THE START FOR THE EAST
The news that the Indians were still in that vicinity alarmed James
Morris exceedingly, and he shook his head sadly when he remembered that
it had been arranged for Rodney to start for the east with little Nell
and the twins on the following Monday.
“I hardly think it will be safe,” said he, to Rodney. “I should not wish
anything to happen to you and the others.”
“There are six men to go along, besides Sam Barringford,” answered the
young soldier who had fought so bravely at the battle of Bushy Run.
“There can be only small bodies of Indians around, and they will not
dare to attack us if we keep a good watch.”
“The Indians may unite for an attack,” said Mr. Morris. “Better wait
until we are certain the way is clear.” And so the start for the Morris
homestead was delayed.
Dave and Henry had returned to Fort Pitt on Friday night, and Saturday
morning Captain Ecuyer sent out a body of fifty regulars and six
frontiersmen, to scour the vicinity for Indians. With the number went
Sam Barringford and another old hunter, Tony Jadwin, both of whom knew
that territory well. Jadwin had been Mr. Morris’s right-hand man at the
trading post, and was counted an Indian trailer of extraordinary
ability.
“I’d like to go with them myself,” said Dave, but his father demurred.
Henry was glad enough to give his ankle a rest, and Rodney thought he
had better reserve his strength for the trip eastward.
“Oh, Henry, please don’t go out among the Indians again!” cried little
Nell, to her brother. “And don’t you go either, Cousin Dave,” she added.
“We are not going just yet,” said Henry, giving his sister a kiss.
“Oh, I hate the Indians so!” went on the miss, with a stamp of her foot.
“Not all Indians,” replied Dave, with a smile. “Don’t forget White
Buffalo.”
“Oh, he is only an Indian in looks,” answered Nell. “He has a white
man’s heart—Uncle Sam told me so.”
“By the way, where is White Buffalo?” asked Henry.
“He has gone to visit his tribe,” answered Rodney. “He thinks the
different factions will unite now and sue for peace. Sir William Johnson
is going to give them all a chance to bury the hatchet, and White
Buffalo thinks it is a grand chance for his tribe to unite once more and
live in peace.”
What Rodney said about Sir William Johnson was true. The Indian
Superintendent had sent agents to all of the chiefs of the Six Nations,
and also to the chiefs of the tribes along the St. Lawrence and in
Canada. The Indians were to meet the Superintendent at Johnson Hall in
central New York State. Many came to the conference, which began early
in September and was productive of some good, although not a great deal.
The Iroquois were induced to send messages to other tribes in the west,
urging them to bury the hatchet, and they also sent word to the
Delawares telling them not to listen to the western tribes that desired
to plunge them into further bloodshed. The Senecas would not come to the
conference, and they continued to kill and plunder whenever the
opportunity presented itself, and the tribes from along the Mississippi
did likewise. White Buffalo’s tribe of Delawares continued to remain
split, much to the old chief’s sorrow, one part aiding the English, and
another part aiding the Indians, and the French who still held certain
trading posts and refused to give them up.
The regulars and frontiersmen to sally forth from Fort Pitt after the
enemy, were gone four days. When they returned they announced that
practically all the red men had departed either for the north or the
west. They had encountered one band of fleeing men under Moon Eye and
had slain two of the Indians. One regular had been shot in the arm, a
wound that was painful but not serious. They had come upon the torn
carcass of the bear, which the wolves had used for a feast after the
Indians had cut away the hide and some choice steaks, and had found the
torn body of one cub. Sam Barringford had also gotten a long-distance
shot at a buffalo, probably the one followed by Dave, but the animal had
gotten away from him.
“I think we can make the trip eastward in safety now,” said Rodney, to
his uncle. “Evidently the redskins are pretty badly scared. It may be
safer to make it now than later on. Besides, we don’t want to wait till
winter is on us.”
The matter was talked over at great length, and finally it was decided
that the start for the east should be made at the end of a week. Rodney
and Barringford were to go, taking with them Nell and the twins. A
settler named Dobson was also going, along with his wife, who promised
to keep an eye on Nell, Tom, and Artie. The escort was to be composed of
five frontiersmen, and ten regular soldiers who had received their
discharge from the service, and who were anxious to get back to
Annapolis, where they belonged. The party were to take with them six
pack-horses, all belonging to Mr. Morris.
This plan of departing for the east put Rodney in better spirits, for he
wanted to see home again, not being used to being away, as were Dave and
Henry. Everything was gotten in readiness and long letters were written
by those left at the fort. In his letter to his brother, James Morris
stated that he intended to go back to his trading post on the Ohio as
soon as it seemed fairly safe to do so, and that, as agreed upon before,
he would take Dave and Henry with him.
“Good-bye, Rodney,” said Dave, when it came time to part. “Take good
care of yourself, and good care of Nell and the twins.”
“And you take care of yourself,” answered the former cripple. “Don’t
start for the trading post until it is perfectly safe.”
When the actual parting came Nell’s eyes were full of tears and she
kissed her brother Henry, Uncle James, and Cousin Dave over and over
again. Even the twins hated to leave the fort, where they had been
general favorites since their arrival.
“Tom wants to stay by the soldiers,” said one.
“Artie wants to stay by the soldiers, too, and by Dave!” cried the
other.
They were sturdy little chaps, the picture of health, and Dave and Henry
could not resist giving each a toss and a hug.
When the little expedition started Dave, Henry, and Mr. Morris
accompanied them for several miles of the journey. Then all reached the
top of a hill, and here those to remain at the fort halted. The others
went on and presently a bend in the road hid them from view.
“I pray to heaven that they have a safe journey home,” said James
Morris, with much feeling.
As my old readers know, there were two roads running between Fort Pitt
and the east—one the old trail used by General Braddock on his
disastrous campaign and the other used by General Forbes on his march to
victory. The Braddock road was now but little used, and Rodney and his
friends took to the other, as being perhaps safer and easier.
The advance was in regular order, half of the frontiersmen and regulars
going ahead and the others keeping to the rear. In the center came the
pack-horses, with Rodney and Dobson in charge. With Mrs. Dobson were
Nell and the twins, who walked or rode, as suited them.
In these days of fast trains, trolley cars, and automobiles it is
difficult to imagine what such a journey as this before the colonists
meant. Instead of covering thirty to sixty miles an hour they were
content to cover ten to twenty miles between sunrise and sunset. The
road lay over the hills and through the mountains, with mighty forests
on all sides, where the ring of the woodsman’s axe had scarcely been
heard. Great rivers were to be crossed, and if the bridge was down or
out of repair they had to find another place to cross or else stop to
mend the structure. Where the road lay along a mountain side the rain
would sometimes cover it with mud and stones to a depth of a foot or
more, making the advance extra laborious. Here and there the wind had
blown a tree down over their path, and then they would have to either
work their way around it, or else cut through or over it. In some spots
the tree-branches were so low the horses could scarcely get under them,
and here all the travelers would have to advance on foot, and see to it
that none of the packs were lost. Once a pack caught on a sharp bough
and tore open, scattering the contents in all directions.
“Won’t catch me coming out here again,” grumbled Asa Dobson. “Folks out
Baltimore way said I could make my fortune in them western countries,
but I don’t see it. Them Injuns nearly killed me and my wife twict, and
they stole my hoss, and I’m going to stay in the east after this, and
work for my old master, the Earl of Chester. The Injuns can have them
western countries for all o’ me!”
“Don’t you want to be your own master and own your own plantation?”
asked Rodney.
“No, not if I’ve got to fight Injuns to keep it,” answered Dobson. He
was used to life around the larger towns, and the loneliness of the
wilderness struck him with a peculiar terror.
However the journey had its bright spots. The men in advance always
secured plenty of game—deer, rabbits, squirrels, wild turkeys, and
partridges—and the children often stopped to pick the wild flowers which
still bloomed along the roadside. At nightfall they would go into camp
beside some brook or spring of pure mountain water, and there would
gather around a generous campfire, to eat the main meal of the day and
make themselves at home. During the evening hours Sam Barringford would
tell the children wonderful stories of hunting, or of his army
adventures while out with Dave and Henry,—tales which they listened to
with much interest.
“Tom is going to be a soldier when he grows up,” said one of the little
boys.
“Artie is going to be a soldier too, and have a beautiful uniform,” put
in the other promptly. They spoke thus in childish fashion, little
dreaming of the days to come when they would both shoulder their muskets
in the War for Independence.
So far they had met nobody on the road. When Sunday came they spent the
day in a much-needed rest. Nell repeated to Rodney some Bible verses and
tried to teach them to the twins.
On Monday afternoon those in advance saw a pack-train approaching,
composed of eight horses and one cart, and in charge of six frontiersmen
and a trader named Packerson.
“Where bound, Packerson?” asked Sam Barringford.
“Fort Pitt,” was the short reply. Packerson was a rather silent man, of
few words.
“Come straight through from Cumberland?”
“Yes.”
“See any Injuns?”
“Seven. Had a fight with ’em too,” answered the trader. Then his train
came to a halt, and the others at once surrounded him for particulars of
the encounter.