RODNEY MEETS WITH REVERSES
All historical accounts of the battle between the forces under Lewis
and the allied Indians commanded by the Shawnee chief, Cornstalk,
which occurred at Point Pleasant on the Ohio River, October 10, 1774,
agree that it was the fiercest conflict which had been fought in this
country between white men and Indians led by an Indian, unaided by the
advice of any white officer.
Cornstalk was a chief of unusual ability and good sense. He had been
opposed to the war, but, finding it inevitable, succeeded in raising a
formidable army of the various tribes, and commanded them with such
skill and bravery that, in the battle, which lasted all day, the
Indians fought doggedly and all but achieved a victory, which would
have made a very different affair of what is known as Dunmore's war.
His spies had kept him informed of the movements of the two Virginia
expeditions, and he resolved to attack them separately before they
could join their forces.
Leaving scattering bands of Indians to delay the advance of Dunmore,
he marched his main body of warriors to the Ohio River, crossed, and
attacked the troops under General Lewis.
This commander had wisely chosen a position on a point, having the
Ohio River on his left, Crooked Creek on his right, and the Great
Kanawha at his rear. He was a veteran seasoned in the French and
Indian war. With him was the courtly John Sevier, a French Huguenot
planning for fortune in the lands of Kentucky, James Robertson, a wise
leader of pioneers, and others of but slightly less distinction in the
eyes of the hardy men who had gathered under their leadership.
All day long the battle raged there among the trees of the forest. The
colonists could hear the voice of Cornstalk as he passed from tree to
tree among his men, encouraging them. Rarely did they see more of
their foes than a coppery gleam from behind a tree trunk, perchance
the arm or leg of a savage or a glimpse of his warlock, and it was
sure death to leave the shelter of the trees.
Toward night the company, with which David Allison at the time was
associated, was ordered to make a flank movement. This was done
with great difficulty and danger. When the movement was nearly
accomplished, the men leaping from tree to tree as they advanced,
he fell with a bullet through the neck. A brawny savage leaped from
his cover, knife in hand and greedy for a fresh scalp, when a ball
from a colonist's gun stopped him half-way and he too went down in
the brush by the side of his victim. Over them leaped friend and foe
without heeding.
Allison had fallen into a depression between two little knolls and the
savage in falling had swept the bushes down over him so that he was
covered from view. Later the Indians succeeded in dragging away their
fallen comrade but overlooked, fortunately, the body of the white
man.
General Lewis and his men were eager to pursue and thoroughly chastise
the Indians. They reasoned that, while they were about it, the only
wise thing to do was to administer such a defeat that the red people
would keep the peace for years to come.
They crossed the Ohio and took up their march toward the Indian towns.
When Dunmore's messenger arrived with orders for them to join him they
were angry. He had left them to their fate, they had won a hard earned
victory and were determined to follow it to its logical conclusion.
Lord Dunmore's force, after building a hastily constructed fort at the
mouth of the Hockhocking River as a base for their supplies, continued
to advance on the Indian towns. The savages had met overtures for
peace with evasive replies or delays until they heard of the defeat of
Cornstalk at Point Pleasant, then they earnestly sued for peace.
Cornstalk urged a continuation of the war, but in vain. The savages
had acted more determinedly under him than ever before, but now they
wished to save their towns and crops from destruction.
Dunmore moved forward to a place called Camp Charlotte. Lewis pushed
ahead to wreak vengeance on the savages, not stopping until a third
order had been sent him by Dunmore commanding him to halt.
Lewis and his men thought this an interference with their rights.
There were many heartburnings in his command, and rumours that Dunmore
was acting under the advice of England to put an end to the war were
generally believed.
Rodney obtained permission to visit the camp of General Lewis, eager
to find his father. He went without forebodings and with a feeling of
assurance that he should find him. The Indians had been defeated. The
command had won a glorious victory, and, as is usually the case, while
exulting over it, he overlooked the sacrifices made and hardships
endured. He did not realize that General Lewis had lost half his
commissioned officers and between fifty and sixty of his men. When
told that his father, the man he loved above all others, was missing
and undoubtedly had fallen in the battle, the blow was terribly hard
to bear. He had known nothing like it, and made his way back to his
quarters as one walking in his sleep. There, Morgan chanced to find
him, his head bowed in his hands.
"Homesick, my lad, or a fit o' the blues?"
Morgan had a voice that sounded in battle like the roar of a lion, but
in it, as he spoke to Rodney, was a tone of genuine sympathy and the
boy broke down and sobbed, as though heartbroken. Throughout his
captivity and when in extreme danger he had not shed a tear.
"Take heart, lad, an' let me know what I can do for ye."
After the boy, struggling with his sobs, had told him, there was
silence for several minutes. Morgan's hand was laid kindly on the
boy's shoulder, and finally he said, "I'd like to comfort ye, boy. He
wouldn't like ye to mourn. He'd say, if he could, 'just go ahead an'
do yer duty.' Death comes to us all sometime. An' I want you to
remember that Daniel Morgan'll never be too busy to lend ye a helpin'
hand if it comes his way."
A pressure of the sinewy hand on the boy's shoulder followed the
words, and the kindliness it signified went straight to Rodney's
heart. He never forgot it. That day another was added to the full
ranks of those who loved Daniel Morgan and would follow where he led,
though they might know certain death awaited them.
Governor Dunmore sent runners to the Indian towns requesting the
chiefs to meet him. All complied with the request save a few in the
northerly towns and Chief Logan. Major Crawford was sent with a force
to destroy the towns of those who had failed to respond to the
request, and in this force went the men under Morgan. They met with no
resistance and, after burning the villages, the troops returned. An
interpreter and a messenger were sent to Logan, and to them he is said
to have made the memorable speech, a model of dignified eloquence and
sublime pathos, beginning: "I appeal to any white man to say that he
ever entered Logan's cabin but I gave him meat." Broken in spirit, he
afterwards became a sot and was killed while in a drunken fury.
Hostages having been taken from among the Indian chiefs and
arrangements made for the return by the Indians of all whites held
captive by them, they promising to observe the Ohio River as the
boundary of their territory, Governor Dunmore's army returned to
Virginia.
On arriving at Fort Gower they were met by the news that England had
closed the port of Boston, hoping by this arbitrary measure to punish
the independent colonists. This news was doubtless received by
Governor Dunmore with delight, but it was otherwise with the great
majority of those in his army. Expressions of sympathy for the
Bostonians were heard on all sides. Moreover, Dunmore's delight was to
be tempered with chagrin when he heard that the House of Burgesses had
appointed a day of fasting, as an expression of the Old Dominion's
disapproval of England's act.
For several months these men of Dunmore's army had been deprived of
what many, even in that day of primitive living, considered
necessities. For weeks at a time they had eaten no salt; they had
slept without other covering than the sky overhead. They were
returning victorious, yet believing that Dunmore, instead of
contributing to that victory, had belittled it.
Self-reliant, hardy, convinced they possessed in their own strong arms
the power to live and rear their families in this great country of the
new world without interference from England, they spoke very plainly.
Meetings were held, and at one of these a speech was made which,
alluding to what they had been able to accomplish, concluded: "Blessed
with these talents, let us solemnly engage to one another, and our
country in particular, that we will use them for no purpose but for
the honour and advantage of America and Virginia in particular."
A resolution was passed to bear faithful allegiance to King George,
the Third, "while his majesty delights to reign over a free people," a
proviso worth noting; also worthy of note is the fact that this
resolution pledged them to do everything in their power for the
defence of American liberty. Indeed, many of the men shook hands on an
agreement to march to the defence of Boston if necessary. Some of them
were to be called upon to fulfil this promise.
Such demonstrations away out there on the frontier ought to have
served as a warning to the royalists, but they gave it little heed.
The "Chevalier" forbore to take part and looked upon the whole affair
with a pitying smile. "I know of none more in need of being ruled
over, than you, my merry lads," he said and laughed at the scowls in
the faces of his associates. He laughed, too, at the retort of
Ferguson, "Sure, me gallant warrior, 'tis we as will have a word to
say aboot the ruler an' how he rules, mind ye."
Ferguson had expressed the temper of the men composing the army, while
the "Chevalier," with his confident smile, was a type of many
throughout the colonies who did not for a moment doubt the ability of
England to govern the new land as she might wish.
At the post where the men received some of the pay for their service,
Rodney Allison was to undergo temptations and experiences that were to
cause him bitter reflections. The soldiers had endured privations and,
as frequently happens, many sought relaxation in debauch at the first
opportunity. Liquor was to be had by those with money to pay for it,
and many a frontiersman would not leave it until his last penny should
be spent and then would resume his life of wandering and peril. With
the drinking there was gambling with cards and dice.
The drinking had no attraction for young Allison; on the contrary he
looked upon it with deep disgust. Ordinarily the gambling would have
had no fascination for him. Indeed, until his captivity, he had not
known one card from another. One of the accomplishments Ahneota had
learned from his acquaintance with white men was the use of cards, for
which he had a great passion, and to please him the boy had spent many
an hour playing various games.
Rodney's grief over the reported death of his father, his dread of
returning home with the sad news to face debt and poverty, coloured
his thoughts,--often woke him from sleep, and made him reckless. As he
watched the games he heard a familiar voice and, looking, saw
Mogridge at a table with large winnings at his hand. Rodney, from the
day they first met, had cherished an unreasoning dislike for the young
Englishman. He felt, rather than knew, that Mogridge had been
instrumental in having his father dismissed by Squire Danesford. The
boy was shrewd enough to suspect the fellow had come on with other
adventurers to meet the army and fleece the unsuspecting. That money
at his hand would clear the little home from debt and assure
protection for the family for the present. How cool and insolent the
fellow was!
"Sorry your luck runs so badly. The game's much less interesting, you
know," Mogridge drawled as he swept the poor fellow's money into his
own pile. Then, looking up and noticing Rodney, though it did not
appear that he recognized him, he said in a bantering tone, "Hello,
here's a young warrior who looks as if he'd like to tempt the fair
goddess, Chance, with a sixpence."
With the hot blood pounding his temples, and scarcely knowing what he
did, the boy took the proffered seat.
"I'll take a hand, if there be no objection," said a bystander with a
wink at Mogridge, which Rodney could not see.
While the cards were being shuffled the "Chevalier" came along and
remarked that the game would be worth watching. Neither Mogridge nor
his "pal" seemed pleased, but the "Chevalier" remained standing where
he could observe every movement of Rodney's antagonists. The cards
were dealt and played. The luck, which so often leads the amateur on
to his downfall, smiled on the boy.
"If the gentleman from London doesn't like the luck that goes with the
warrior's sixpence I'll let some worthier foeman have my place," said
Rodney, who, now that his excitement had subsided, desired to leave
the game.
Mogridge looked narrowly at the boy, but apparently failed to
recognize him, and he replied, "Gentlemen usually grant their
antagonists an opportunity to win back the smiles of the fickle
goddess."
"Deal," replied Rodney with an air of importance he was far from
feeling.
The "Chevalier" yet loitered near, and luck continued to run in
Rodney's favour. After four hands, and with quite a little pile of
winnings before him, he wanted to leave the game, but was ashamed to
do so. Then Mogridge said, "Let's double the stake," which was done.
The cards were dealt, and the play was begun, when the "Chevalier"
coolly remarked, "Card exposed. You'll have to deal over."
Mogridge's little eyes looked like tiny, glowing coals, and closer to
his long nose than ever, but the cards were dealt again, and again the
boy won. Then Mogridge and his confederate rose and left the table
while Rodney sat gloating over his winnings.
"One who would accustom himself to the whimsies of Fortune must learn
to lose as well as to win. In your behalf I will endeavour to instruct
you in that part of the game, my boy. Won't you gentlemen remain to
see that I pluck the winner fairly?"
"You're welcome to such small game. We didn't know we were poaching on
your preserves," replied Mogridge in a surly tone, walking away.
Rodney was surprised. He had no desire to play with his friend. Yet in
a masterful way the "Chevalier" appeared to take it for granted that
they would play, and proceeded to deal the cards. The boy shrank from
saying or doing anything which would excite the man's ridicule, for he
had come to regard him as a superior sort of a person, and was
somewhat in awe of his rather grand manner.
The first game Rodney won. Then the "Chevalier" remarked, as though he
were doing the lad a favour, "Now we'll not prolong this; I must be
going. Here's my wager."
To meet it required the last shilling of the boy's winnings, but he
staked it all, and the "Chevalier" won, coolly swept the money into
his pocket, all but a few shillings which he carelessly shoved toward
the boy, saying, "You'll need those to get home. It's bad practice to
wager one's last farthing."
Friends of Rodney Allison would not have recognized him now as the
same fellow he was an hour before. Fury filled him to overflowing.
That coveted money was gone and his own with it, taken by a man whose
life he once had saved, his supposed friend, who now had plucked him
as one would a pigeon. He seized the money and threw it in the
Chevalier's face, then, as he reflected what his act signified, he
grasped the handle of his knife in readiness to defend himself.
[Illustration: "HE SEIZED THE MONEY AND THREW IT IN THE CHEVALIER'S
FACE."]
The "Chevalier" fixed his handsome eyes on the boy. His face was pale
but those burning eyes held the lad as under a spell. Then the man
spoke, his words as cool as ice, his voice low but painfully distinct:
"One might think, my boy, you had staked your character, your soul,
and lost. That's what the gambler does. I did not realize this till I
had killed my best friend. You will understand my motives better when
you learn more."
He turned away. The boy looked after him, and shame quenched the fury
in his heart.