Marching on Niagara: or, The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier
At this time the population of Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia was reckoned at about half a million souls, yet from such a number Washington could only obtain two thousand militiamen and rangers, and, as stated before, this number was constantly decreasing, as one after another refused to re-enlist, for reasons already given. The young commander did all in his power to protect the numerous settlements from attacks, but to cover such a wide expanse of territory was, under the circumstances, impossible. The best that could be done was to station parts of the army at various forts and hold the soldiers in readiness to march forth in any direction from whence should come an alarm.
Colonel Washington had been out on a long tour of inspection, and was just settling down for a much needed sleep, when an orderly entered and told him that an Indian messenger had arrived with news.
"Who is the messenger?" questioned the commander, for in those days it was necessary to guard against all possible treachery.
"An under chief named White Buffalo, sir."
Washington knew White Buffalo fairly well, and at once commanded that the chief be brought in. This was done, and the warrior delivered the message written by Captain Tanner with all the ceremony the occasion, to the Indian, seemed to require.
"White Buffalo, my brother, has done well to bring this message so quickly," said Washington. "Fort Lawrence needs help and I shall give all the help in my power. You know much of the Indians who are friendly to the French. How soon will they attack the place, do you think?"
"That White Buffalo cannot tell to his brother Washington," was the chief's answer. "They are eager for plunder and will hold off only so long as they think they are too weak to make the attack. But when they feel strong enough they will rush in, and if they take the fort, White Buffalo is sure the massacre at Fort William Henry will be repeated."
A few words more followed, and Washington hurried forth to notify several of his officers of what was happening at Fort Lawrence. A force of only thirty-six men could be spared from Fort Winchester, and these were placed under the command of Lieutenant Baldwick, an old Indian fighter. With the whites went nine Indians, who, after some little urging, consented to act under White Buffalo, although they belonged to a different tribe. Washington was greatly tempted to take command himself but felt that he would soon be needed in other directions.
The rangers chosen for this expedition were all on horseback, and Lieutenant Baldwick started them off just as soon as they could be gotten together, and the necessary food and ammunition could be distributed. The Indians were on foot, but they were all good runners, and as the trail was a rough one for horses the warriors kept up without great difficulty.
The expedition was yet within sight of Winchester when James Morris came riding into the post, having been on a business trip a mile further eastward. Dave's father met Colonel Washington at the entrance to the stockade and took the liberty to ask what the departure of the soldiers meant.
"They are on the way to Fort Lawrence," was the answer, and Washington told of the message received and of what White Buffalo had had to relate.
"That's bad!" ejaculated James Morris. "Did he say anything of my folks, Colonel?"
"He mentioned your brother Joseph as being with Captain Tanner, but that is all. I sincerely trust your family are in the fort and safe," answered Washington.
Dave's father had wished to see the commander about the purchase of a number of horses needed by the British army, but now the business was forgotten, and without delay the trader dashed off on his steed after Lieutenant Baldwick's command. As soon as he gained the expedition he sought out White Buffalo and asked concerning Dave.
"He is at the fort," said the Indian. "And so is your brother Joseph and his wife and Rodney and little Bright-face," – meaning Nell.
"And what of Henry?"
"He was missing – but he may be at the fort when we get there." And as well as he was able the warrior told of what had happened at Uriah Risley's cabin and afterwards.
Although the expedition moved on as rapidly as possible, it was high noon before half the distance to Fort Lawrence was covered. The mid-day meal was eaten on the march, and the only stop made was one to water the horses. Two white scouts and two Indians went ahead as spies, and half an hour later discovered the camp of four Indians, who had with them one warrior who was suffering with a broken leg. A skirmish ensued, and two of the Indians, including the wounded man, were killed and the others taken prisoners. After that the expedition moved onward with greater vigilance than ever.
It was nearly three o'clock, and the soldiers were still a mile from the fort, when one of the advance guard set up a shout. He had caught sight of two white men creeping along the edge of a ravine to the north of the trail. A halt was ordered and another batch of scouts went forward to learn who the whites could be.
A short game of hide-and-seek now ensued, each side not knowing whether the other was a friend or an enemy. But at last there came a yell of joy from Sam Barringford as he swung his coonskin cap in the air.
"I know you, Dick Hoggerly!" he shouted, to one of the scouts. "Don't let 'em shoot at us. I've got Henry Morris with me."
"Hullo, so it's you, Sam," was the answer. "All right; we ain't shootin' no friends if we kin help it." And then the word was passed around and soon the two wanderers were made welcome, Henry especially so by his Uncle James.
The pair had but little to relate outside of what is already known. They told Lieutenant Baldwick that the Indians surrounded Fort Lawrence completely and that some sort of an attack had already taken place. This was enough to arouse the spirit of even the most sluggish, and once again the expedition moved through the forest, determined to save the fort and its defenders, if such a thing were possible.
CHAPTER XIII
FIGHTING OFF THE INDIANS
"It doesn't look much like an attack now."
It was Dave who spoke, as he leaned against the rocks and gazed sharply out into the forest, beyond the tiny stream of water flowing beside the improvised fort.
"When the redskins come they won't blow a trumpet," replied Rodney, grimly. "The more vicious the attack the more quiet they'll go about it. Isn't that so, father?"
"You're about right, my son," returned Joseph Morris. "I shouldn't be surprised if the Indians are much closer than we think."
"If only we knew where Henry is, and father," said Dave. "Perhaps the redskins have captured them both."
"They won't get your father so easily, Dave," came from Joseph Morris. "They may – "
The pioneer broke off short and suddenly raised his gun. He had seen some war-like feathers floating above a fringe of brushwood between a number of stately walnut trees. He took careful aim and fired.
A yell rent the air and in a trice that cry was echoed by half a hundred others, filling the air with a sudden noise, which no pen can describe. As Dave said, it was truly "a hair raiser," and he felt a quick chill creep down his backbone. That yell told only too well how the Indians were aroused, and what they would do could they but gain the chance.
The report of Joseph Morris's gun was followed by the discharge of Rodney's weapon and then shots from several others. Rodney had seen a warrior running from one tree to another and had brought the Indian down midway between the two. But the fellow was only wounded and he lost no time in crawling to cover.
Spat! spat! A bullet and an arrow hit the rocks directly in front of the Morrises and caused Dave to dodge quickly, although so far there was small danger of being hit. Then came other shots from both sides and for several minutes the air inside and outside the fort was filled with smoke.
"There's a good number of them, that's certain," observed Joseph Morris, as he paused to reload. "I believe every Indian for a hundred and fifty miles around has gathered here. Hark!"
They listened, and from a distance came other yells, gradually circling around in the forest to the other side of the fort. But this ruse did not deceive those within.
"It's an old dodge," observed Joseph Morris. "They want us to look for them on that side while they make a dash on this. See, here they come now!"
"Yes, an' thar's fer 'em!" put in a pioneer standing near. His aim was true and a warrior went down just as he leaped out to cross the stream.
"Good for you, Pasney!" exclaimed Joseph Morris. "Never saw a truer shot in my life. You took him straight in the heart."
"Wall, thet's wot I reckoned on doin'," replied Pasney, coolly. He was an old trapper, and had lived among friendly Indians for years. At rifle practice he had often won prizes for marksmanship.
With four of their warriors either killed or wounded, the Indians retreated for the time being. So far nobody in the fort had been touched, consequently the spirits of all, even of the women folks, revived.
"If we keep this up, we'll soon discourage them," said Captain Tanner. "More than likely they'll hang around until to-morrow and then rush off to loot what they can and get back to their own territory."
"If they do that we ought to follow them," said Dave. "They should be taught a good lesson. Just think of our nice home being burnt to the ground for no reason at all. It's a shame!"
Many of the women and children, as well as some of the men, were very tired, but sleep was out of the question for all old enough to comprehend what was taking place. Even little Nell came out of a nap with a scream and clung closer than ever to her mother's skirt.
"Oh, mamma, what will they do with us?" she asked. "Will they scalp us?"
"Let us hope not, dear," answered Mrs. Morris, soothingly. "I think your papa and the others can keep them off."
Half an hour later came another attack. It was now dark, and only a trained eye could see what was taking place in the blackness of the forest surrounding the fort. To get a better view Pasney climbed one of the trees forming part of the stockade.
Hardly had he gained a favorable position than he uttered a cry of alarm. Then came the whizzing of an arrow through the bare branches in front of him and his body came down with a thud just inside the defence. Several rushed to him and raised him up, but it was too late.
"Shot through the heart!" whispered Dave, as he gazed on the body in horror. "He got just what he gave that redskin a while ago." And he turned away, scarcely able to control his feelings.
Again the war-cry was given and once more the Indians made a rush, this time attacking the fort on two sides. There was a constant discharge of firearms, and arrows came freely into the enclosure, one taking Rodney through the fleshy part of the arm and another grazing Dave's face.
"You are hit, Rodney," cried Dave, as he saw his crippled cousin stagger back.
"Reckon it ain't much," was the answer. "But it was a close call," and then Rodney went to his mother, to have the wound bound up.
The fight had been waging for the best part of an hour when those in the fort saw that the enemy were changing their tactics. Through the air there rushed a dozen or more arrows all carrying with them trails of fire. They went up like so many rockets, to fall in graceful curves directly into the fort. One had a horn of powder attached to it, which, on touching the ground, exploded with great violence. Fire was scattered in all directions and for the moment it looked as if some of the women folks and children would be burnt alive.
Rodney was close to his mother and little Nell when the first shower of burning arrows came down. He saw his mother's skirt go up into a blaze and like a flash tore the burning garment from her. Then he brushed some sparks from little Nell and himself and an old woman standing by.
"They intend to burn us alive!" was the cry, and many of the children began to scream louder than ever.
"Let the women take water and dirt and put out the fire!" ordered Captain Tanner. "Every man is needed at the stockade. They are getting ready for another rush!"
Fortunately all the water possible had been brought into the fort and clothes were soaked in this and used for beating out the flames. It was hard work, and soon the women were as smoke-begrimed as the men. To save the children all their dresses were wet down so that the sparks might have no effect. Where the burning arrows fell among the baggage, and water was not handy, the sod was dug up with spades and pike poles and thrown on as a blanket.
In the meantime what Captain Tanner had said about another attack was true. But this time the Indians were more cautious and they hardly exposed themselves, while waiting for the fire to aid them. When they saw that the blazing arrows had little or no effect they fell back once more, with two warriors wounded, one mortally.
Slowly the night wore away. The loss to the pioneers had been one man killed and several wounded, although none seriously. One woman had been burnt across the neck and one little boy had had an ear scorched.
When day dawned the vigilance at the stockade and the rocks was not relaxed, for all felt that another attack might come at any moment. There was no water in the enclosure, all on hand having been used in fighting fire.
"We've got to get water somehow," said Joseph Morris. "I'm dying for a drink and I reckon all of you are about the same."
"Oh, Joseph, do not expose yourself," pleaded Mrs. Morris. "More than likely the Indians know we want water and they'll watch the brooks closely, to see if they can't catch whoever tries to get it."
This was proved to be the case a few minutes later, when a pioneer named Raymond tried to get a bucket of water. Hardly had he showed himself when two arrows whizzed in that direction, one cutting through his coonskin cap. Raymond dropped his bucket in a hurry and lost no time in regaining shelter.
"I know a way to get water," said Rodney. "Dig a hole down between the rocks and then run a pike pole through that dirt bank. Some of the water in that brook will be sure to flow in this direction."
The suggestion was thought a good one and several started to dig the hole immediately. It was made four feet deep and the pike pole was jammed through the soil at as low a point as possible. At first no water came, but presently a few drops showed themselves and then followed a stream the size of one's little finger.
"Hurrah!" cried Dave. "Rodney's scheme is all right. That hole will keep the water here on a level with that in the stream and we'll have all we wish." And so it proved, much to the satisfaction of all in the fort. To be sure, the water was rather muddy, but even muddy water was much better than none and nobody complained.
"White Buffalo ought to be on his way back," observed Joseph Morris, as he and the boys sat on the rocks, eating the scant morning meal which Captain Tanner had had dealt out.
"Yes, and he ought to have some of Colonel Washington's rangers with him," returned Dave.
"Your father will be with 'em," came from Rodney. "That is, unless he struck out for the house instead."
The talking went on in low voices, for all ears were on guard, waiting for sounds from the forest. Captain Tanner had hoped to get some word from the Indians White Buffalo had left behind, but none of these showed themselves.
An hour later an alarm came from the farther end of the stockade. The Indians were gathering for a solid rush upon that quarter. Soon a yell was heard and again came shots and arrows.
"We are in for it now!" cried Captain Tanner. "Every man must do his duty or we are lost. They are coming on us a couple of hundred stronger!"
He was right, and now the enemy advanced boldly as if encouraged by the mere force of numbers. Several carried notched limbs of trees, to be used as ladders in scaling the stockade.
Shots flew thick and fast and inside of a few minutes two more of the pioneers were wounded and a woman was killed outright. The Indians suffered even a greater loss, but continued to come on until more than a score of them were close to the stockade. In the meantime several of the number ran around to the rocks, thinking the pioneers had deserted this end of the fort.
Joseph Morris, Rodney, Dave, and two others met those at the rocks with a rapid volley which speedily put three of the warriors out of the contest. But more were coming, and in a few minutes our friends found themselves in what was almost a hand-to-hand encounter, only a few rough rocks separating them from the redskins.
Dave had just fired, and was reloading with all speed, when he saw an arrow aimed full at his uncle. He gave a shout of warning, but the cry came too late. Joseph Morris was struck in the breast and went down in a heap. He gave a strange little groan and then lay still.
CHAPTER XIV
RETREAT OF THE PIONEERS
Dave's shout of warning reached Rodney's ears, and the young man turned in time to see his father go down as just described. He gave a cry of horror and then, with set teeth, discharged his gun straight at the warrior who had laid Mr. Morris low. His aim was true and the Indian fell to rise no more.
The fall of his uncle nerved Dave to greater effort, and as the Indians rushed over the rocks he, with several others, met them in a short but bitter hand-to-hand contest, in which blows were freely taken and delivered. The redskins were yelling at the top of their lungs and using their tomahawks with great viciousness. Dave was confronted by a tall warrior who did his best to split the youth's head open with his hatchet, but Dave dodged and the blow merely grazed his shoulder. Then, before the Indian could aim another blow a bullet from the rear cut short the redskin's career forever.
The forest was now full of shouting, and shots were being fired with marvelous rapidity. Those in the fort could not understand this. Had the Indians been re-enforced?
"If more redskins have come up we are doomed!" was the cry which went the rounds, but almost on top of it came a yell of joy:
"The rangers have come! We are saved!"
It was true, the command under Lieutenant Baldwick had come up after a long running fight with some Indians journeying toward the fort. These redskins had been put to flight and with them about a dozen French trappers and traders under Jean Bevoir, one of the trappers having been slain, along with two Indians. Now the rangers were fighting desperately to get to those hemmed in at the fort.
The coming of the soldiers put new life in the pioneers and the battle broke forth afresh. Struck at from both the front and the rear the Indians received a galling fire which filled them with sudden terror.
In the midst of the rangers were James Morris and Sam Barringford. Dave's father was cool and determined and every shot from his musket was sent with deadly effect. Barringford seemed to be in his element, and danced around so rapidly that not an Indian could draw a "bead" upon him.
"Thet for ye!" he yelled, firing his gun at the nearest warrior. "An' how do yer like thet, eh?" – hitting a second with the butt of the weapon. "I'll show ye! Ain't I a roarin' painter when I'm cut loose! Cl'ar the track fer the bustin', roarin' whirlwind!" And thus shouting in the style peculiar to the old-time trappers of that period he rushed in, literally cutting a path over the rocks and into the fort proper. An arrow stuck through his coonskin cap and his hunting jacket was ripped in a dozen places by knives and tomahawks, yet with it all he seemed to bear a charmed life and laid low every warrior who dared to bar his progress.
In less than ten minutes after the rangers had appeared and closed in the Indians began to retreat. Seeing them thus on the run, the pioneers and soldiers increased their efforts and soon the warriors were only too glad to get back into the forest. They left the vicinity of the fort and took up their stand several hundred yards away, behind a small hill, enclosed on two sides by rocks. It is possible they expected the rangers to follow them to this point, but for the time being they were not molested.
The reason for this was easily explained. Both pioneers and rangers were utterly fagged out – the former by their hasty flights from their homes, and the vigilance and fighting at the fort, and the latter because of the forced ride from Winchester, and the first battle in the forest with Indians and French. All needed a rest, and the wounded demanded attention. So for the time being the battle remained a drawn one.
As soon as it was made known that the Indians had retreated, a score of rangers who were unhurt were set to watch their movements, and then began the caring for the wounded. All told, it was found that six men, women and children had been killed outright and that one man was mortally hurt. Of the pioneers five were wounded, and of the rangers three, and of the killed two had been scalped.
"Dave, my son!" exclaimed James Morris, as he rushed up. "Are you safe?"
"Yes, father," was the answer. "And you?"
"I have a scratch on the leg, but it isn't much. How are the rest?"
"Uncle Joe has been shot down. I reckon the others are all right."
"Joe shot down? Is he – he – "
"There he is, over by the rocks. No, he isn't dead, but I think he's pretty bad. He got an arrow right in the breast."
Father and son hurried to the spot, to find Joseph Morris stretched out on a blanket and surrounded by all of his family, including Henry, who during the advance of the rangers had fought as bravely as anyone. The arrow had been extracted and Mrs. Morris was using her utmost skill in binding up the wound.
"What do you think, James?" she wailed. "Will he live?"
"While there is life let us hope, Lucy," answered the brother-in-law, tenderly. "Is he unconscious?"
"Yes," put in Rodney. "I – I'm afraid that arrow point was poisoned."
"Let me see the arrow."
It was passed over and James Morris examined it with care. At this point Sam Barringford also came up and he, too, looked the arrow over.
"Ain't no p'ison thar," said the old frontiersman. "Thet tribe uses blue juice an' if thar war p'ison the blood would turn greenish. But it's rich red, as ye kin see. No, I allow as how he ain't p'isoned."
"I believe Sam tells the truth," said James Morris.
"But it's a fearful wound," said Dave. "I saw the arrow strike. It went in straight."
All set to work to revive the unconscious sufferer and Barringford insisted upon obtaining some liquor and forcing a few teaspoonsful down the wounded man's throat. At last they had the satisfaction of seeing Joseph Morris give a short gasp and open his eyes dreamily.
"Oh!" he murmured and for a moment was silent. "I – I am hit!" he went on.
"Be quiet, Joseph," said his wife, bending over him. "Yes, you were hit in the breast with an arrow. We will do what we can for you, but you mustn't move, or the wound will start to bleed again."
"But the Indians – "
"The Indians have retreated," said Rodney. "The rangers have come, and Uncle James is here, too, and so is Henry."
"All safe?"
"Yes."
"Thank God!" And then Joseph Morris relapsed once more into silence, being almost too weak to breathe much less to speak.
Little Nell had been crying bitterly, and now Henry took her in his arms and did his best to soothe her, for he knew his mother would not leave his father's side.
"The bad, bad Indians!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how could they come and shoot at us! And last night they tried to burn us up with their fire arrows! Oh, it was dreadful!" And she buried her curly head in her brother's shoulder.
The hours to follow were gloomy enough, and ones which those in the stockade never forgot. The man who had been mortally wounded died shrieking with pain, and the sounds rang in the ears of both young and old, filling the latter with new grief. The dead were buried together in one deep hole and over their last resting place were rolled several heavy stones, that no wild beasts might disturb their common grave. The service at this funeral was short, for there was no telling when the Indians might make another attack.
Toward the middle of the afternoon word came in through the friendly Indians under White Buffalo that the French Indians, as they were called, were preparing for some new move. Instantly every available man in the fort leaped for his gun and even some of the women armed themselves, determined to fight to the last rather than risk the horrors of becoming captives of the enemy.
