A WARNING FROM THE FOREST
It was at Winchester that Colonel Washington established his
headquarters, maintaining a detachment at Fort Cumberland sufficient to
repel any attack the Indians were like to make against it, and to cut off
such of their war parties as ventured east of it. From Winchester he was
able more easily to keep in touch with all parts of the frontier, and
with the string of blockhouses which had been built years before as a
gathering-place for the settlers in the event of Indian incursions. By
the first of September his arrangements had been completed, but long
before that time it was evident the task was to be no easy one.
Already, from the high passes of the Alleghenies, war parties of
Delawares and Shawanoes had descended, sweeping down upon the frontier
families like a devastating whirlwind, and butchering men, women, and
children with impartial fury. The unbounded forest, which covered hill
and valley with a curtain of unbroken foliage, afforded a thousand
lurking-places, and it was well-nigh impossible for an armed force to get
within striking distance of the marauders. So, almost daily, stories of
horrible cruelty came to the fort, plunging the commander into an agony
of rage and dejection at his very impotence. The fort was soon crowded
with refugees,--wives bewailing their husbands, husbands swearing to
avenge their wives, parents lamenting their children, children of a
sudden made orphans,--and from north and south, scores of hard-featured,
steel-eyed men came to us, their rifles in their hands, to offer their
services, and after a time these came to be one of the most valuable
portions of our force.
Ah, the stories they told us! Tragedies such as that which Spiltdorph and
I had come upon had been repeated scores of times. The settler who had
left his cabin at daybreak in search of game, or to carry his furs to the
nearest post, returned at sundown to find only a smoking heap of ashes
where his home had been, and among them the charred and mutilated bodies
of his wife and children. Horror succeeded horror, and the climax came
one day when we were passing a little schoolhouse some miles below the
fort, in the midst of a district well populated. Wondering at the
unwonted silence, we dismounted, opened the door, and looked within. The
master lay upon the platform with his pupils around him, all dead and
newly scalped. The savages had passed that way not half an hour before.
And to add to the trials of the commander, his troops, hastily got
together, were most of them impatient of restraint or discipline, and
with no knowledge of warfare, while the governor and the House of
Burgesses demanded that he undertake impossibilities. It was a dreary,
trying, thankless task.
"They expect me to perform miracles," he said to me bitterly one day.
"How am I to protect a frontier four hundred miles in length with five or
six hundred effective men, against an enemy who knows every foot of the
ground, and who can find a hiding-place at every step?"
Only by the sternest measures could many of the levies be brought to the
fort, and one man--a captain, God save the mark!--sent word that he and
his company could not come because their corn had not yet been got in.
Yet, in spite of all these drawbacks, we did accomplish something. There
were a few of the Iroquois who yet remained our friends, and the general
spared no effort to retain their goodwill, for their services were
invaluable. With a lofty contempt for the Delawares and Shawanoes, whom
they had one time subjugated and compelled to assume the name of women,
they roamed the forest for miles around, and more than once enabled us to
ambush one of the war parties and send it howling back to the Muskingum,
where there was great weeping and wailing in the lodges upon its return.
But it was fruitless work, for the Indians, driven back for the moment,
returned with augmented fury, and again drenched the frontier in the
blood of the colonists.
We realized one and all that nothing we could do would turn the tide of
war permanently from our borders and render the frontier safe until the
French had been driven from Fort Duquesne. For it was they who urged the
Indians on, supplying them with guns and ammunition, and rewarding them
with rum when they returned to the fort laden with English scalps. An
expedition against the French stronghold was for the present out of the
question, and we could only bite our nails and curse, waiting for another
night when we might sally forth and fall upon one of the war parties. But
the few Indians we killed seemed a pitiful atonement for the mangled
bodies scattered along the frontier and the hundreds of homes of which
there remained nothing but blackened ruins. As the weeks passed and the
Indians saw our impotence, they grew bolder, slipped through the chain of
blockhouses, and ravaged the country east of us, disappearing into the
woods as if by magic at the first alarm.
The month of August and the first portion of September wore away in this
dreary manner, and it was perhaps a week later that Colonel Washington
sent me to Frederick to make arrangements for some supplies. The
distance, which was a scant fifty miles, was over a well-traveled road,
and through a district so well protected that the Indians had not dared
to visit it; so I rode out of the fort one morning, taking with me only
my negro boy Sam, whom I had selected for my servant since the day he had
warned me against Polete. I remember that the day was very warm, and that
there was no air stirring, so that we pushed forward with indifferent
speed. At noon we reached a farmhouse owned by John Evans, where we
remained until the heat had somewhat moderated, and set forward again
about four o'clock in the afternoon.
We had ridden for near an hour, and I was deep in my own thoughts, when
I heard something breaking its way through the underbrush, and the next
moment my horse shied violently as a negro stumbled blindly into the
road and collapsed into a heap before he had taken half a dozen steps
along it. I reined up sharply, and as I did so, heard Sam give a shrill
cry of alarm.
"Shut up, boy," I cried, "and get off and see what ails the man. He can't
hurt you."
But Sam sat in his saddle clutching at his horse's neck, his face spotted
with terror as I had seen it once before.
"What is it, Sam?" I asked impatiently.
"Good Gawd, Mas' Tom," he cried, his teeth chattering together and
cutting off his words queerly, "don' yo' see who 'tis? Don' yo'
know him?"
"Know him? No, of course not," I answered sharply. "Who is he?"
"Polete," gasped Sam. "Polete, come back aftah me," and seemed incapable
of another word.
In an instant I was off my horse and kneeling in the road beside the
fallen man. Not till then did I believe it was Polete. From a great gash
in the side of his head the blood had soaked into his hair and dried over
his face. His shirt was stained, apparently from a wound in his breast,
but most horrible of all was a circular, reeking spot on the crown of his
head from which the scalp had been stripped. It needed no second glance
to tell me that Polete had been in the hands of the Indians.
By this time Sam had partially recovered his wits, and being convinced
that it was Polete in the flesh, not in the spirit, brought some water
from a spring at the roadside. I bathed Polete's head as well as I could,
and washed the blood from his face. Tearing open his shirt, I saw that
blood was slowly welling from an ugly wound in his breast. He opened his
eyes after a moment, and stared vacantly up into my face.
"Debbils," he moaned, "debbils, t' kill a po' ole man. Ain't I said I
done gwine t' lib wid yo'? Kain't trabble fas' 'nough fo' yo'? Don'
shoot, oh, don' shoot! Ah!"
He dropped back again into the road with a groan, and tossed from side to
side. I thought he was dying, but when I dashed more water in his face,
he opened his eyes again. This time he seemed to know me.
"Is it Mas' Tom?" he gasped. "Mas' Tom what let me go?"
"Yes, Polete," I answered gently, "it's Master Tom."
"Whar am I?" he asked faintly. "Have dee got me 'gin? Dee gwine to buhn
me?"
"No, no," I said. "Nobody 's going to harm you, Polete. Where have you
been all this time?"
"In d' woods," he whispered, "hidin' in d' swamps, an' skulkin' long
aftah night. Could n' nevah sleep, Mas' Tom. When I went t' sleep, seemed
laike d' dogs was right aftah me."
His head fell back again, and a rush of blood in his throat almost
choked him.
"Wish I'd stayed at d' plantation, Mas' Tom," he whispered. "Nothin'
could n' been no wo'se 'n what I went frough. Kep' 'long d' ribbah, laike
yo' said, but could n' git nothin' t' eat only berries growin' in d'
woods. Got mighty weak, 'n' den las' night met d' Injuns."
"Last night!" I cried. "Where, Polete?"
"Obah dah 'long d' ribbah," he answered faintly. "Dee gib me some'n' t'
eat, an' I frought maybe dee'd take me 'long, but dis mornin' dee had a
big powwow, an' dee shot me an' knock me in d' haid. Seems laike dee 's
gwine t' buhn a big plantation t'-night."
"A big plantation, Polete?" I asked. "Where? Tell me--oh, you must tell
me!"
But his head had fallen back, and his eyes were closed. There was another
burst of blood from his nose and mouth. I threw water over his face,
slapped his hands, and shouted into his ears, but to no avail. Sam
brought me another hatful of water, but his hands trembled so that when
he set it down, he spilled half of it. I dashed what was left over the
dying man, but his breathing grew slow and slower, and still his eyes
were closed. I trembled to think what would happen should I never learn
where the Indians were going, if Polete should never open his eyes again
to tell me. But he did, at last,--oh, how long it seemed!--he did, and
gazed up at me with a little smile.
"Reckon it's all obah wid ole Polete, Mas' Tom," he whispered.
"Where is this plantation, Polete?" I asked. "The plantation the Indians
are going to attack. Quick, tell me."
He looked at me a moment longer before answering.
"D' plantation? Obah dah, eight, ten mile, neah d' ribbah," and he made a
faint little motion northward with his hand. The motion, slight as it
was, brought on another hemorrhage. His eyes looked up into mine for a
moment longer, and then, even as I gazed at them, grew fixed and glazed.
Old Polete was dead.
We laid him by the side of the road and rolled two or three logs over
him. More we could not do, for every moment was precious.
"Sam," I said quickly, as we finished our task, "you must ride to the
fort as fast as your horse will carry you. Tell Colonel Washington that I
sent you, and that the Indians are going to attack some big plantation on
the river eight or ten miles north of here. Tell him that I have gone on
to warn them. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sah," he gasped.
"Well, don't you forget a word of it," I said sternly. "You can reach the
fort easily by nine o'clock to-night. Now, be off."
He hesitated a moment.
"What is it?" I cried. "You are not afraid, boy?"
He rubbed his eyes and began to whimper.
"Not fo' myself, Mas' Tom," he said. "But yo' gwine t' ride right into d'
Injuns. Dee'll git yo' suah."
"Nonsense!" I retorted sharply. "I'll get through all right, and we can
easily hold out till reinforcements come. Now get on your horse.
Remember, the faster you go, the surer you'll be to save us all."
He swung himself into the saddle, and turned for a moment to look at
me, the tears streaming down his face. He seemed to think me as good as
dead already.
"Good-by, Sam," I said.
"Good-by, Mas' Tom," and he put spurs to his horse and set off
down the road.
I watched him until the trees hid him from sight, and then sprang upon my
horse and started forward. Eight or ten miles, Polete had said, northward
near the river. The road served me for some miles, and then I came to a
cross road, which seemed well traveled. Not doubting that this led to the
plantation of which I was in search, I turned into it, and proceeded
onward as rapidly as the darkness of the woods permitted. Evening was at
hand, and under the overlapping branches of the trees, the gloom grew
deep and deeper. At last, away to the right, I caught the gleam of water,
and with a sigh of relief knew I was near the river and so on the right
road. The house could not be much farther on. With renewed vigor I urged
my horse forward, and in a few minutes came to the edge of a clearing,
and there before me was the house.
But it was not this which drew my eyes. Far away on the other side,
concealed from the house by a grove of trees, a shadowy line of tiny
figures was emerging from the forest. Even as I looked, they vanished,
and I rubbed my eyes in bewilderment. Yet I knew they had not deceived
me. It was the war party preparing for the attack.
I set spurs to my horse and galloped the jaded beast toward the house as
fast as his weary legs would carry him. As I drew near, I saw it was a
large and well-built mansion. Lights gleamed through the open doors and
windows. Evidently none there dreamed of danger, and I thanked God that I
should be in time. In a moment I was at the door, and as I threw myself
from the saddle, I heard from the open window a ringing laugh which
thrilled me through and through, for I knew that the voice was Dorothy's.