How I managed to reach the fort, I never knew. I do not remember that
the savages carried me; I have no recollection of walking. When the
gate lanthorn was set that night, a sentry noticed me creeping in the
weeds at the moat's edge. He shot at me and gave the alarm.
Fortunately, he missed me.
All that evening I lay in a hot sickness on a cot in the casemates.
They say I babbled and whimpered till the doctor had finished cupping
me, but after that I rambled little, and, towards sunrise, was
sleeping.
My own memories begin with an explosion, which shook my cot and
brought me stumbling blindly out of bed, to find Jack Mount firing
through a loophole and watching me, while he reloaded, with curious
satisfaction.
He guided me back to my cot, and summoned the regiment's surgeon;
between them they bathed me and fed me and got my shirt and leggings
on me.
At first I could scarcely make out to stand on my legs. From crown to
sole I ached and throbbed; my vision was strangely blurred, so that I
saw things falling in all directions.
I think the regiment's surgeon, who appeared to be very young, was
laying his plans to bleed me again, but I threatened him if he laid a
finger on me, and Mount protested that I was fit to fight or feast
with any man in Tryon County.
The surgeon, saying I should lie abed, mixed me a most filthy draught,
which I swallowed. Had I been able, I should have chased him into the
forest for that dose. As it was, I made towards him on wavering legs,
to do him a harm, whereupon he went out hastily, calling me an ass.
Mount linked his great arm in mine, and helped me up to the parapet,
where the Virginia militia were firing by platoons into the forest.
The freshening morning was lovely and sweet; the west winds poured
into me like wine. I lay on the platform for a while, peering up at
the flag flapping above me on its pine staff, then raised up on my
knees and looked about.
Bands of shadow and sunlight lay across the quiet forests; the calm
hills sparkled. But the blackened clearing around the fort was alive
with crawling forms, moving towards the woods, darting from cover to
cover, yet always advancing. They were Cresap's Maryland riflemen,
reconnoitring the pines along the river, into which the soldiers
beside me on the parapet were showering bullets.
It was pretty to watch these Virginia militia fire by platoon under
instructions of a tall, young captain, who lectured them as jealously
as though they were training on the parade below.
"Too slow!" he said. "Try it again, lads, smartly! smartly! 'Tention!
Handle--cartridge! Too slow, again! As you were--ho! When I say
'cartridge!' bring your right hand short 'round to your pouch,
slapping it hard; seize the cartridge and bring it with a quick motion
to your mouth; bite off the top down to the powder, covering it
instantly with your thumb. Now! 'Tention! Handle--cartridge! Prime!
Shut--pan! Charge with cartridge--ho! Draw--rammer! Ram--cartridge!
Return--rammer! Shoulder--arms! Front rank--make ready! Take
aim--fire!"
Bang! bang! went the rifles; the parapet swam in smoke. Bang! The
second rank fired as one man, and the crash was echoed by the calm,
clear voice: "Half-cock arms--ho! Handle--cartridge! Prime!"
And so it went on; volley after volley swept the still pines until a
thundering report from the brass cannon ended the fusillade, and we
leaned out on the epaulement, watching the riflemen who were now close
to the lead-sprayed woods.
The banked cannon-smoke came driving back into our faces; all was a
choking blank for a moment. Presently, through the whirling rifts, we
caught glimpses of blue sky and tree-tops, and finally of the earth.
But what was that?--what men were those running towards us?--what
meant that distant crackle of rifles?--those silvery puffs of smoke
fringing the entire amphitheatre of green, north, east, west--ay, and
south, too, behind our very backs?
"Down with your drawbridge!" thundered the officer commanding the
gun-squad. I saw Cresap come running along the parapet, signalling
violently to the soldiers below at the sallyport. Clank! clank! went
the chain-pulleys, and the bridge fell with a rush and a hollow
report, raising a cloud of amber dust.
"My God!" shouted an officer. "See the savages!"
"See the riflemen," mimicked Mount, at my elbow. "I told Cresap to
wait till dark."
Along the parapets the soldiers were firing frenziedly; the quick
cannon-shots shook the fort, smothering us with smutty smoke. I had a
glimpse, below me, of Cresap leading out a company of soldiers to
cover the flight of his riflemen, and at intervals I saw single
Indians, kneeling to fire, then springing forward, yelping and
capering.
A tumult arose below. Back came the riflemen pell-mell, into the fort,
followed by the militia company at quick time. The chains and pulleys
clanked; the bridge rose, groaning on its hinges.
It was now almost impossible to perceive a single savage, not only
because of the rifle-smoke, but also because they had taken cover like
quail in a ploughed field. Every charred tree-root sheltered an
Indian; the young oats were alive with them; they lay among the wheat,
the bean-poles; they crouched behind manure-piles; they crawled in the
beds of ditches.
"Are all the settlers in the fort?" I asked Mount, who was leaning
over the epaulement, waiting patiently for a mark.
"Every man, woman, and child came in last night," he said. "If any
have gone out it's against orders, and their own faults. Ho! Look
yonder, lad! Oh, the devils! the devils!" And he fired, with an oath
on his lips.
A house and barn were suddenly buried in a cloud of pitchy vapour; a
yoke of oxen ran heavily across a field; puffs of smoke from every rut
and gully and bush showed where the Indians were firing at the
terrified beasts.
One ox went down, legs shot to pieces; the other stood bellowing
pitifully. Then the tragedy darkened; a white man crept out of the
burning barn and started running towards the fort.
"The fool!" said Mount. "He went back for his oxen! Oh, the fool!"
I could see him distinctly now; he was a short, fat man, bare-legged
and bare-headed. As he ran he looked back over his shoulder
frequently. Once, when he was climbing a fence, he fell, but got on
his legs again and ran on, limping.
"They've hit him," said Mount, reloading hastily; "look! He's down!
He's done for! God! They've got him!"
I turned my head aside; when I looked for the poor fellow again, I
could only see a white patch lying in the field, and an Indian
slinking away from it, shaking something at the fort, while the
soldiers shot at him and cursed bitterly at every shot.
"It's Nathan Giles's brother," said a soldier, driving his cartridge
down viciously. "Can't some o' you riflemen reach him with old Brown
Bess?"
The report of Mount's rifle answered; the Indian staggered, turned to
run, reeled off sideways, and fell across a manure-heap. After a
moment he rose again and crawled behind it.
And now, house after house burst into black smoke and spouts of flame.
Through the spreading haze we caught fleeting glimpses of dark figures
running, and our firelocks banged out briskly, but could neither
hinder nor stay the doom of those poor, rough homes. Fire leaped like
lightning along the pine walls, twisting in an instant into a column
of pitchy smoke tufted with tongues of flame. Over the whirling
cinders distracted pigeons circled; fowls fluttered out of burning
barns and ran headlong into the woods. Somewhere a frightened cow
bellowed.
Under cover of the haze and smoke, unseen, the Indians had advanced
near enough to send arrows into the parade below us, where the women
and children and the cattle were packed together. One arrow struck a
little girl in the head, killing her instantly; another buried itself
in the neck of a bull, and a terrible panic followed, women and
children fleeing to the casemates, while the maddened bull dashed
about, knocking down horses, goring sheep and oxen, trampling through
bundles of household goods until a rifleman shot him through the eye
and cut his throat.
Soldiers and farmers were now hastening to the parapets, carrying
buckets and jars of water, for Cresap feared the sparks from the
burning village might fall even here. But there was worse danger than
that: an arrow, tipped with blazing birch-bark, fell on the parapet
between me and Mount, and, ere I could pick it up, another whizzed
into the epaulement, setting fire to the logs. Faster and faster fell
the flaming arrows; a farmer and three soldiers were wounded; a little
boy was pierced in his mother's arms. No sooner did we soak out the
fire in one spot than down rushed another arrow whistling with flames,
and we all ran to extinguish the sparks which the breeze instantly
blew into a glow.
I had forgotten my bruises, my weakness, and fatigue; aches and pains
I no longer felt. The excitement cured me as no blood-letting popinjay
of a surgeon could, and I found myself nimbly speeding after the fiery
arrows and knocking out the sparks with an empty bucket.
Save for the occasional rifle-shots and the timorous whinny of horses,
the fort was strangely quiet. If the women and children were weeping
in the casemates, we on the ramparts could not hear them. And I do not
think they uttered a complaint. We hurried silently about our work; no
officers shouted; there was small need to urge us, and each man knew
what to do when an arrow fell.
All at once the fiery shower ceased. A soldier climbed the flag-pole
to look out over the smoke, and presently he called down to us that
the savages were falling back to the forest. Then our cannon began to
flash and thunder, and the militia fell in for volley-firing again,
while, below, the drawbridge dropped once more, and our riflemen stole
out into the haze.
I was sitting on the parapet, looking at Boyd's inn, "The Leather
Bottle," which was on fire, when Mount and Cade Renard came up to me,
carrying a sheaf of charred arrows which they had gathered on the
parade.
"I just want you to look at these," began Mount, dumping the arrows
into my lap. "The Weasel, he says you know more about Indians than we
do, and I don't deny it, seeing you lived at Johnstown and seem so
fond of the cursed hell-hounds--"
"He wants you to read these arrows," interrupted the Weasel, dryly;
"no, not the totem signs. What tribes are they?"
"Cayuga," I replied, wondering. "Cayuga, of course--wait!--why, this
is a Seneca war-arrow!--you can see by the shaft and nock and the
quills set inside the fibres!"
"I told you!" observed the Weasel, grimly nudging Mount.
Mount stood silent and serious, watching me picking up arrow after
arrow from the charred sheaf on my knees.
"Here is a Shawanese hunting-shaft," I said, startled, "and--and
this--this is a strange arrow to me!"
I held up a slender, delicate arrow, beautifully made and tipped with
steel.
"That," said Mount, gravely, "is a Delaware arrow."
"The Lenape!" I cried, astonished. Suddenly the terrible significance
of these blackened arrows came to me like a blow. The Lenni-Lenape had
risen, the Senecas and Shawanese had joined the Cayugas. The Long
House was in revolt.
"Mount," I said, quietly, "does Colonel Cresap know this?"
The Weasel nodded.
"We abandon the fort to-night," he said. "We can't face the Six
Nations--here."
"We make for Pittsburg," added Mount. "It will be a job to get the
women and children through. Cresap wishes to see you, Mr. Cardigan.
You will find him laying fuses to the magazine."
They piloted me to the casemates and around the barracks to the angle
of the fort, where a stockade barred the passage to the magazine. The
sentry refused us admittance, but Corporal Cloud heard us and opened
the stockade gate, where we saw Cresap on his hands and knees, heaping
up loose powder into a long train. He glanced up at us quietly; his
thin, grave face was very pale.
"Am I right about those arrows?" he asked Mount.
"Mr. Cardigan says there's a Seneca war-arrow among 'em, too," replied
Mount.
Cresap's keen eyes questioned me.
"It's true," I said. "The Senecas guard the western door of the Long
House, and they have made the Cayugas' cause their own."
"And the eastern door?" demanded Cresap, quickly.
"The eastern door of the Long House is held by our Mohawks and Sir
William Johnson," I said, proudly. "And, by God's grace! they will
hold it in peace."
"Not while Walter Butler lives," said Cresap, bitterly, rising to his
feet and turning the key of the magazine. "Throw that key into the
moat, corporal," he said. "Mount, get some riflemen and roll these
kegs of powder into the casemates."
"You know," he observed, turning to me, "that we abandon the fort
to-night. It means the end of all for me. I shall receive all the
blame for this war; the disgrace will be laid on me. But let Dunmore
beware if he thinks to deprive me of command over my riflemen! I've
made them what they are--not for my Lord Dunmore, but for my country,
when the call to arms peals out of every steeple from Maine to
Virginia."
Cloud lifted his hat. "Please God, those same bells will ring before I
die," he said, serenely.
"They'll ring when the British fleet sights Boston," observed the
Weasel.
"They'll ring loud enough for Harrod and Dan Boone to hear 'em on the
Kentucky," added Mount.
I said nothing, but looked down at the powder trail, which led into
the magazine through a hole under the heavy double door. Cresap pushed
the heap of powder with his foot.
"Ah, well," he said, "it's liberty or death for all save human
cattle--liberty or death, sure enough, as the Virginian puts it."
"Patrick Henry is in Pittsburg," began Mount; but Cresap went on
without heeding him: "Patrick Henry has given my riflemen their
watchword; and the day that sees them marching north will find that
watchword lettered on the breast of every hunting-shirt--Liberty or
Death."
Turning his clear eyes on me, he said, "You will be with us, will you
not, sir?"
"My father fought at Quebec," I answered, slowly.
"And my father yonder at Fort Pitt, when it was Fort Duquesne, not
under Braddock, but in '58, when the British razed the French works
and built Fortress Pitt on the ruins. What of it? Your father and my
father fought for England. They were Englishmen. Let us, who are
Americans, imitate our fathers by fighting for America. We could do
their memory no truer honour."
"I have not made up my mind to fight our King," I answered, slowly.
"But I have determined to fight his deputy, Lord Dunmore."
"And all his agents?" added Mount, promptly.
"You mean Dunmore's?" I asked.
"The King's," said Cloud.
"Yes, the King's, too, if they interfere with my people!" I blurted
out.
"Oh, I think you will march with us when the time comes," said Cresap,
with one of his rare smiles; and he led the way out of the stockade,
cautioning us to step clear of the powder.
"Cut a time-fuse for the train and bring it to me at the barracks," he
said to Cloud; and, saluting us thoughtfully, he entered the
casemates, where the women and children were gathered in tearful
silence.
I heard him tell the poor creatures that their homes had gone up in
smoke; that, for the moment, it was necessary to retire to Fort Pitt,
and that each family might take only such household implements and
extra clothing as they could carry in their arms.
There was not a whimper from the women, only quiet tears. Even the
children, looking up solemnly at Cresap, bravely stifled the sobs of
fear that crowded into every little throat.
The day wore away in preparation for the march. I had nothing to
prepare; I had lost my rifle and ammunition when a prisoner among the
Cayugas, and my spare clothing and provisions when Boyd's Inn was
burned. Fortunately, Boyd had buckled on my money-belt for safe
keeping, and the honest old man delivered it to me, condoling with me
for the loss of my clothing and food; and never a word of complaint
for his own loss of home and bed and everything he owned in the world,
nor would he accept a shilling from me to aid him towards a new
beginning in life.
"I am only seventy-three," he said, coolly; "when these arms of mine
cannot build me a home, let them fashion my coffin!"
And he picked up his long rifle and walked away to help load the
ox-teams with powder, ball, and provisions.
One thing that Mount told me aroused my anger and contempt: there was
now not a Tory left among Cresap's people; all had fled when
Greathouse fled, proving clearly that, if all had not aided in the
slaughter of Logan's children, they at least had been informed of the
plot and had probably been warned that the murderous deed would be
laid at Tory doors.
Towards dusk our scouts began to come in, one by one, with sad stories
concerning the outlying settlements and lonely farms. One had seen a
charred doorway choked with dead children, all scalped; another, lying
hid, saw a small war-party pass with eighteen fresh scalps, three of
them taken from women and little girls; a third vowed that the Oneidas
had joined in, and he exhibited a moccasin that he had found, as
proof. But when I saw the moccasin, I knew it to be Mohawk, and it
troubled me greatly, yet I did not inform Cresap, because I could not
believe our Mohawks had risen.
At nine o'clock the postern was opened quietly, and the first
detachment of riflemen left the fort, stealing out into the starlight,
weapons at a trail. When the scouts returned to say that the coast was
clear, the column started in perfect silence. First marched a company
of Maryland riflemen; after them filed the ox-teams, loaded with old
women and very small children, the wagons rolling on muffled wheels;
then followed a company of Virginia militia, and after them came more
ox-teams piled with ammunition and stores, and accompanied by young
women and grown children. The rear was covered by the bulk of the
militia and riflemen, with our brass cannon dragged by the only horse
in the ill-fated town.
When the rear-guard had disappeared in the darkness, Cresap, Mount,
Cade Renard, and I bolted the gates, drew up the drawbridge, locked
it, and dropped the keys into the moat. Then Cresap and Mount ran
across the parade towards the magazine, while we tied a knotted rope
to the southern parapet and shook it free so that it hung to the edge
of the counter-scarp below.
Presently Mount came hurrying back across the parade and up the scarp
to where we stood, bidding us hasten, for the fuse was afire and might
burn more quickly than we expected.
Down the rope, hand over hand, tumbled the Weasel, and then Mount
motioned me to go. But just as I started, up above my head in the
darkness I heard the flag flapping; I paused, then stepped towards the
pole.
"The flag," I said. "You have forgotten it--"
"It's only the damned British flag!" said Mount. "Down the rope with
you, lad! Do you want to keep us till the fort blows up?"
"I can't leave the flag," I said, doggedly.
"To hell with it!" retorted Mount, fiercely, and pushed me towards the
rope.
"Let me alone!" I flashed out, backing towards the flag-pole.
"Oh, go to the devil your own way," growled Mount, but I saw he did
not leave the rampart while I was lowering the flag and ripping it
from the halyards.
Cresap came rushing up the scarp as I stuffed the flag into the breast
of my hunting-shirt.
"Are you mad?" he cried. "Down the rope there, Cardigan! Follow him
for your life, Jack Mount!"
And down I scrambled, followed by Mount and Cresap, and we all ran as
though the Six Nations were at our heels.
In the dark we passed a rifleman who scampered on ahead to pilot us,
and after ten minutes at top speed we joined the rear-guard and fell
in with the major, panting.
"A slick trick you played," grunted Mount, "with that bloody British
flag."
"It was mine, once," I retorted, hotly.
"Oh, you would blow us all up for it, eh?" asked the big fellow,
pettishly. "Well, you be damned, and your flag, too!"
His voice was blotted out in a roar which shook the solid forest; a
crimson flame shot up to the stars; then thunderous darkness buried
us.
Half-smothered cries and shrieks came from the long convoy ahead, but
these were quickly silenced, the frightened oxen subdued, and the
column hastened on into the night.
"Now that the fort's exploded, look out for the Iroquois," said Mount,
steadying his voice with an effort.
Cresap had given me a rifle. I halted to load it, then ran on to join
Mount and Renard. We plodded on in silence for a while. Presently
Mount asked me what I meant to do in Pittsburg.
"I mean to see Lord Dunmore," I replied, quietly.
Mount pretended to fear for his Lordship's scalp, but I was in no
humour for jesting, and I said no more.
"What are you going to do to old Dunmore?" urged the big fellow,
curiously.
"See here, my good man," said I, "you are impertinent. I am an
accredited deputy of Sir William Johnson, and my business is his."
"You need not be so surly," grumbled Mount.
"You've hurt his feelings," observed the Weasel, trotting at my heels.
"Whose? Mount's?" I asked. "Well, I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt
you, Mount."
"That's all very well, but you did," said Mount. "I've got feelings,
too, just as much as the Weasel has."
"No, you haven't," said the Weasel, hastily. "I'm a ruined man, and
you know it. Haven't I been through enough to give me sensitive
feelings?"
Mount nudged me. "He's thinking of his wife and baby," he said. "Talk
to him about them. He likes it. It harrows him, doesn't it, Cade?"
"It hurts fearful," replied the Weasel, looking up at me hopefully.
"You had a lovely wife, didn't you, Cade?" inquired Mount,
sympathetically.
"Yes--oh yes. And a baby girl, Jack--don't forget the baby girl,"
sniffed the Weasel, trotting beside me.
"The baby must be nigh fifteen years old now, eh, Cade?" suggested
Mount.
"Sixteen, nigh sixteen, Jack. The cunning little thing."
"What became of her?" I asked, gently.
"Nobody knows, nobody knows," murmured the Weasel. "My wife left me
and took my baby girl. Some say she went with one of Sir Peter
Warren's captains, some say it was an admiral who charmed her. I
don't know. She was gone and the fleet was gone when they told me."
He laid his hard little hand on my arm and looked up with bright eyes.
"Since that," he said, "I've been a little queer in my head. You may
have noticed it. Oh yes, I've been a little mad, haven't I, Jack?"
"A little," said Mount, tenderly.
"I have not noticed it," said I.
"Oh, but I have," he insisted. "I talk with my baby in the woods;
don't I, Jack? And I see her, too," he added, triumphantly. "That
proves me a little mad; doesn't it, Jack?"
"The Weasel was once a gentleman," said Mount, in my ear. "He had a
fine mansion near Boston."
"I hear you!" piped the Weasel. "I hear you, Jack. You are quite
right, too. I was a gentleman. I have ridden to hounds, Mr. Cardigan,
many a covert I've drawn, many a brush fell to me. I was master of
fox-hounds, Mr. Cardigan. None rode harder than I. I kept a good
cellar, too, and an open house--ah, yes, an open house, sir. And that
was where ruin came in, finding the door open--and the fleet in the
downs."
"And you came home and your dear wife had run away with an officer
from Sir Peter Warren's ships--eh, Cade, old friend?" said Mount,
affectionately.
"And took our baby--don't forget the baby, Jack," piped the Weasel.
"And if you could only find the man you'd slit his gullet, wouldn't
you, Cade?" inquired Mount, dropping one great arm over the Weasel's
shoulder.
"Oh, dear, yes," replied the Weasel, amiably.
I had been looking ahead along the line of wagons, where a lanthorn
was glimmering. The convoy had halted, and presently Mount, Cade
Renard, and I walked on along the ranks of resting troops and loaded
wains until we came to where the light shone on a group of militia
officers and riflemen. Cresap was there, wrapped in his heavy cloak;
and when he perceived me he called me.
As I approached, followed naively by Mount and Renard, I was
surprised to see a tall Indian standing beside Cresap, muffled to the
chin in a dark blanket.
"Cardigan," said Cresap, "my scouts found this Indian walking ahead in
the trail all alone. He made no resistance, and they brought him in.
He seems to be foolish or simple-minded. I can't make him out. You see
he is unarmed. What is he?"
I glanced at the tall, silent Indian; a glance was enough.
"This man is a Cayuga and a chief," I said, in a low voice.
"Speak to him," said Cresap; "he appears not to understand me. I speak
only Tuscarora, and that badly."
I looked at the silent Cayuga and made the sign of brotherhood. His
dull eyes regarded me steadily.
"Brother," I said, "by the cinders on your brow you mourn for the
dead."
"I mourn," he replied, simply.
"A son?"
"A family. I am Logan."
Shocked, I gazed in pity on the stern, noble visage. So this was
Logan, the wretched man bereft of all his loved ones by Greathouse!
I turned quietly to Cresap.
"This is the great Cayuga chief, Logan, whose children were murdered,"
I said.
Cresap turned a troubled face on the mute savage.
"Ask him where he journeys."
"Where do you journey, brother?" I asked, gently.
"I go to Fort Pitt," he answered, without emotion.
"To ask justice?"
"To ask it."
"God grant you justice," I said, gravely.
To Cresap I said, "He seeks justice at Fort Pitt from Lord Dunmore."
"Bid him come with us," replied Cresap, soberly. "He may not get
justice at Fort Pitt, but there is a higher Judge than the Earl of
Dunmore. To Him I also look for the justice that men shall deny me on
earth."
I took Logan by the hand and led him into a space behind the wagons.
Here we waited in silence until the slow convoy moved, and then we
followed as mourners follow a casket to the grave of all their hopes.
Hour after hour we journeyed unmolested; the stars faded, but it was
not yet dawn when a far voice cried in the darkness and a light moved,
and we knew that the warders of the fortress were hailing our vanguard
at the gates of Pittsburg.