WETZEL, THE SCOUT;
OR,
THE CAPTIVES OF THE WILDERNESS.
BY BOYNTON BELKNAP, M. D.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
I On the Ohio 9
II Pompey in War 16
III The Renegade 19
IV Surrounded by Peril 22
V Thrilling Adventures 29
VI At the Settlement 36
VII Waiting and Watching 39
VIII Home Again 44
IX The Night Attack 54
X Colonel Clark and His Rangers 68
XI The Captain and the Indian 77
XII {Sowing the Wind} 80
XIII Reaping the Whirlwind 84
XIV {Conclusion} 94
WETZEL, THE SCOUT
CHAPTER I.
ON THE OHIO.
“Who fired that gun?” demanded Captain Parks, as he turned around and
faced his terrified negro, Pompey. “Hang me, if I don’t believe it was
you, Pompey.”
“Heben sabe me, massa captain; I wouldn’t do such a ting for ten fousand
dollars!”
“Let me see your gun.”
The trembling African obeyed. It required but a moment for the irascible
captain to ascertain that the piece had just been discharged.
“Yes, you black rascal, it was you! Take that!” he added giving his
servant a tremendous kick. The latter paid not the least heed to it, and
finally added, as if addressing himself,
“Come to tink soberly on de matter, I bring to mind I did have de hammer
up, so as to be ready for de Injins when dey do come, and jist now I
stubbed my toe, and jerked on de trigger, and I s’pose dat am what made
de blasted ting go off so mighty suddint like.”
“Of course it was, you black rascal! It came within an inch of my head.
If anything like that happens again, I’ll leave you here in the woods
for the Indian’s tomahawk.”
“Heben sabe me, I’ll be careful.”
Captain Parks, a blunt, corpulent, middle-aged man, who had served and
been wounded in the Revolutionary war, was toilsomely making his way
along the banks of the Ohio, near the close of day, followed by his
servant, a great fat negro, of about as much use as a common ox would
have been. He was endeavoring to reach a certain point, which had been
described to him by the renowned ranger Lew Wetzel, for the purpose of
being taken on board a flat-boat on its way down the Ohio. His own
family and a number of friends were on board, and after seeing them
embark, a goodly number of miles above, he had gone overland for some
distance in order to meet a man on an important business matter.
Remaining with him no longer than could be helped, he made all haste
toward the rendezvous, which he had just reached at the time we
introduce him to the reader.
“Yes, Pompey, here’s the spot!” exclaimed Captain Parks, looking around
in surprised pleasure. “There’s the uprooted tree, with the shrubbery
growing around its roots, that Wetzel told me to be on the look-out
for.”
“Yaas, and dar am de riber dat he said would be dar, too.”
“The river, you blockhead? Of course, else how could we meet the
flat-boat.”
“Dat am so,” returned Pompey, thoughtfully, and a moment later he
shouted, “Ki yi? dar he comes now.”
“You blasted fool, that is a canoe full of Indians! Stoop down, or
they’ll have our scalps in ten minutes.”
The men sank down out of sight, while the canoe that had attracted their
attention, made its way swiftly across the river several hundred yards
above. Its inmates seemed unaware of their presence, as they advanced
straight across the river without swerving to the right or left.
As Captain Parks was anxiously scanning the savages he was certain he
saw a white man sitting in the stern, and from appearances he was the
guiding spirit of the forces. While scrutinizing him the negro at his
elbow again spoke.
“Dar it am dis time, shuah.”
He was not mistaken this time. Coming around a bend above, the flat-boat
floated slowly and silently forward under the perfect control of the
current. When first seen it had the appearance of a large, square box,
at either end of which was hung a lengthy oar, which now and then swayed
and dipped in the water. The cabin ran the entire length, except at each
end there was a small space left sufficient to contain a half-dozen men.
Above these open spaces the heavy bullet-proof sides rose for five feet.
A small narrow window was pierced in the sides, opening and shutting at
pleasure, while a trap afforded egress to those within. The spaces at
the ends communicated with the cabin by means of another small door, so
that the inmates of the boat, whoever they might be, were able to pass
and repass without exposing themselves to danger from an ever watchful
foe without.
Viewed from the shore, not a sign of life would have been seen at first.
Some invisible but skilful hand seemed to dip and sweep the long guiding
oars and keep the boat in the channel. But a closer view would have
shown a small, dark spot-like appearance above the gunwale at the stern,
which at long intervals changed its position, and then for so long a
time remained stationary as to give the impression that it was a part of
the boat itself. This small object was a coon-skin cap, and it rested
upon the head of him who was guiding this boat through the perils that
environ it. A nearer approach, and a low hum, as though persons were
conversing in the cabin, might have been heard; but no other appearances
of life would have been seen upon the outside, except the one individual
referred to. He was a man young in years, yet with an expression of face
and appearance of dress that showed he had much experience in backwoods
life. He was rather dull, of a muscular, massive frame, and had a fine,
intelligent expression of countenance. His nose was small and finely
formed, his eyes black and glittering, his long black hair fell in
curling masses over his shoulders, his mouth was small and expressive,
and there was an appearance of compactness about his frame that showed
his formidable reserve of strength and activity. He was attired in the
usual hunting costume of the day—coon-skin cap, with hunting shirt,
leggins and moccasins made of deer-skin. A belt passing around the waist
was the repository of a couple of savage-looking knives, while a long
polished rifle rested against the cabin.
Our two friends on shore waited until the flat-boat was nearly opposite,
when Captain Parks arose to his feet and made a signal with his hat. The
eagle eye of Wetzel quickly detected it, and swinging his own cap over
his head to signify that all was right, a small sort of canoe was
instantly lowered, and propelled by the skilful paddle of the renowned
ranger himself, it soon reached the shore, and received the two men on
board.
“Dar am a hundred fousand Ingines!” whispered Pompey in a horrified
whisper. “Let’s got back to de flat-boat a little sooner dan possible.”
Wetzel looked inquiringly at the captain, who made answer:
“A canoe full, passed just before you came in sight.”
“I seen ’em,” returned the ranger. “There’s a white man with ’em too.
I’m afraid we’ll have trouble from ’em afore long, too.”
“Golly hebbin! let’s go back home.”
“Shut up, you black rascal.”
A few minutes later our friends were received on board the flat-boat,
and most joyfully welcomed by its occupants. It was already getting
dark, so that the meeting had not occurred too soon. It singularly
happened that both Captain Parks and the flat-boat were delayed several
hours in reaching the appointed spot.
There were a dozen upon the boat beside Wetzel, including the females of
Stuart, Kingman and Parks, and several young, enterprising men.
Stuart was a sturdy, middle-aged farmer, who had first proposed this
undertaking, and was the leading spirit of the enterprise. He was a
corpulent, good-natured man, and was accompanied by his wife, and a
meek, blue-eyed daughter of eighteen or twenty years. Kingman was a
relative of Stuart’s, was of about the same age, and of the same
pleasant, social disposition. His only child was a son, just verging
into manhood, who had hopefully joined the little expedition. The third
mentioned was Parks, our first acquaintance, who was about forty years
of age, with a heavy grizzly beard and bushy hair, and of so irascible a
disposition that he had gained the name of the “Mad Captain.” He was
childless, having lost his only son in battle some years before.
The party at the time we introduce them to the notice of the reader,
were engaged over their evening meal, and thus the hunter Wetzel was
undisturbed by the presence of any of them.
Suddenly, like the flash of a demon’s eye, a bright spot of fire flamed
from the inky blackness of the western shore, the sharp crack of a rifle
burst upon the night air, its sullen echoes rolling far up and down the
river. Not a motion or word on the flat-boat betrayed that the sound of
a rifle had been heard. Wetzel was standing as usual, resting quietly on
the oar, and heard the whizz of the bullet as it skimmed over the boat
in front of him. Not the least discomfited, he neither spoke nor changed
his position at the startling sound. A deliberate half-turning of the
head and an apparently casual glance at the shore from which the shot
had come, were all that betokened his knowledge of the threatened
danger. There was little need of cautioning the inmates, as they were
well aware of the dangers by which they were surrounded. Around Wetzel
stood Kingman and Parks, while at the opposite end were young Kingman
and a friend by the name of Russel. The females remained below.
The night was one of those clear, beautiful ones, when the silence is so
perfect that the dark forest seems to have a deep, sullen, and almost
inaudible roar, and there is soft music in the hum of the myriads of
insects in the air. As the moonlight rested upon the youthful, but
already bronzed face of the brave Wetzel, it disclosed one of no
ordinary intelligence.
There is a magic power in the moonlight, when it rests like a silver
veil upon the countenance, softening and mellowing the outlines, until
every feature glows with a radiant mildness.
And, when a few moments later, Irene Stuart made her appearance, her
face was of surpassing beauty. She was rather below the medium size, of
a light delicate frame. As she emerged from below a heavy shawl
enveloped her, concealing her faultless form to the shoulders. There was
no covering for the head, and her dark clustering hair gathered loosely
behind, fell in a black mass over her shoulders. The moonlight gave to
the mild blue eyes a languid softness, and the whiteness of the face
seemed increased by the same enchanting veil. The night journey was
continued in safety, and the next day the wished-for settlement was
reached. Here they were all received with open arms, and were speedily
incorporated into the settlement proper.
The men had come for the purpose of carving out new homes for themselves
in this great wilderness, and they went to work with the determination
to do so. By mutual assistance, cabins for all were soon erected, and a
large portion of the forest cleared and put under cultivation.
Matters progressed well until, after the lapse of a few months, rumors
reached the settlement of a frightful increase of the outrages upon the
part of the savages. The menacing danger to the settlement finally
assumed such a form that stockades were erected and the place put in a
state of defense.
A month or two passed thus, until the succeeding spring, when Wetzel
arrived at the settlement with a call for twenty men to join a company
that were going to march into the Indian country for the purpose of
teaching them that the whites could not be murdered with impunity.
The desired twenty at once responded to the call. Among these were Mad
Captain Parks, Kingman, Stuart, and others who were in the flat-boat.
Wetzel was to be the leader until they reached the appointed rendezvous,
a number of miles up the river, when the whole was to be placed under
the command of Col. Sandford, a man who had experienced considerable
Indian fighting. The entire force was to number two hundred and fifty,
and it was confidently hoped that a summary check would be put to the
outrages that were becoming frightfully common along the frontier.
At the appointed time the whole two hundred and fifty gathered at Fort
Lafayette (the one of ancient days) and with high hopes they set out for
the Indian town of Lushne, under the lead of the gallant Colonel
Sandford.
To reach this, it was necessary to cross a large stream—a tributary of
the Ohio. This was done in safety, and late one night they encamped
within a comparatively short distance of the Indian town. A greater
number of sentinels were put on duty, and the rest lay down to be ready
for the “tug of war” that they confidently counted on for the morrow.
In spite of the extraordinary precautions that were taken the picket
line was broken through, and an overwhelming body of Indians poured into
the camp. The officers endeavored to rally them; but Colonel Sandford
was almost instantly shot, and the panic become complete.
Many of the men performed prodigies of valor. Wetzel raged like a
madman; but the men broke, and were scattered like chaff, and were hewn
down as they ran.
Finding it was all useless to attempt to stay the tide, Wetzel, Captain
Parks and Kingman attempted to save themselves. The two former
successfully made their escape in the darkness, but the latter was
wounded, and crawled for safety beneath a cluster of bushes. Here he lay
all night, while the dreadful carnival went on. He caught sight of the
shadowy forms rushing to and fro, heard the continual shrieks of the
victims, and now and then the death yell of some over-venturesome
Indian. He expected every moment to be discovered, and to share the fate
of his companions.
When the morning finally dawned, the tumult died away, and overpowered
by his exhaustion he fell asleep. When he awoke the day was well
advanced. As he regained his consciousness he looked about him; but no
person was visible. The massacre was finished.
Kingman crawled to a brook near by and quenched his thirst, and then
made his way back again, seeing no prospect for him but to lie there and
perish, or suffer a death of violence from the hands of the first one
who should discover him.
He lay there all day. At nightfall he was startled by the appearance of
a little whiffit of a dog directly in front of him. Knowing that some
one else must be close at hand, he managed to lure the brute to him,
when he cut his throat from ear to ear.
“There,” he muttered, as he wiped the blood from his hands, “you can’t
betray my hiding place.—sh!”
Just then he looked up and saw the renegade Johnson but a few rods away,
and apparently looking for something.