FORCES MEET
Major George Augustus Braithwaite had judged aright. Henry Ware knelt in
the prow of the first boat, as it showed beyond the curve after forcing
the watery pass. The shiftless one knelt just behind him, and in the
stern was Paul, kneeling, too. The rifles of all three were hot in their
hands. Long Jim and Silent Tom were now at the oars.
It all seemed--that last half hour--a dream to Henry and Paul. They had
moved in a kind of mist, now red, now black. They had seen the black
hills lowering above them, and the innumerable flashes of fire. They had
heard the roar of the tempest and the unbroken crackle of hundreds of
rifles, and they had fired in reply almost mechanically. Their one
object was to press forward, always to press forward, and so long as
their boat continued to move they knew that they must be succeeding.
Now they beheld the wider water before them, and upon a high hill upon
the southern shore a great fire blazed, by the light of which they saw
wooden walls and roofs.
"We are through!" exclaimed Henry. "We have at least come as far as the
fort, whether we can land or not!"
"Yes, we are through," said the shiftless one, "but I never run such a
gantlet afore, an' I hope never to do it ag'in."
He laid down his rifle a moment, and began to feel himself critically
and carefully.
"What are you doing?" asked Henry.
"Me?" replied Sol. "I'm tryin' to see whether I'm all here, or whether
most o' me is scattered around in the Ohio. When a million savages are
shootin' at a feller, all at the same time, an' keep on doin' it, it's
more'n likely that feller will soon be in pieces. No, I ain't hurt. Some
o' my huntin' shirt hez been shot away, but the body o' Sol Hyde is
sound an' whole, fur which I do give thanks. How are you, Henry?"
"All right. I've been grazed twice but there's no damage."
"An' you, Paul?"
"Nicked on the wrist and scared to death, but nothing more."
"An' you, Tom?"
"Nigh deef, I guess, from sech a racket, but I'm still fit fur work."
"An' you, you onery old Long Jim."
"Mighty tired, an' hungry, too, I guess, though I don't know it, but I
kin still shoot, an' I kin hit somethin' too."
"Then we've come through better than we could hev hoped," said the
shiftless one joyfully. "'Pears again that Paul was right when he said
down thar on the Missip that Providence had chose us fur a task."
"The battle is not over yet," said Henry. "If we help the fort we've got
to make a landing, or the Indians can go on with the siege almost as if
we were not here. And landing in face of the horde is no easy task."
"Ain't it likely that the people in the fort will help us?" said
Shif'less Sol.
"If I know Major Braithwaite, and I think I do," replied Henry, "they
will surely help. It was a good thing on their part to build that
bonfire as a signal and to show us the way. See how it grows!"
The fire, already great, was obviously rising higher, and its light
deepened over the river. The whole fleet was now through the pass, and
it swung for a few moments in the middle of the stream like a great bird
hovering before it decided on its flight. The light from the bonfire
fell upon it and tinged it red. Although the savage attack had not
ceased, and some of the white men were still firing, most of them lay
for a little while at rest to take fresh breath and strength for the
landing. Henry looked back at them, and spontaneously some scene from
the old Homeric battles that Paul told about came to his mind. He knew
these men as they lay panting against the sides of the boats, the light
from the bonfire tinting their faces to crimson hues. This gallant
fellow was Hector, and that was Achilles, it was Ajax who sat in the
prow there, and the wiry old fellow behind him, with the wary eyes, was
even the cunning Ulysses himself.
It was but a fleeting fancy, gone when Adam Colfax hailed them from the
deck of the _Independence_. The eyes of the Puritan still burned with
zealous fire, and those of Drouillard beside him showed the same spirit.
"What do you think of the landing?" he said to the five collectively.
"Can we force it now? What do you think?"
"I think we can," Henry replied for them all, "if the people in the fort
help--and listen to that! They are helping now!"
There was a sudden spurt of firing from the undergrowth on the southern
bank. Nor was it fitful. It continued rapid and heavy, and they knew
that a diversion of some kind had been created. It must be due to the
men from the fort, and now was the time to make the landing.
Adam Colfax stood upright on the deck of the _Independence_ at the risk
of sharpshooter's bullet, and looked eagerly along the Kentucky shore,
seeking some low place into which his boats could push their prows. His
was a practiced mariner's eye, and he saw it at last, a cove which was
the ending of the ravine in the high bank, and he said a few words to
his trumpeter. The silver peal rose once more, mellow, clear, and
reaching far, and the tired men rose, as usual, to its call. Steady
hands held the rifles, and strong arms bent the oars.
The _Independence_ and the boat of the five swung in toward the cove,
and the whole fleet followed hard at their heels.
The savages uttered a great cry when they saw the movement, and swarmed
anew for the attack, firing rapidly from the forest, while their canoes
pushed boldly out from the northern shore. But Henry judged that the
violence of the attack was less than when they had been in the pass, and
he inferred that a considerable part of their force was drawn off by the
diversion from the woods. He could mark by the rapid blaze of the rifles
in the forest the place where this contest was being waged with the
utmost courage and tenacity. His attentive ear noticed a sudden great
increase in the firing there, and it all seemed to come from one point.
"Somebody has been reinforced, and heavily, at that," he said to
Shif'less Sol.
"It's shorely so," said the shiftless one.
A faint sound, nay, hardly more than an echo, came to their ears. But it
was the echo of a deep, full-throated cry, the cry that white men give.
"It's friends," murmured Henry. "I don't know who they are, but they are
friends."
"It's shorely so," said the shiftless one.
Their boat and the _Independence_ were now not thirty feet from the
land, and in a few more moments they struck upon the shelving margin.
The five instantly leaped ashore, and after them came the men of the
fleet in a torrent. Now they heard that full-throated cheer again, loud,
clear, and near. A powerful friend was at hand, and Adam Colfax,
Drouillard ever at his side, understood it.
"Forward, men!" he cried in his highest voice. "Clear the red swarm from
the bushes!"
With four score brave riflemen he charged through the forest, sweeping
away what was left, at that point of the horde, and, as the warriors
vanished before them, they met in an open space two other forces, one
coming from the east, and the other from the south.
Adam Colfax, the brave Drouillard still at his side, stopped and stood
almost face to face with a tall, middle-aged man who wore a uniform and
on whose head rested a cocked hat from which the rain had long been
pouring in three streams, one at each corner. The man's face bore signs
of physical exhaustion, but his spirit showed triumphant. Behind him
were about thirty men who leaned panting upon their rifles.
The eyes of Adam Colfax shifted to the second force, the one that had
come from the south, the leader of which stood very near, also almost
face to face when he turned. The second leader was even more remarkable
than the first. Hardly in middle age, and with a figure of uncommon
litheness and power, he had a face of extraordinary sweetness and
repose. Even now, fresh from the dangers and excitement of deadly
conflict, it showed no excitement. The mild eyes gazed placidly at Adam
Colfax, and his hands rested unmoving upon the muzzle of his rifle. He
was clothed wholly in deerskin, with the usual cap of raccoon skin. By
the side of him stood a young man clothed in similar fashion. But his
strong face showed all the signs of passion and battle fire. His
deep-set eyes fairly flashed. Behind these two were about thirty men,
mostly young, every one of them brown as an Indian and in wild garb,
true sons of the wilderness.
Henry Ware quickly stepped forward. He alone knew them all.
"Mr. Colfax," he said, nodding toward the head of the first column,
"this is Major Braithwaite, the commander of Fort Prescott, and this--"
He turned and paused a moment as he faced the leader of the second band,
him with the peaceful eyes. He felt that he was calling the name of a
great man, a fit match for any Hector or Achilles that ever lived.
"This is Daniel Boone," he said to Mr. Colfax, "and this, Mr. Boone, is
Adam Colfax, the commander of the fleet that has come from New Orleans
on its way to Pittsburgh."
"Daniel Boone!" exclaimed Adam Colfax, and stepping forward he took the
hand of the great hunter, explorer, and wilderness fighter. It was an
impulse which did not seem strange to him that he should leave Major
Braithwaite for second place, and it seemed natural, also, to the Major,
who did not know until then the name of the man who had come so
opportunely with his friends to his relief.
"I knew Fort Prescott was pushed hard and would be pushed harder," said
Daniel Boone, smiling gently after he had shaken hands with Adam Colfax
and Major Braithwaite, "so me an' Simon--this is Simon Kenton--hurried
south after some of our friends, hunters an' sech like, an' it 'pears
that we've got back in time."
"You certainly have," said Major Braithwaite with deep emphasis. "Never
was help more opportune."
"It was a good fight!" exclaimed Simon Kenton, the battle fire not yet
dead in his eyes.
Daniel Boone smiled again, that extraordinary smile of sweetness and
peace.
"But the one that really brought us all together at the right minute,"
he said, "was a boy, though he is a mighty big and strong one, and he
stands here right now."
He put his hand upon Henry Ware's shoulder, and Henry blushed under his
tan in embarrassment.
"No, no!" he cried. "It was everybody working together, and I'm just one
of the crowd."
He retreated hastily behind his comrades, and Daniel Boone laughed.
"Don't you think that we'd better go into the fort now, Mr. Boone?"
asked Adam Colfax with deference.
"Yes, as soon as we can," replied Daniel Boone, "but we ought to keep a
strong line down to the fleet. We can do it with a chain of men. We are
not out of the woods yet. We might be, if a common man led the Indians,
but Timmendiquas, Timmendiquas the Great, the White Lightning of the
Wyandots, is out there, and he does not know what it is to be beat."
"He surely must be a mighty chief," said Major Braithwaite--the way in
which everybody spoke of Timmendiquas impressed him. "But come, we will
enter the fort."
He led the way, and the triple force, now united, followed close behind.
Paul's eyes were chiefly for the hunters who had come with Boone and
Kenton, and he read their minds--they did not regard what they were
doing as an act of benevolence, one for which they could claim a great
reward; they were doing, instead, what they loved to do, and they were
grateful for the chance. It was the wildest looking band of white men
that he had ever seen, but it was worth a regiment to the fort.
The gate was thrown open again, and the three forces passed in, there to
receive the welcome that is given only by those who have been saved from
what looked like certain death. The scout and the others who knew him
gave Henry Ware the hearty clasp of the hand that means so much, and
then the five went to a cabin to eat, rest and sleep.
"We'll need you to-morrow," said Adam Colfax, "but meanwhile you must
refresh yourselves."
"That sounds mighty good to a tired man," said Shif'less Sol in his
whimsical tone. "I never worked so hard in my life before ez I hev
lately, an' I think I need to rest for the next three or four years."
"But we got through, Sol, we got through, don't furgit that," said Long
Jim. "I'd rather cook than fight. Uv course, I'm always anxious about
the vittles, but I ain't plum' skeered to death over 'em."
"Reminds me I'm hungry," said Shif'less Sol. "Like you, Jim, I furgot
about it when I wuz down thar on the river, fightin', but I'm beginnin'
to feel it now. Wonder ef they'll give us anything."
Sol's wish was fulfilled as a woman brought them abundant food, corn
bread, venison, buffalo meat, and coffee. When it came they sat down in
the home-made chairs of the cabin, and all of them uttered great sighs
of relief, drawn up from the bottom of their hearts.
"I'm goin' to eat fur two or three hours," said the shiftless one,
fastening an eager eye upon a splendid buffalo steak, "an' then I'm
goin' to sleep on them robes over thar. Ef anybody wakes me up before
the last uv next week he'll hev a mighty good man to whip, I kin tell
you."
Eager hand followed eager eye. He lifted the steak and set to, and his
four faithful comrades did the same. They ate, also, of the venison and
the corn bread with the appetite that only immense exertions give, and
they drank with tin cups from a bucket of clear cold water. There was
silence for a quarter of an hour, and then Shif'less Sol was the first
to break it.
"I didn't think I could ever be so happy ag'in," he said in tones of
great content.
"Nor me, either," said Jim Hart, uttering a long, happy sigh. "I declar'
to goodness, I'm a new man, plum' made over from the top uv my head to
the heels an' toes uv my feet."
"And that's a good deal of a man, six feet four, at least," said Paul.
"It's true," repeated Long Jim. "I'm like one uv them thar Greek
demigods Paul tells about. Now an' then I change myself into a new
figger, each more bee-yu-ti-ful than the last. Ain't that so, Sol? You
know it's the truth."
"You could become more bee-yu-ti-ful a heap o' times an' then be nothin'
to brag about," retorted the shiftless one.
"Now let's all go to sleep," said Henry. "It must be past midnight, and
you may be sure that there will be plenty of work for us to do
to-morrow."
"'Nough said," said Tom Ross. He threw himself upon one of the couches
of skins and in three minutes was fast asleep. Sol, Jim, and Paul
quickly followed him, and the long, peaceful breathing of the four was
the only sound in the room.
Henry looked down at his comrades, and his heart was full of gladness.
It seemed wonderful that they had all come with their lives through so
many dangers, and silently he returned thanks to the white man's God and
the red man's Manitou, who were the same to him.
There was a single window to the cabin, without glass, but closed, when
necessary, with a wooden shutter. The shutter was propped back a foot or
more now in order to admit air, and Henry looked out. The lightning had
ceased to flash, save for a feeble quiver now and then on the far
horizon, and it had grown somewhat lighter. But the rain still fell,
though gently, with a steady, soft, insistent drip, drip that was
musical and conducive to sleep.
Henry saw the dusky outline of buildings and several figures passing
back and forth, guns on shoulders. These were riflemen, and he knew that
more were at the wooden walls keeping vigilant guard. Once again he was
filled with wonder that he and his comrades should have come so far and
through so much, and yet be safe and whole.
There was no sound save an occasional light footstep or the clank of a
rifle barrel against metal to break the musical beat of the rain. All
the firing had ceased, and the wind moaned no longer. Henry let the
fresh air play for a while on his face, and then he, too, turned back to
a couch of skins. Sleep, heavy, but not dreamless, came soon.
Henry's dream was not a bad one. On the contrary, it was full of cheer
and good omen. He lay in the forest, the forest, dry, warm, green, and
beautiful, and an unknown voice over his head sang a splendid song in
his ears that, note by note, penetrated every fiber of his being and
filled him with the most glorious visions. It told him to go on, that
all things could be conquered by those who do not fear to try. It was
the same song among the leaves that he had heard in his waking hours,
but now it was louder and fuller, and it spoke with a clearer voice.
The boy turned on his buffalo robe. There was no light in the cabin now,
but his face in the darkness was like that of one inspired. He awoke
presently. The voice was gone, but he could still hear it, like a far
sweet echo, and, although he knew it to be a dream, he considered it to
be fact, nevertheless. Something had spoken to him while he slept, and,
confident of the future, he fell into another sleep, this time without
dreams.
When Henry awoke the next morning Daniel Boone sat by his couch. His
comrades awakened, too, one after another, and as they sat up, Boone,
out of the great goodness of his soul, smiled upon them.
"You are woodsmen, fine woodsmen, all of you," he said, "an' I want to
talk with you. Do you think the great chief, Timmendiquas, will draw
off?"
"Not he!" exclaimed Henry. "He is far from beaten."
"An' that's what I say, too," repeated Boone in his gentle voice. "Adam
Colfax and Major Braithwaite think that he has had enough, but I'm
warnin' them to be careful. If the warriors could crush the fleet an'
the fort together they'd strike a terrible blow against the
settlements."
"There is no doubt of it," said Henry. "Timmendiquas, so long as he has
a powerful army of the tribes, will never give up such a chance."
"Mr. Colfax thinks they've suffered so much," continued Boone, "that
they will retreat into the far north. I know better. Simon Kenton knows
better, and we want you and one or two of your comrades to go out with
us and prove that the warriors are still in a circle about the fort an'
the fleet alike."
"I'm your man for one," said Henry. All the others promptly volunteered,
also, but it was arranged that Paul and Long Jim should stay behind to
help the garrison, while Henry, Shif'less Sol, and Tom Ross should go
with Boone and Kenton. But it was agreed, also, that they should not go
forth until night, when the darkness would favor their forest inquiries.
The five had slept very late, and it was past ten o'clock when they went
out into the large, open space that lay between the houses and the
palisade. All signs of the storm were gone. The forest might give proof
of its passage, but here it was as if it had never been. A gentle wind
blew, and the boughs moved softly and peacefully before it. The sky, a
deep blue, showed not a single cloud, and the river flowed a stream of
quivering molten gold. The fleet was drawn up in a long line along the
southern bank, and it, too, was at rest. No sweep or paddle stirred, and
the men slept or lounged on the decks. Nowhere was an enemy visible. All
the storm and strife of the night before had vanished. It seemed, in the
face of this peaceful wind and golden sun, that such things could not
be. Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite might well cling to their belief
that the warriors, beaten and disheartened, had gone. The women and
children shared in this conviction, and the afternoon was a joyous one
in Fort Prescott, but when the night had fully come, Boone and Kenton,
with Henry, Tom Ross and the shiftless one, went forth to prove a thing
that they did not wish to prove, that is, that the Indians were still at
hand.
They went first in a southwesterly direction, and they saw many signs of
the savages, that is, that they had been there, but these signs also
indicated that now they were gone. They curved about toward the
northwest, and the result was the same, and then, for the sake of
certainty, they came back again toward the southwest. Assured now that
the southern woods contained no Indians anywhere near the fort, they
stopped in the bushes near the bank of the river and held a little
council.
"It 'pears to me that it's turned out just about as all of us thought it
would," said Daniel Boone.
"It's so," said Simon Kenton, "but we had to look first an' be sure."
"That is, we all believe that the Indians have gathered on the northern
bank," said Henry, "and under the lead of Timmendiquas are planning a
grand attack upon us."
"It's so," said Shif'less Sol.
Tom Ross nodded.
"That bein' so," said Daniel Boone, "we must cross an' take a look at
them."
All the others nodded. Everyone was anxious for the perilous task.
"We can swim the river," said Henry, "and, also, we can borrow a small
boat from the fleet."
"I wouldn't borrow a boat," said Daniel Boone. "The fewer that know
about us the better, even the fewer of our friends. It 'pears to me that
if we were to stroll down stream a little we might find a canoe that
somebody had left there for a time of need."
Henry smiled. He felt sure that the canoe would be found. But he and the
others, without another word, followed Boone for a distance until they
came to a point where the banks were low. Then Boone forced his way
noiselessly into a patch of bushes that grew at the very water's edge,
and Simon Kenton followed him. The two reappeared in a minute, carrying
a spacious canoe of birch bark.
"Simon an' me took this," explained Boone, "before we went south for our
friends, an' we hid it here, knowin' that we'd have a use for it some
time or other. We'll crowd it, but it'll hold us all."
They put the canoe upon the water, and the five got in. Boone and Kenton
lifted the paddles, but Tom Ross at once reached over and took the
paddle from the hand of Daniel Boone.
"It shan't ever be told uv me," he said, "that I set still in a boat,
while Dan'l Boone paddled me across the Ohio."
"An' yet I think I can paddle pretty well," said Daniel Boone in a
gentle, whimsical tone.
"'Nuff said," said Tom Ross, as he gave the paddle a mighty sweep that
sent the canoe shooting far out into the river. Boone smiled again in
his winning way, but said nothing. Kenton, also, swung the paddle with a
mighty wrist and arm, and in a few moments they were in the middle of
the river. Here the light was greatest, and the two paddlers did not
cease their efforts until they were well under the shelter of the
northern bank, where the darkness lay thick and heavy again.
Here they stopped and examined river, forest, and shores. The fleet at
the southern margin blended with the darkness, but they could dimly see,
high upon the cliff, the walls of the fort, and also a few lights that
twinkled in the blockhouse or the upper stories of cabins.
"They're at peace and happy there now," said Daniel Boone. "It's a pity
they can't stay so."
He spoke with so much kindly sympathy that Henry once more regarded this
extraordinary man with uncommon interest. Explorer, wilderness fighter,
man of a myriad perils, he was yet as gentle in voice and manner as a
woman. But Henry understood him. He knew that like nature itself he was
at once serene and strong. He, too, had felt the spell.
"They won't be troubled there to-night," continued Boone. "The Indians
will not be ready for a new attack, unless it's merely skirmishing, an'
Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite will keep a good guard against them.
Now which way, Simon, do you think the camp of the Indians will be?"
Kenton pointed toward the northeast, a silent but significant gesture.
"There's a little prairie over there about two miles back from the
river," he said. "It's sheltered, but safe from ambush, an' it's just
the place that Timmendiquas would naturally choose."
"Then," said Boone, "that's the place we'll go to. Now, boys, we'll hide
our canoe here among the bushes, 'cause we're likely to need it again.
We may come back mighty fast, an' it might be the very thing that we
wanted most at that partickler time."
He laughed, and the others laughed, too. The canoe was well hidden among
the bushes, and then the five borderers disappeared in the forest.