AN EXCHANGE AT THE SALT LICK
The Indians dragged Jim and his father rapidly through the woods until
the Hudsons thought they could go no farther. They were happy to reach a
small clearing where more Indians were waiting with their women,
children and extra horses. To Jim’s relief he saw his mother still
sitting on their old Nellie.
During her ride, Ma’s usually neat blond hair had fallen down over her
shoulders. Half a dozen women were crowding around her, fingering her
hair and talking excitedly to each other. When they caught sight of
Jim’s towhead, they laughed and ran their fingers over his hair, too.
Several men were going through the peddler’s pack of food. After one
look, they dumped the turnips on the ground. But the meat they carefully
repacked.
Pa tried to smile reassuringly at Ma and Jim, but one of the men clapped
him on the head, picked him up as though he were a feather and dumped
him head down across a horse. Then the Indian climbed on behind him. In
a moment a second man had done the same to Jim. At once the band rode
off with their three white prisoners toward the north.
About dusk they stopped for the night by a small stream. Pulling the
Hudsons from their horses, they tied Pa and Jim to one tree, Ma to
another. Several women began making fires and filling kettles with
water; while other women prepared supper. The children laughed and
scampered in and out of the stream. The men paid no attention to their
three white prisoners, but sat quietly along the bank of the stream,
talking in very low tones.
Jim’s head ached so badly from his jolting, upside-down ride through the
woods that he could scarcely see. He was glad, though, that his parents
were still with him. He looked at the half-grown children playing around
the camp, expecting to see Wahbunou, but the boy was not among them.
Ma Hudson was still so frightened she couldn’t talk, but she was not so
shaken up as Pa or Jim, because she at least had ridden upright.
When supper was ready, one old woman brought scant servings of stew in
small gourds to the Hudsons, and three small dry corncakes. Ma wasn’t
able to eat a bite, but Pa and Jim found the stew surprisingly good.
They could have eaten another helping, but the woman did not bring them
any more.
After the Indians had eaten their fill, the women banked the fires for
the night; men and boys relaxed on the ground. Poor Ma Hudson had either
fainted from fright or had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Pa turned his head slightly toward Jim and whispered, “I’m afraid it was
a trick, Jim. Putting Wahbunou with his injured shoulder near our
clearing, I mean. He probably reported we could be taken prisoner
easily, since we had no near neighbors to help us.”
Jim glanced toward the Indian group, then at his father. “But, Pa,
Wahbunou isn’t with these Indians. All the men and boys are sitting
right over there together. Besides, we don’t even know if this is
Wahbunou’s tribe.”
Pa looked at the group. Then he nodded his head. “You’re right, son. He
isn’t there.”
Jim wriggled a bit trying to loosen the thongs which bound him, but with
no success. “I wonder what they’ll do with us now, Pa.”
Pa tried to shake his dark hair away from his eyes. “Well, since they
didn’t kill us on the spot, I wonder if they intend to deliver us to
Hamilton in Detroit. You remember Colonel Clark said the British
commander there was paying the Indians to bring white prisoners to him.”
Jim nodded. “Yes, I remember. But why, Pa? And where is this Detroit?”
“You remember when I was in Harrodsburg last year I heard about Great
Britain waging a war with our countrymen back east. Now I think this
British Hamilton in Detroit is figuring on winning all our Kentucky
territory by having the Indians fight for him. They are to scare the
settlers into returning back home or to capture them for Hamilton. I’m
not sure where Detroit is, but I think it lies far to the north.”
Jim glanced toward the Indians again. “Look, Pa. They have our rifles
and drum.”
Two men were examining the rifles carefully, while the rest of the
Indians were passing drum and sticks from hand to hand. One of them
began to beat the drum with his hand, making a low rhythmical sound
similar to what Wahbunou had made in the Hudson’s cabin.
Jim listened intently to the Indians’ conversation, but he couldn’t
understand anything. The words sounded like those Wahbunou had taught
him, yet they were somehow different, so that Jim couldn’t get even an
idea of what was said.
At last they stopped talking and began rolling in their blankets to
sleep. Two men came over to the Hudsons, untied Pa and Jim, dragged them
to separate trees and secured them again. One Indian rolled in a blanket
beside Jim and the other beside Pa. But they offered no blankets to
them, nor to Ma Hudson now fifty feet away.
The next morning they gave their prisoners a small amount of food. Ma
tasted it and ate a little, but Pa and Jim ate all the Indians gave
them. After breakfast, the women packed all the camp equipment together;
the men tied the Hudsons’ hands, set them upright on horses and
scrambled up behind them.
The entire party rode rapidly toward the north and west, arriving late
in the afternoon at the broad Ohio River. The men chopped down poplar
trees and began building a raft. Jim and Pa Hudson watched in amazement
to see how quickly these Indians completed it.
Then they ferried women, children and equipment across the river. While
some Indians guided the raft, others swam their horses to the far side.
When all were safely transported, the band set up their camp for the
night.
For several days they continued in a northwesterly direction. On a
bright cool day they stopped at noon at a salt lick. The Hudsons
realized the Indians would stay here for a while, because the women dug
a trench, filling it with a great amount of firewood.
When their fires had burned to a bed of red-hot coals, they drew water
from the lick and poured it into big salt kettles. These they placed
over the hot glowing coals. Some women kept adding firewood to keep the
salt water boiling; others began cooking over a second fire.
Pa, Ma and Jim were permitted to walk about the salt lick as far as the
long leash around their waists permitted. But the Indians tied them to
trees far enough apart so they could not come close to each other. Pa
always would smile encouragingly at Ma and Jim, but he was never
permitted to touch them. Two Indians were stationed to watch the
prisoners, to prevent their escape.
[Illustration: uncaptioned]
The Indians wanted to build up their supply of salt, so the trench fires
under the kettles were not allowed to go out. Several women took turns
piling on firewood during the first night.
In the evening one man brought Jim’s drum to him, gesturing for him to
play it. Jim played his loudest and best, executing ruffles and long
rolls for their entertainment. The Indians loved these sounds and his
skill with drumsticks, so kept him playing until quite late.
The next afternoon a new group of Indians arrived at the lick; but they
kept a long distance away from the trench fires and did not offer to
mingle with the first band. They also set up camp and dug a long trench,
making a fire and filling their kettles with the brine. This salt lick
was evidently common ground, since neither Indian band paid attention to
the other.
By nightfall, the women were able to scrape the first salt from the
kettles, spread it on rough boards to dry, and to fill the kettles with
fresh brine.
Again the men had Jim play his drum for them. Soon they were swinging
their bodies and clapping their hands in time with the drum. Once by the
light of campfires, Jim thought he saw shadowy figures creeping close,
as if to listen to his playing. He felt uneasy about what they wanted,
but he continued to play even louder than before.
In the morning, when the women finally decided they had enough salt for
the winter, they began packing their kettles and preparing to leave the
salt lick. A few minutes before the band was ready to go, Jim saw four
stalwart Indian men advancing rapidly toward them from the other camp.
They came near and began making a fire in front of Jim’s group.
The men of Jim’s camp held a hurried consultation. Then one of them
stepped forward, raising his right arm high above his head. Immediately
the four visitors came up to him. He motioned for them to be seated; he
and his companions sat down, too.
As they talked, Jim thought they must be arguing about some important
question. After a long conversation, one visitor rose and walked back to
his camp. He soon returned with a white man bound exactly like Pa
Hudson.
At a signal from the group sitting on the ground, Jim’s guard suddenly
untied his leash and led him over to the strangers.
More arguing went on, but the men of Jim’s camp kept shaking their
heads. Again one visitor returned to his camp, carrying back a
handsomely painted buffalo robe which he spread in front of the council.
Jim’s band examined the robe carefully and nodded their heads. One of
them called to the watching men. Immediately an Indian brought Pa
Hudson’s drum and sticks to the council.
The visitors rose from the ground, handed their white prisoner and the
buffalo robe to Jim’s band, and motioned to Jim to pick up his drum and
sticks. As soon as Jim obeyed, one visitor picked up his leash and led
him toward the other camp.
Frightened now, Jim looked back at his parents. Pa was alarmed and Ma,
tearful, was holding out her arms toward him, but both of them were
still tied to the trees.
When Jim reached the new camp, several men and boys swarmed around him.
From their midst, a strangely familiar figure rushed over to Jim and
took off his leash.
“Jim! Jim!” he cried. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Wahbunou.”
Jim dropped his drum in surprise as Wahbunou gave him a friendly thump
on the shoulder. “Wahbunou!” he gasped.
Wahbunou was so excited he could scarcely speak, but he had much to tell
his friend Jim. “My father and I persuaded Chief Minnemung to trade our
white prisoner for you. We couldn’t bear to see you remain with the
Shawnees. Then we Potawatomis made a fire in front of their camp to show
we wanted to counsel with them.”
“Shawnees!” Jim cried out in terror, looking back toward his father and
mother. The Shawnees, however, were now mounted and moving away from the
salt lick. Jim could still see his parents riding on separate horses
with their Indian guards, and looking hopelessly toward the Potawatomi
camp where Jim had gone.
Jim turned frantically to Wahbunou. “Wahbunou——my parents! Where are
they going? Don’t let the Shawnees take them away.”
Wahbunou shook his head sadly. “I tried, Jim, I really did. I wanted to
have your parents traded to us along with you. But Chief Minnemung was
interested only in you and your drum. The drum helped me arrange the
trade, too.”
“The drum? What do you mean, Wahbunou?”
“The other night,” Wahbunou began, “we heard you playing your drum. It
was the first time my people, the Potawatomis, had heard such playing. I
knew it was not an Indian beating that drum, because I had heard you
play like that in your cabin; so I persuaded Chief Minnemung and my
father to creep close to the Shawnee camp to listen. It was then I saw
you and your parents. I realized you were prisoners of those Shawnees.”
“But my parents, Wahbunou. Why aren’t they here with me?”
Wahbunou continued patiently. “I asked Chief Minnemung to see if he
could get all of you transferred to us. I told him and all our
Potawatomi clan how good you were to me when I hurt my shoulder. I
pleaded, but Chief Minnemung wanted only you and your drum. Why Jim, he
traded his handsomest buffalo robe for your drum.”
“But my parents will be unhappy separated from me,” Jim persisted.
Wahbunou sighed and nodded. “I know, Jim. But I think no harm will come
to them now, because the Shawnees are on their way to Detroit to deliver
their prisoners to the great British Hamilton. He pays the Indians well
for white prisoners.” Wahbunou picked up the drum and sticks. “Come,
Jim, I want you to meet my family because soon we will be breaking
camp.”
Wahbunou’s parents, brothers and sisters welcomed Jim heartily into
their group. His mother stroked Jim’s towhead and said, “Welcome,
friend. We Potawatomis will be good to you.”
In a short time the Indians began packing to leave the salt lick. When
they were ready, Wahbunou said, “Jim, you are to ride with me because we
do not have extra horses.” He led Jim over to his horse. Jim recognized
it as the one he had tied in their lean-to alongside Nellie.
The boys climbed up on the horse. “Now,” Wahbunou explained, “we are
going to our winter camp. It is still a long distance away. Hang on
tight, Jim, because we’ll be riding hard today.”
Jim did as he was told, but with a heavy heart. Here he was—going to
some strange place with Wahbunou and the Potawatomis, while his mother
and father were prisoners of the Shawnees. He swallowed hard, wondering
if he would ever see them again.
[Illustration: uncaptioned]