AN INDIAN’S TREACHERY
“Mr. Morris, I have news for you which will not be pleasant for you to
hear,” said Washington, on the day after the trader had counted up the
canoes.
“What news is that, sir?” asked Mr. Morris.
“I have it from the commander here that he has been ordered to arrest
every English trader found doing business on the Ohio or near that
river.”
“That order would take in me, wouldn’t it?” returned James Morris, with
a faint smile. “What do you think of it?”
“Privately I think the French are going beyond their authority. But of
course it would not do for me to tell the commander here that. All I
can do is to wait for an answer to Governor Dinwiddie’s letter.”
Just then one of the others of the party came up.
“I have had a long talk with one of the Indians here,” he said. “He
had been drinking enough to loosen his tongue, and in the course of
his talk he let slip that the French are preparing for an expedition
against the English early in the summer.”
“That I have already suspected,” answered Washington. “And what is
more, they are going to keep us here as long as possible, so that the
message I carry will be delayed and our country’s time to prepare for
war shortened.”
In this surmise Major Washington was correct, the French commander
delayed him upon one pretext or another until his patience was almost
exhausted. At the same time the Frenchman entertained the Indians that
had come with the English royally and did his best to get the red men
to side with the French and desert Washington’s party.
Because of the snow and the roughness of the road, Washington had
already sent his horses back to Venango without baggage. He now started
for Venango himself by the river, taking several canoes, all laden
with men and stores. The weather continued foul and the trip was full
of discomfort and peril. Often a boat would strike the rocks or a sand
bar, and then the occupants would have to get out and haul the craft
along by hand.
“This is the worst yet,” said James Morris. “Were it not for the
baggage I would rather walk the whole distance along the trail.”
“I would do that myself,” answered Washington. “But the stores cannot
be left behind.”
At some of the rocks one of the Indian chiefs, White Thunder, was hit
and badly hurt. He also took a heavy cold because of the exposure and
by the time Venango was gained was so ill he could not walk.
Washington hated to leave the Indians where they could again come under
the influence of the wily Joncaire, but there was no help for it, and
at Venango he left the sachems, but reminded them of the promises they
had made.
“We shall not forget what we have promised,” said Tanacharisson.
“The English are our brothers, and we know the French too well to be
deceived by them.” Washington went away rather doubtful, but in the end
the half-king proved as loyal as he had promised.
It was not James Morris’ intention to return to the east with
Washington. Had all gone well he might have done so and purchased more
goods, to take to his trading-post early in the Spring. But the rumors
of war disturbed him and he thought it best to hold off before sinking
more money in his venture.
“If war comes I may lose all I have on the Kinotah,” he said to one of
the party. “And to take more goods out in the spring might only add to
the loss. I will let matters rest and see how affairs turn.”
He journeyed with the party part of the way to Shannopins Town, a
couple of miles above the fork of the Ohio, where they hoped to find an
easy passage over the Alleghany. The way was extremely rough and the
snow now lay deep in the hollows. Some days the party made hardly any
progress, and once they missed the trail in a fierce snow storm.
On the way they fell in with a number of Indians who seemed to be
waiting for them. They were from Venango and one of the red men was
recognized as being in the employ of Joncaire.
“We want to beware of these redskins,” said Gist, the pioneer. “They
are friends to the French and would murder us all for a keg of rum or a
roll of tobacco,” and in this surmise he was more than half right. That
night the entire party slept, as the saying is, “with one eye open.”
But an unbroken forest lay before them and nobody in the party was
acquainted with the way, so at last Washington agreed to hire one of
the Indians as a guide. This appeared to please the redskin, and he
promised to take them through the forest by the most direct route. They
started off leaving the other Indians behind.
James Morris had been watching the Indians closely and had seen a
certain sign pass between them, and this sign had also been noticed by
Gist. Now the two drew behind Washington and the others and held a
consultation.
“Those others intend to follow us,” said James Morris.
“Then you saw that sign?” questioned Gist.
“I did. We must watch out or all of us will surely be murdered.”
“Right you are,” was the answer. “I will warn Washington and the
others.”
As slyly as he could, so that the suspicion of the Indian guide might
not be awakened, the old pioneer told what he and James Morris had seen.
“I have suspected this,” said Washington. “This guide is leading us too
far to the north.”
A few minutes later they came to a small clearing. The Indian guide was
several yards in advance of the others. Of a sudden he swung around,
raised his rifle, took aim, and fired into the crowd.
Fortunately nobody was hit, yet for the moment there was wild
excitement. Finding himself unharmed, Washington turned to the others.
“Is anybody hurt?” he questioned, anxiously.
“I am not,” answered Gist. Then he raised his own gun, but the Indian
guide had hidden behind a tree. Not to be shot at again, the old
pioneer ran forward after the wretch and the others followed. Gist
caught the Indian just as he was reloading his firearm.
[Illustration: “Stop, do not murder him!”--_Page 215._]
“Will shoot us, will you!” he stormed, as he hurled the rascal to the
ground and kicked him heavily. “Will kill us, eh? I’ll show you!” And
then he drew up his own gun and aimed it straight at the red man’s head.
“Stop, do not murder him!” shouted Washington.
“But he wanted to murder us,” returned Gist, in astonishment. To him an
Indian’s life was of small value.
“True, but we must not kill him in cold blood,” went on the young
commander. “Take his gun from him.” And this was done.
When the Indian was allowed to rise he pleaded that it was all a
mistake, that the gun had been pointed at a wild beast behind them.
This they knew to be a lie, but Washington pretended to believe him. He
said they would go into camp, and they did.
“But, sir,” pleaded Gist, when he could get Washington’s ear in
private. “He fired at us deliberately. He ought to be shot for it!”
“I know it, Mr. Gist,” was the calm answer. “But I cannot bring myself
to take the poor wretch’s life. We will send him off, and let that end
it.”
“If you send him off he will bring the whole tribe down on us. He is
trying to lead us into their clutches now.”
James Morris advised that the Indian be sent away immediately, but they
waited until they went into camp. The Indian said his cabin was not
many miles away and they might rather go there for the night.
“You can go to your cabin, we are too tired to do so,” said Washington.
“Yes, we will remain here,” said Gist. “Be sure and come back by
sunrise,” he added.
“Spotted Tail will be back,” answered the Indian, and hurried away.
Both Gist and James Morris watched him out of sight.
“Now to get out of this neighborhood with all speed,” said the old
pioneer, when the Indian had vanished. They ran back to the camping
spot, and told Washington the rascal was gone. Then wood was heaped on
the camp-fire to make it burn a long while, and they made off. Nearly a
mile away they built another camp-fire and left this blazing also.
All night they traveled and it was well that they did so, for had they
remained at the first camp the treacherous Indians would undoubtedly
have fallen upon them and murdered them. But as it was, the red men
failed to catch them and by the next day they felt safe once more.
When Washington’s party arrived at the Alleghany River, James Morris
left them and struck out directly for his trading-post. Before he left
Washington shook hands warmly with him.
“You have been of much help to me, sir,” said the young commander. “I
shall not forget you, and if you ever come near Mount Vernon do not
forget to call upon me.”
“Thank you, Major Washington,” returned Mr. Morris. “And if you ever
come in the vicinity of my trading-post make it your stopping place and
I will treat you as well as I can.”
It was a bitter cold day when James Morris started out alone to find
his way to the Kinotah. He did not wish to pass the trading-post kept
by Jean Bevoir, and so passed to the west of that spot. He carried a
small stock of provisions, and his rifle and his horse were in a fairly
good condition.
That journey, however, proved one he never forgot. On the second day it
snowed heavily and he was driven to seek shelter under a small cliff.
Here a pack of wolves beset him and he had a lively time getting rid
of the beasts. When he started out the next day his horse went lame
and he had to lead the animal, for the beast could carry no weight but
the baggage. Twice he lost the trail, and once he sighted a band of
Indians but did not dare to go near them for fear they might prove to
be enemies.
At last, however, he struck a trail he knew well, and then hurried on
faster than ever. Another snowstorm was coming on and the first heavy
flakes came down just as he caught sight of the stockade through the
semi-darkness. He set up a loud shout and in a few minutes Dave came
out to meet and greet him.
“Where in the world have you been!” cried the son. “We have been
looking for you for several weeks.”
“It’s a long story,” answered the father. “Let me get inside first and
warm up.”
They were soon inside the trading-post and while one of the men went to
care for the lame horse, Mr. Morris sat down and told his story. Later
on he listened in much surprise to what Dave, Barringford, and the
others had to say.
“Have you seen or heard anything of the Indians since?” he questioned
anxiously.
“Not of our enemies,” answered Dave. “White Buffalo was back and
reported that Fox Head had gone northward, to join in a big pow-wow
with the French.”
“Everything points to war,” was the trader’s comment. “It is simply a
question of when it will come.”
“And if it does come, father, what of us and this trading-post?”
“I cannot answer that question, Dave. We must trust in God and take
what comes.”