. Then Isaw him go down with Cousin's lead through his painted head. Two savagessprang up and Cousin killed one with his remaining barrel. The other firedpointblank, and by the way Cousin fell I knew his object in wearing thescarlet jacket was attained. He had wished to die this day in the midst ofbattle.

  William White killed Cousin's slayer. The boy was in advance of the lineand his coat made him conspicuous. Doubtless the savages believed him tobe an important officer because of it.

  Five of them rushed in to secure his scalp, and each fell dead, and theirbodies concealed the boy from view. Up to one o'clock the fighting ragedwith undiminished fury, with never any cessation of their taunts andepithets and Cornstalk's stentorian encouragement.

  Now it is never in Indian nature to prolong a conflict once it is obviousthey must suffer heavy losses. They consider it the better wisdom to runaway and await an opportunity when the advantage will be with them.Cornstalk had been confident that his early morning attack would drive usinto the rivers, thus affording his forces on the opposite banks muchsport in picking us off.

  But so fiercely contested had been the battle that none of our dead hadbeen scalped except Hughey and two or three men who fell at the firstfire. By all that we had learned of Indian nature they should now, aftersix hours of continuous fighting, be eager to withdraw. They had foughtthe most bitterly contested battle ever participated in by their race.

  Nor had they, as in Braddock's defeat, been aided by white men. Therewere, to be true, several white men among them, such as Tavenor Ross, JohnWard and George Collet; but these counted no more than ordinary warriorsand Collet was killed before the fighting was half over. According to allprecedents the battle should have ended in an Indian rout by the time thesun crossed the meridian. Instead the savages stiffened their resistanceand held their line.

  Our men cheered from parched throats when word was passed that Collet'sbody had been found and identified. Poor devil! Perhaps it opened the longtrace to him, where everything would be made right. He was captured when achild and had responded to the only environment he had ever known.

  The case of such as Collet--yes, and of John Ward and Ross--is entirelydifferent from that of Timothy Dorman, and others of his kind, who wascaptured when a grown man and who turned renegade to revenge himself forwrongs, real or fancied, on his old neighbors.

  It was not until after seven hours of fighting that we detected anyfalling off in the enemy's resistance. Even then the savages had theadvantage of an excellent position, and to press them was extremelyhazardous business. We continued to crowd them, however, until they werelined up on a long ridge which extended from the small marsh where Cousinand I first saw Robertson and Sevier, for half a mile to the east, whereit was cut by the narrow bed of Crooked Creek.

  None of us needed to be told that so long as the enemy held this ridge ourcamp at the Point was in grave danger. From the riflemen along the Ohioword came that the Indians were throwing their dead into the river, whilesquaws and boys were dragging back their wounded.

  This had a heartening effect on us, for it indicated a doubt was creepinginto the minds of the savages. Once they permitted the possibility ofdefeat to possess them their effectiveness would decrease. Companycommanders called on their men to take the ridge, but to keep their lineintact.

  With wild cheers the men responded and buckled down to the grueling task.Every patch of fallen timber proved to be an Indian fort, where thebravest of the tribes fought until they were killed. It was stubborntraveling, but our riflemen were not to be denied.

  From along the line would come cries of:

  "Remember Tygart's Valley!"

  "Remember Carr's Creek!"

  "Remember the Clendennins!"

  And always Cornstalk's voice answered:

  "Be strong! Be brave! Fight hard!"

  So we struggled up the slope, gaining a yard at a time and counting it atriumph if we passed a pile of dead timber and gained another a few feetbeyond.

  When we were most encouraged the Indians began mocking us and shoutingexultingly and informing us that the warriors across the Kanawha and Ohiohad attacked our camp and were massacring the small force retained there.This statement, repeatedly hurled at us with every semblance of savagegloating, tended to weaken the men's one purpose. We could capture theridge--but! Behind our determination crawled the fear that we might beassailed in the rear at any moment.

  Captain Shelby was quick to realize the depressing influence of this kindof talk, and shouted for the word to be passed that it was an Indiantrick, that our troops were guarding the Kanawha for half a mile up thestream and that the warriors on the Indian shore could not cross overwithout the column on our left discovering the move.

  This prompted our common sense to return to us, and we remembered thatAndrew Lewis was too cool and shrewd to be caught napping. The Point wassprinkled with huge trees and it would take a big force to clear it of ourreserves; and the bulk of the enemy was before us on the ridge.

  With renewed vigor we made greater exertions and at last reached the topof the ridge and cleared it. But even then the Indians were not defeated.They charged up with ferocious energy time after time, and the best wecould do was to cling to our position and let them bring the fighting tous. So different was their behavior from any we had been familiar with inprevious engagements we began to wonder if they would violate other Indianprecedents and continue the battle into the night.

  It was not until three or four o'clock that we noticed any lessening intheir efforts to retake the ridge. At the best this afforded us only ashort breathing-spell. There were many warriors still hidden along theslopes drained by Crooked Creek. Our line was so long there was alwaysdanger of the Indians concentrating and breaking it.

  So long as we stuck to the ridge on the defensive the enemy had theadvantage of the initiative. A runner brought up word from Colonel Lewisto learn the strength of the savages in the hills along the creek, and Iwas directed to reconnoiter.

  I made for the creek from the south slope of the ridge. Sliding down themuddy bank, I ascended the opposite slope and began making my way towardthe point where the creek cut through the ridge. I encountered no Indians,although axes and knives on the ground showed where they had beenstationed before retiring.

  I passed through the cut and was suddenly confronted by what I thought atfirst must be the devil. The fellow was wearing the head of a buffalo,horns and tangled forelock and all. Through the eye-slits gleamed livingeyes. The shock of his grotesque appearance threw me off my guard for amoment. He leaped upon me and we went down the bank into the bed of thecreek.

  He had his ax ready to use but I caught his hand. His hideous mask provedto be his undoing, for as we rolled about it became twisted. I was quickto see my advantage. Relying on one hand to hold his wrist, I used all myquickness and strength and succeeded in turning the mask half-way around,leaving him blind and half-smothered. I killed him with his own ax beforehe could remove his cumbersome headgear.

  As none of his companions had come to his rescue I knew this marked theirmost advanced position in the hills. Having learned all I could withoutsacrificing my life, I began my retreat down the creek and narrowlyescaped being shot by one of our own men.r />
  Captain Shelby ordered me to report to Colonel Lewis, which I did, runningat top speed without attempting to keep under cover. I found the reserveshad thrown up a breastwork from the Ohio to the Kanawha, thus inclosingthe camp on the Point. It lacked half an hour of sunset when I reached thecamp.

  Colonel Lewis heard me, then ordered Captains Isaac Shelby, Arbuckle,Matthews and Stuart to lead their companies up Crooked Creek under coverof the bank until they could secure a position behind the Indians andenfilade their main line. I scouted ahead of this force. We circled theend of the Indian line, but were at once discovered.

  Instead of this being our undoing, it proved to be all in our favor.Cornstalk's spies had kept him informed of Colonel Christian's presence afew miles from the Point. He took it for granted that this force in thehills behind his line was reinforcements brought up by Christian, and thisbelief caused him to order a general retirement across Old Town Creek. Atthat time Christian was fifteen miles from the Point. Sunset found us infull possession of the battle-field.

  Leaving strong outposts, we retired to the well-protected camp, rejoicingloudly and boasting of more than two-score scalps. We carried off all ourdead and wounded. The exact Indian loss was never definitely settled butit must have equaled, if not exceeded, ours. More than a score were foundin the woods covered deep with brush, and many were thrown into theriver.

  This battle ended Dunmore's War, also known as Cresap's War and theShawnee War. So far as actual fighting and losses are considered it was adrawn battle. But as Cornstalk could not induce his men to renew theconflict, and inasmuch as they retreated before morning to the Indianshore, the victory must be held to be with the backwoodsmen.

  And yet the tribes were not entirely downcast, for during the earlyevening they continued to taunt us and to repeat their threats of bringingan army of two thousand on to the field in the morning. In fact, many ofour men believed the savages had a shade the better of the fight, andwould renew hostilities in the morning.

  That night we buried Shelby Cousin on the bank of the Kanawha and built afire over his grave to conceal it. Colonel Christian arrived at midnight,and there was some lurid profanity when his men learned they had arrivedtoo late for the fighting. One week after the battle eleven hundred troopscrossed the Ohio to carry the war to the Indian towns for a finaldecision.

  When thirteen miles south of Chillicothe, the town Governor Dunmore hadordered us to attack and destroy, a message arrived from His Lordship,directing Colonel Lewis to halt his advance, for peace was about to bemade. Hostile bands had fired upon us that very morning, and the positionwas not suitable for a camp. Colonel Lewis continued the march for a fewmiles. Another messenger arrived with orders for us to halt, for the peacewas about to be consummated.

  We went into camp on Congo Creek, about five miles from Chillicothe. Themen raged something marvelous. They insisted that no decisive battle hadbeen fought and that we had thrown away nearly a hundred lives if thefighting were not renewed. The Shawnees were in our power. What folly tolet them escape!

  Dunmore and White Eyes, the friendly Delaware chief, rode into camp andconferred with Colonel Lewis; and as a result we started the next day forPoint Pleasant and Virginia. The men were all but out of bounds, sofurious were they at not being loosed at the Shawnees.

  Then began the talk that Dunmore brought on the war to keep ourbackwoodsmen busy in event the colonies rebelled against England; also,that he closed it prematurely so that the Indians might continue a menaceto the border and thus keep the frontier men at home.

  I was as hot as any against His Lordship for the way the campaign ended.We demanded blood for blood in those days; and never had the Virginiariflemen a better chance for inflicting lasting punishment on theirancient foes. And we were quick to blame His Lordship for a variety ofunwholesome motives.

  But with political rancor long since buried we can survey that campaignmore calmly and realize that as a result of the battle the northwestIndians kept quiet for the first two years of the Revolutionary War, andthat during this period Kentucky was settled and the vast continent westof the Alleghanies was saved to the Union.

  If the battle of Bushy Run took the heart out of the tribes confederatedunder Pontiac's masterly leadership, then Dunmore's War permitted us tobegin life as a republic without having the Alleghanies for our westernboundary. Nor can I hold in these latter days that His Lordship wasinsincere in waging the war; for England was against it from the first.

  I believed he pushed the war as vigorously and shrewdly as he knew how;and I believe his was the better judgment in securing the best peace-termspossible instead of heaping defeat on defeat until the allied tribes hadnothing left to bargain for. So I give His Lordship credit for making agood bargain with the Indians, and a bargain which aided the colonistsduring the struggle almost upon them. But I was very happy when ColonelAndrew Lewis drove him from Virginia.

  CHAPTER XIII

  PEACE COMES TO THE CLEARING

  Early winter, and the wind was crisp and cold as I rode into Howard'sCreek. Smoke rose from the cabins. I limped toward the Davis cabin, astrange shyness holding me back. Some one inside was singing:

  "Ye daughters and sons of Virginia, incline Your ears to a story of woe; I sing of a time when your fathers and mine Fought for us on the Ohio. In seventeen hundred and seventy-four, The month of October, we know, An army of Indians, two thousand or more, Encamped on the Ohio."

  There was a whirl of linsey petticoats behind me, and two plump arms wereabout my neck; and her dear voice was sobbing:

  "They didn't know! I feared you were dead beyond the Ohio!"

  "But I sent you a message!" I protested, patting her bowed head. "I sentword by Moulton that it was only an arrow-wound in the leg, and that Imust wait."

  "And he never came, nor brought your word! He stopped in Tygart's Valleyand sent his brother to bring Mrs. Moulton and the children. One man saidhe heard you had been hurt. I wrote to Colonel Lewis but he was not atRichfield. So I never knew!"

  We walked aside, and I petted her and listened to her dear voice andforgot the cold wind biting into my thin blood, forgot I would always walkwith a slight limp. When we did awake, because the early dusk was fillingthe clearing, the singer was finishing his seventeen-stanza song:

  "As Israel did mourn and her daughters did weep, For Saul and his host on Gilbow, We'll mourn Colonel Field and the heroes who sleep On the banks of the Ohio."

  And I thought of Shelby Cousin and the others, who gave their lives thatwe might meet thus without the war-whoop interrupting our wooing. And Iwondered if our children's children would ever realize that the deathsdied at Point Pleasant made life and happiness possible for them. I prayedit might be so, for lonely graves are not so lonely if they are notforgotten.

  THE END