A PLUNGE INTO THE FOREST
March fifteenth, 1773, Rodney Allison set out with a party of five men
who were leaving to join Clark's party on the Ohio.
The task would be somewhat like finding the needle in the haystack,
perhaps, but all were confident and went away in high spirits.
Mrs. Allison smiled bravely and Naomi called after him, "You bring
back a little bear for me to play with," whereat they all laughed, but
the laughter was very near tears. Indeed Mam threw her apron over her
head and fled to the cook-house.
"You don't want ter look so blue, Rod," cried Angus, coming into the
yard. "I only wish I was goin' along. Alec Stephens' father says
thar's prairies out thar where buffalo hev wallered great traces
through the grass, thet's higher'n yer head, an' the deer an' elk are
thicker'n skeeters in the swamp. He 'lows as how them as gits the land
will sure beat the tide-water gentry on ther home stretch."
Thus encouraged the boy turned his face westward. There were two pack
horses in the party and they were heavily laden. The journey to the
river was without special incident. Many were going over the trail,
and scarcely a day passed that they did not fall in with others. On
arrival at the river the horses were left and the goods were loaded
into canoes.
It was April and the great stream was filled to its banks. At the
start Rodney felt as though he were paddling their frail craft out to
sea toward an unknown shore. There was something sullen and
irresistible in the might of that dark, swollen river, and the craft
was swept along like a twig on the great waters.
The red buds were showing on the trees, a sign of hope, thought the
boy. On his calling attention to them one of the men remarked: "They
ain't the only red thing that's out. We want to be on the lookout, fer
the word from the posts is thet the redskins are gittin' sassy."
The third day Dominick Ferguson was Rodney's partner in the canoe. He
was a vigilant and powerful man, speaking a rich brogue, and when he
laughed all who heard him laughed with him. He had lived in this
country for twenty years, coming here as a soldier, and had passed
much of that time on the frontier. It appeared that he was a man of
some education as well as valuable experience.
"I'm of the opeenion," he remarked, "that there'll be doin's out i'
this country ere long. Virginny'll not yield her claims to the country
wi'out speerin' the why, an' Pennsylvania Dutchmen will cling to what
they ha' like dogs to a root. I've noticed aboot half the parties
we've met are from that colony."
"Do you think there will be fighting?"
"Will there be fightin' at Donnybrook fair, do ye ask? Sure there will
be fightin', an' while the two white clans are tryin' to eat each the
ither, the red devils will be lookin' for a mouthful, I'm thinkin'."
"You talk as though 'twould have been better for us never to have left
Virginia."
"I'm not sure but 'twould ha' been, but nothin' venture nothin' have
is a sayin' as true now as iver. You don't want to turn back?"
"I surely do not."
"That's the Scotch in ye; an' 'twould ha' been the like if 'twere
Irish. Now I ha' the advantage o' gittin' it both sides. Me mother's
eyes were as blue as any colleen's in all Leinster, while the father
o' me was from Argyll, which is sayin' muckle. The one was papist an'
the father a Presbyterian. When they tell ye oil an' water'll not mix,
look at me."
"I've heard they don't ask a man about his religion out in this
country."
"Right, lad, but a mon ha' need o' all his religion, I'm thinkin'."
"Well, as for me, mother is of the established church an' father is a
Dissenter."
"Either'll do an' the both ought. It'll be no fault of our forebears
if we ha' not religion in plenty, an' some o' the gude as should gang
wi' it."
Rodney thought of the morning prayers at home, his father kneeling by
the old splint-bottomed chair. Tears came to his eyes, he knew not
why, for was he not soon to see his father and were they not to
prosper and go back in the fall for his mother and sister? Yet he
looked out on the swirling water as through a mist.
"One of the men said you had seen long service as a soldier in the
king's army, Mr. Ferguson."
"That's how I came to this country, an' when I laid by me red coat I
thought this a bonny place to bide in. I got me a good team an' was
makin' a tidy bit cartin' supplies ower the mountains when the war
broke oot. I drove me team with Braddock's army an' afterward joined
the militia."
"Father was a soldier under Braddock. I've heard him tell how brave
some of the teamsters were in the midst of the panic and how cowardly
were some of the others."
"Same old story; all kinds o' folks to make a world. I mind well the
grit o' one o' them, Daniel Morgan was his name. We drove our teams
ower Braddock's grave in the road so's to hide it from the redskins.
Morgan's a mon as belongs at the head o' the column. He fears naught
on the face o' the earth, an' such men lead oot in this country where
courage an' skill at war are more account than any ither place i' all
the world. Morgan an' I were teaming supplies to Fort Chiswell i' the
summer of 1756. One o' the British officers got mad at him an' struck
him wi' the flat o' his sword when Morgan he oop-ended the officer's
person wi' a smart crack o' his feest. That was fat i' the fire you
may be sure. Insubordination don't go i' the army an' they tied Morgan
to his cart wheel an' laid five hundred lashes on his bare back. 'Twas
a wicked sight, the flesh o' him hung i' strips, an' he as cool as a
cowcumber an' countin' every stroke. He always declared they missed a
stroke. A braw lad be that same Dan Morgan."
"I should have thought it would have killed him."
"Keel him! Lad, ye don't know the stuff o' which such men are made.
Why, after he'd gone into the service he was ambushed by the savages
an' was shot i' the neck, the bullet comin' oot the mouth an' takin'
the teeth o' one side along wi' it."
"What became of him?"
"He settled doon i' Winchester, which was then weel nigh the jumpin'
off place, licked every mon in town as wanted a fight, an' then
married a fine woman an' bided there as respectable as ye please. I
sure thought, tho', he would go to the dogs. I'm o' the opeenion that
wife will be the makin' o' him. What the boats ahead doin', lad?"
"They are landing at the mouth of the little creek, there."
"I have it; 'tis nigh sundown an' I reckon they hope to shoot
something fer supper," saying which he began to sing in a rollicking
voice the following, which may be presumed to be of his own
composition:
"Swate Widdy Hogan's married rich Flannagan
To provide for Hogan's heirs;
All tin twins o' thim great at shenannegan,
An all o' thim born i' pairs.
"Pat an' Terry, Tom an' Tim,
Peter, Mary Ann,
Dinnis, Nora, Shaughn an' Fin,
Wid Kathleen an' Dan,"
"Never mind the rest o' the family, Ferguson, come ashore an' help
with the work."
"Help wi' the work, is it, Joseph, me boy? Joseph wore a coat o' many
colours, ye know, but he was the same old Joe all the time. You'll
niver improve, I'm thinkin'."
Rodney was left to build a fire and told to keep his eye "peeled," for
a prowling savage might happen along any minute.
When he had a good blaze started, he sat down to wait. After a few
minutes, hearing nothing, he decided to take his rifle and go up the
creek a short distance in the hope of seeing game.
That those returning and finding him gone need not be alarmed, he cut
a piece of bark from a young tree and with the point of his knife
wrote on the inside: "Up creek, back soon."
The boy had not gone far when he came upon a path made by animals
passing to and from the creek. He noticed no fresh tracks but
concluded this as good a place as any where one might lie in wait for
a sight of game.
He selected the trunk of a fallen tree which commanded a view of the
path and where he would be screened from the observation of any animal
passing.
It was near sunset and the rosy light shone through thin places in the
foliage overhead. Not a sound could be heard save the murmur of the
water in the creek. Rodney had paddled all day and was tired. He began
to feel drowsy. That would not do and he shook his head vigorously,
resolving to keep awake. He was fond of hunting and thought it would
be very gratifying if he might return to the fire with something to
show for his efforts.
Back in the woods a fine buck came walking along the narrow path. When
fully six rods from the creek he suddenly stopped, and lifting his
delicate muzzle snuffed the air inquiringly. The next instant his tail
was lifted, showing the white of the under side, the "white flag," as
the hunters term it, and with a bound he was off in the forest.
A few minutes later a dark form cautiously came along, careful not to
break a twig beneath his moccasined feet. He was naked except for a
breech-clout. The tuft of feathers fastened to his "top-knot" and the
paint on his face indicated that he was on the warpath.
Turning, the Indian followed the narrow trail in the direction of the
creek for a short distance and then, leaving the path, made a detour
on the side where Rodney had taken his station.
The boy slept! The sun had gone down and only twilight remained. He
dreamed that a huge bear appeared on the path, its shambling feet
softly treading. He tried to raise his rifle but his arms were
powerless, seemed paralyzed! The bear came on, now faster. Stopping
before him it rose on its hind legs and hugged him with its fore paws,
and he struggled to scream but could not utter a sound. He opened his
eyes. A brawny hand was over his mouth, a powerful arm about his arms
pinioned them to his side. The hand was red, and on the wrist was a
copper bracelet!
A guttural voice spoke low but harshly in his ear: "Um no speak.
Die!"
Then the boy felt his arms being bound with leather thongs and he
looked into the face of the savage, saw the hideous paint on it, the
bright, beady eyes, the whites of which looked yellow; noted the high
cheekbones, the nose like an eagle's beak, the cruel mouth like a thin
slit in the face, and fear was upon him, such, as he never had known.
"Halloo."
Surely that was Ferguson's voice, and must be calling him.
"Halloo!"
The last call was from the other side and it was not Ferguson's
voice.
The Indian lifted his tomahawk and the lad expected it to be buried in
his head. Instead came the low-spoken word: "March!"
Guided by the savage from behind and stepping cautiously, as he
believed should he break a twig or make other noise he would be
struck down on the instant, Rodney went on into the forest.
They had thus advanced less than twenty rods when, through the trees
and standing back to them, they saw a man. He appeared unconscious of
their presence. Yes, that must be Ferguson! The thought flashed
through the boy's mind and, unconscious of his own safety, his lips
opened to cry the alarm, which would have sounded his own death knell,
when he saw a tomahawk hurtle through the air and bury itself in the
man's brain. He fell to his knees without a moan. The Indian, leaping
to his side, had scalped him before Rodney realized what had happened.
Then, seizing the lad by the shoulder, he ordered him to "Run."
When they stopped the boy was breathless, but the savage was as cool
and snakelike in his movements as at the first. Soon they were joined
by other Indians. The boy was bound to a tree and they left him.
"They've gone to ambush our party," thought the boy. What would become
of him should the savages be driven off and he left tied to a tree in
that wilderness?
A squirrel running behind him startled him so the perspiration stood
in beads on his forehead. He tried to comfort himself with the
reflection that it would be better to starve to death tied to a tree
than to be burned to death tied to a stake.
He tugged at his bonds until the blood started on his wrists. A
rattling fire of musketry was heard in the direction of the river.
After a lull there were more shots followed by yells, which indicated
that the savages had been successful in driving off the whites.
All was still for many minutes. Then he felt, rather than saw, that he
was not alone. A heavy hand was laid on his wrists, untying the
thongs, and his captor's voice again ordered him to "March."
The moon had risen and its light filtered through the tree-tops.
Stumbling forward, and guided as before, he went on till they came up
with the main party of Indians.
He looked to see if there were other scalps, shuddering as he did so;
but, save that one at the belt of his captor, he saw none which had
been freshly taken. He therefore concluded the others of his party had
escaped in the boats, leaving him to his fate. There were other
scalps, but they were not from white people. Evidently the Indians had
been South and had battled with their hereditary enemies, the
Cherokees.
For several miles the Indians continued their march. Rodney was faint
from hunger and thirst when finally they camped for the night. Dried
venison was eaten, the boy receiving his share with the others, also
an opportunity to drink his fill at a cool spring. He then was
stretched upon the ground and each wrist and ankle was tied to a
separate sapling. The red men prepared for sleep and no one was
assigned to guard. Little sleep came to him. Thoughts of home, of his
father in the great wilderness, flitted through his mind all night and
he rose unrefreshed and sore in every muscle.
The next day they continued their journey, from sunrise to sunset,
stopping at noon for a hasty lunch. The second night he was treated as
on the first, but slept soundly because of sheer exhaustion. The
following day the party killed a deer. The Indians, as was their
custom, gorged themselves on the meat, eating it half raw. They cut up
some of the best of it to carry along with them.
That night, their heavy eating made the savages sleep soundly. Rodney,
bound as on the previous nights, lay looking up through the trees at
the moon, occasional glimpses of which it was possible to get through
the branches.
For a time his thoughts were far away from his surroundings. Suddenly
he became conscious of something cold and metallic under his right
hand.
It was a knife!
Evidently one of the Indians, when cutting up the meat, had
accidentally dropped it.
Somewhat awkwardly, for his hand was tightly bound, he managed to
clutch the blade in such a manner that after persistent effort he
succeeded in cutting his bonds.
His joy at the sense of freedom almost made him faint when he found
himself clear. Quietly and slowly, it seemed as if the beating of his
heart must waken the savages, he got possession of one of the rifles.
He knew that a snapping twig would probably mean his destruction. He
had heard of captives, who, in such straits as his, had slain their
captors while they slept. The thought was revolting to him.
Cautiously creeping away into the outer darkness, it seemed hours
before he dared press forward without fear of making a noise.