THE BATTLE OF POINT PLEASANT
Whether he had received a blow upon the head, or had been stunned by
the force of the fall from his horse, Oliver Barclay did not know.
But, in any event, when he recovered consciousness, he found himself
bound hand and foot and securely fastened to a tree in the heart of the
Shawnee camp.
Near him sat a young savage whose left hand was swathed in bandages;
and in the flickering firelight which fell upon this brave’s face,
Oliver recognized Long Panther.
“Well,” said the lad with as much unconcern as he could assume, “you
have me, Long Panther.”
The coppery face of the Shawnee turned toward the white boy; and the
light of the fire was not more deep than the light in his eyes. But
beyond this he showed nothing but the stoical front of his race.
“Yes,” said he, “we have you. And I do not think another will mount and
ride for help to-night.”
“I hope not, if he’s not to have better fortune than I’ve had,” said
Oliver.
“In two suns we could take the cabin of the white man,” said Long
Panther, his burning eyes turning in the direction of the Curley cabin.
“But the time is short. At dawn we must take the trail. The Mingo
chief, Logan, calls, and we go to him that we may strike a harder blow.”
Oliver felt a thrill of gladness at the news that the siege upon the
log house was to be lifted, and that the Shawnees were about to abandon
their purpose.
“If I had only known that,” was his thought, “I might have stayed
comfortably inside and learned in the morning that all danger was past.”
But, as the venture he had made had seemed the best thing to do under
the circumstances, he did not waste any regrets upon it; instead,
he gave up his thoughts entirely to the situation in which he found
himself, and began studying out a plan of escape.
“Many things,” said Long Panther, somberly, “I have suffered at the
hands of the white man. And I have desired vengeance. This,” and he
held up his bandaged left hand, “is the last.”
That Long Panther had been the marksman behind the tree butt now, for
the first time, occurred to Oliver; the bullet from Eph’s rifle had
found a shining mark, indeed.
“It is the hand with which I hold the bow,” mourned the young savage.
“And in the battles that are to come, I cannot do the work that has
been given me. But the white face will pay,” said he, as he arose to
his feet and stood looking down at Oliver. “The white face will pay.”
He turned and stalked away; and as the eyes of the white boy followed
him there seemed to be an ominous something in the very way in which he
bore himself--a threat of reprisal that was to come.
But whatever gloomy fears found a place in young Barclay’s mind, they
were not realized that night at least. He slept where he lay, under
guard of three unwinking redskins. And when morning came he was given
some food, his hands were pinioned behind him, and with a rope tied
about his body, the other end of which was fast to the saddle of a
warrior, he was forced to march in the midst of the band which began
filing through the forest toward the great meeting place of the hostile
tribes.
On the way they were joined by other war parties of their own nation;
and by nightfall of the following day, young Barclay found himself in
the heart of a vast Indian encampment. Far into the night he saw the
council fires burning and saw the chiefs and head men of the nations
gathered in conference. He heard the celebrated Logan. He heard
Cornstalk and his great son Elenipsico as they stood out before the
leaders of the tribes and poured forth their torrents of eloquence.
That he understood little or nothing of the Indian language made
scarcely any difference in the effect the orations had upon the boy.
The manner of the great chiefs, their expressions as they recounted
their grievances, the fierce passion of their appeal to the silent
circle with its iron faces, sent a chill to his heart. He saw that the
coming struggle was to be no mean one, that the frontier was, indeed,
to be a blaze from end to end.
But what was to be done in his own case of course naturally interested
him more than anything else. In a time like this, when open war was
declared and the tribes gathered to defy the forces of the colonies,
prisoners were seldom taken, and when they were, it was for the purpose
of putting them to the torture.
Oliver had heard the grisly tales the old frontiersmen had to tell
of the stake, of the running of the gauntlet, and the various other
barbarities that the savage mind conceived, and visions of these rose
before his eyes. But, for all, he was shrewd enough and clear-sighted
enough to perceive that these things were gone through with at the
Indians’ leisure.
“Just now,” he told himself, “they have much more important matters
before them; I shall get their attention later; and even at that, much
sooner, perhaps, than I want it.”
The Virginia Legislature had called into being an army of something
more than a thousand fighting men, and these were now encamped at a
place called Point Pleasant, not more than a few hours’ ride from the
encampment of Logan and his fellow chiefs.
Oliver drew from his captor’s manner that the day of battle was near;
but that it was to be on the one that was next to break he had no idea
until the dawn brought those preparations which were unmistakable.
Like a great fan the Mingos, the Wyandots, the Cayugas, the Delawares
and the Shawnees spread themselves through the forest; like panthers
stalking their prey they advanced.
And this knowledge put a great hope in his heart, for on the morning
his guards had not bound his arms with their customary care; in their
hurry to be gone they had slighted this duty; and now Oliver knew that
it required only a slight struggle to give him the use of his hands.
However, he made no sign of this, plodding on in the midst of the
Shawnees, apparently dejected and heavy of mind, but in reality keenly
observant and watching like a hawk for any chance that would give him
liberty.
Now as it happened, some of the whites desired fresh meat that morning
and a hunting party of two was in pursuit of deer. These hunters, swift
of foot and eager, were following the deer tracks and, for the time,
never dreaming of the enemy; then they plunged upon the main body of
the Indians and for an instant were so struck with surprise that they
stood motionless and staring. A scattering of rifle shots followed;
one of the men dropped to the earth, the other bounded away into the
thicket and made back toward the encampment of the Virginia army. A
few hours later the still advancing Indians encountered several large
bodies of whites drawn up in military array. Under cover of a flight
of arrows the savages drew back; and the voices of Cornstalk and Logan
were lifted, calling on them to be as cunning as foxes and unyielding
as rocks.
“This day,” said Logan, “shall see the redressing of much wrong, my
children. We shall strike the hand which is lifted over us!”
“Sons of the forest!” cried the really noble savage, Cornstalk, “stand
fast! The white faces are before you. The sun has lifted upon the day
which is to give you victory!”
Having reached a ground which would give them an advantage, the Indians
made a stand and began to rain arrows and lead upon the soldiers of the
colony. In almost the first fire the colonels of the two regiments fell
dead. A confusion seized the troops, and as it spread from rank to rank
they began a retreat full of disorder.
This panic of the whites was seen by Oliver as he stood under guard
among the trees, and the boy’s heart sank at the sight.
“They run!” said a voice beside him, and turning he recognized Long
Panther. “They run like wolves before a forest fire. And you, my white
brother, thought they would strike hard and save you!”
Oliver made no reply; and the young Shawnee spoke to the guard in the
Indian tongue. They seemed pleased at his words and called out to some
others who stood by, not taking part in the attack. Like a flash the
message ran along the line of the Indians; and Oliver, though he did
not dream of what was coming, saw their grim looks turned upon him and
caught a savage satisfaction in them.
“Once,” said Long Panther, “you felt proud of your fleetness; in your
pride you thought you could outrun the Shawnees.” His glowing eyes
fixed themselves upon Oliver, glowing with a deeper fire than ever.
“And I,” went on Long Panther, “told you there might come a day when
the Shawnee’d run you a race. That day has now come.”
“What do you mean?” asked the white boy.
“There are your friends,” and Long Panther pointed toward the
retreating regiments. “We give you permission to go to them if--if you
can outrun the arrows which will follow you.”
Oliver Barclay’s face blanched; but a resolution showed in his
tightening jaw.
“And if I refuse----”
“Worse may befall you.”
For a moment Oliver hesitated; he saw the line of Indians, their
copper-colored faces full of anticipation, the deadly bows in their
hands. But he said, firmly:
“What chance have I? Your brothers will pierce me before I’ve taken a
dozen steps.” His eyes searched the ground ahead, and then he added:
“Give me a start. Let me reach the boulder yonder before you give the
word, and I will run.”
“I agree,” said Long Panther, with savage satisfaction.
He once more spoke to the Shawnees about him and again the word was
passed along the line. And the satisfaction of Long Panther was
reflected in the faces of all.
“When my white brother is ready,” said the maimed bowman looking at
Oliver, “I will speak the word.”
Oliver braced himself for the ordeal.
“I am ready,” said he.
Long Panther cried out a warning to the warriors; then to Oliver he
said:
“Run!”
[Illustration: HE INCREASED HIS SPEED]
With his hands held behind him by the loosened thongs, Oliver started
to run. To the right the Cayugas, the Mingos and the Wyandots were
still pressing after the whites; but directly ahead all was clear.
With his eyes on the boulder the boy ran slowly. This he thought the
better way, as to show a burst of speed might excite the savages, and
they might loose their arrows before the time agreed. As it was, their
merciless natures quickly manifested themselves; when within a little
distance of the rock an arrow whizzed by the boy’s head. Feeling sure
that this would be instantly followed by more, he increased his
speed; with a headlong plunge he was behind the boulder, and a whirring
as of a hundred pairs of wings was all around him, the arrows knocking
up clouds of dust as they struck the ground.
A wild yell went up from the Shawnees as the boy disappeared behind
the rock; at once they saw that he had shrewdly calculated upon this
shelter when he asked that they not fire until he reached it. And with
hatchet, knife and spear, they rushed at him.
Oliver slipped his hands free of the thongs, his quick glance going
about to see what was the next best thing to do. And then as the
savages sped toward him he heard a shout--deep and charged with
victory. A third regiment of whites had advanced to the support of the
panic-stricken ones; their rifle fire was deadly and they came at full
speed. The Mingos, the Wyandots and Cayugas faltered in the face of
this unexpected blow; and they fell back upon the line of Delawares
and Shawnees.
At sight of the cloud of warriors in full retreat, the Shawnees rushing
upon Oliver paused. Here was graver and more earnest work than the
harrying of a single boy and so they turned and hastened to the support
of their friends.
Realizing what had happened, the white boy was off like a shot toward
the lines of the advancing frontiersmen; how he gained this over
a field swept by bullets and arrows he never understood, but gain
it he did and a few minutes later with the rifle, powder-horn and
bullet-pouch of a fallen soldier, he was loading and firing in the
ranks with as much coolness and dispatch as the best of them.
The Indians must have had an advance party on the battle-ground some
time before the main body, for it was now learned that their retreat
was to a line of fortification made of logs, earth and brush. Behind
this they stood firm. The Indians showed that they were possessed of
many rifles and a good store of powder; for hours there was a blaze
of fire from across the breastwork; and the barbed arrows drove like
messengers of death among the whites. Fully fifteen hundred fighting
men were behind the fortification and continually the voices of Red
Eagle, of Cornstalk or Logan could be heard urging them to fight on.
Charge after charge was made upon this strong place by the Virginia
army; General Lewis saw his men falling all about him and realized
after a little time that some other method must be pursued if he was to
save his force from annihilation.
“Try and get a body of troops in their rear,” was a suggestion which
he instantly grasped. As it happened, the bank of the Kanawha River
favored such a movement; three picked companies under three dare-devil
leaders were sent to make the attempt.
There was a small stream called Crooked Creek which flowed into the
Kanawha. The three companies managed to cross this; its banks were
covered with a rank growth of tall weeds; and through this crept the
whites upon the unsuspecting savages.
At a word a deadly volley swept into the dense body of Indians; taken
utterly by surprise, they were thrown into complete confusion. No foe
had been expected from that quarter, and, from the fury of the onset,
they thought it must be a heavy body of reinforcements. Completely
disheartened they gave way; as the sun went down they were retreating
across the Ohio River; and at the fall of night were pressing on
through the forest toward their distant villages.