WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL
During the previous two years there had been many atrocities committed
by the Indians, but the present year of 1763 was to witness horrors
which had, as yet, seen few parallels in history.
The anger of the red men from the Great Lakes to Chesapeake Bay was
at a white heat. They had been promised much by the French and the
English during the intercolonial war, yet they had received little. The
French could give them nothing, having lost practically all, and the
English, generally speaking, counted the red men as being in the way.
Besides this, many of the traders had treated the natives shamefully,
securing their furs for next to nothing, giving them rum, and when they
were intoxicated robbing them, and having no respect whatever for the
families of the Indians.
But with all this it is doubtful if the Indians would have listened
to Pontiac and entered this distinguished chief's conspiracy had it
not been for the report which was circulated among them by French
traders of Jean Bevoir's stamp. These rascals, with nothing to lose
and everything to gain, told the red men that the king of the French
"had been sleeping," as they expressed it, and that now he was awake,
and was sending over an enormous army with which to wipe the English
settlers off the face of the earth.
"Let the Indians arise in their might and fight the English," said
these traders. "Crush them, and the king of France will bless you
and reward you handsomely." Some few red men would not believe this,
remembering how the French had treated them before, but others did
believe, and these were willing to listen to Pontiac, and enter into
a scheme which had for its sole object the uprooting of every English
settlement and fort in the West and along the Great Lakes.
The original scheme was to fall upon all the sorts and the larger
settlements simultaneously, but this fell through because of the
lack of communications--there being as yet few roads and trails--and
also because of the lack of Indians, many having perished during the
war just closed. More than this, there were a number of hot-headed
bands,--like that now under Black Ear,--who could not wait until
Pontiac gave the signal to strike, but rushed off to slay and plunder
at the first opportunity.
In the days that followed Ira Sanderson's arrival at the Morris
homestead, the hunter who had brought Dave the letter from his father
recovered rapidly. He told about many of the things already described,
but, of course, knew nothing of the arrival at the post of Black Ear
and his followers and Jean Bevoir.
"Something is goin' to happen out thar, sure ez shootin'," said
Sanderson. "The Injuns is powerfully restless."
"I wish I was out there," answered Dave. It pleased him best to be at
his father's side.
The news worried all at the Morris homestead, and as day after day
slipped by, they looked anxiously for another message, but none came.
"I'm going over to Fort Cumberland," said Dave, ten days later.
"Perhaps the commandant there has news of Fort Pitt, if not of our
trading-post."
"Shall I go along?" inquired Rodney, "It's good enough weather for
me to walk," which was true, as the snow had cleared away to a
considerable degree and the trail was well packed down.
Fort Cumberland was only a few miles away, and by noon of the next day
Dave and Rodney presented themselves there. The officer in charge knew
them well, and invited them to his private quarters.
"I received word from Fort Pitt day before yesterday," said the
commandant. "Nothing unusual has happened, but several tribes of
Indians are reported as hanging around and acting suspiciously.
Nothing was said about Mr. Morris's trading-post."
"Do you look for another uprising soon?" asked Rodney.
At this the commandant of the fort shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say
as to that. We are keeping a strict guard--I can do no more."
After the visit to the fort, several weeks passed slowly enough at the
Morris homestead. All sorts of rumors were rife, one being that a small
settlement to the north had been wiped out, and that a farmer living a
few miles to the southward had been butchered with his wife and three
children. James Morris and the boys heard this news, but did not tell
Mrs. Morris or little Lucy for fear of adding to their terror.
During this time Sam Barringford went off on business, and Ira
Sanderson and White Buffalo also took their departure.
"Where are you going, White Buffalo?" asked Dave, of the aged Indian
chief.
"White Buffalo will go to meet a messenger from the trading-post. He
looks each day for one of his braves."
"Did you tell him to come?"
"Yes. He should have arrived three days ago," and the chiefs face
clouded.
"Perhaps something happened to him."
"White Buffalo trusts not."
Not far from the Morris homestead was a log cabin recently erected by
a young settler named Moses Digly, who had a wife and a sister-in-law
named Grace Chowith. Digly came from the west of England, having tired
of trying to make a living there by farming. He had cleared quite a
garden patch, and expected to do considerate planting early in the
spring. His wife and sister-in-law were much interested in fowls, of
which they kept a large number in several sheds.
One night somebody came to the place and stole several chickens. This
angered Moses Digly and he set a watch for the thief, on the very
evening of the day that Withe Buffalo left the Morris homestead.
The sun was just setting when some Indians stole out of the woods and
surrounded the little cabin. Moses Digly was drawing a pail of water
from the well when an arrow whizzed through the air and pierced his
back, entering his left lung.
"I am shot!" he cried, and fell over the well curb. Seeing this, his
wife ran out to aid him, when an Indian came up behind her and sunk his
tomahawk deeply into her head. She fell beside her husband, and both
expired almost at the same time.
The sister-in-law of the settler, Grace Chowith, was at that time in
one of the sheds with the fowls. As the Indians ran toward the cabin,
she turned and hurried into the woods as fast as her trembling limbs
would permit. She ran for a long distance and at last stumbled into a
hollow where an aged Indian sat smoking his pipe.
"Do not kill me! Do not kill me!" she shrieked and threw herself at the
feet of the red man. Then she began to rave, and from that moment on
she was, for nearly a year, practically insane.
The aged Indian in the hollow happened to be White Buffalo. He had seen
Grace Chowith several times, and he at once surmised that something was
wrong.
"What has happened to my white sister?" he questioned.
"They are dead! You have killed them!" shrieked the poor bewildered
woman. And these words she repeated over and over again.
White Buffalo knew of nothing to do but to conduct the crazed woman to
the Morris homestead and this he started to accomplish. But the moment
he asked the woman to go with him she shrieked louder than ever, and
finally dropped into a death-like swoon at his feet. Then he raised her
up in his arms and placed her over his shoulder.
White Buffalo could no longer carry a load as in years gone by, and
it took him some time to cover even half the distance to the Morris
dwelling. In the meantime, a trapper, passing near the Digly cabin, saw
something of how the Indians had taken possession and were starting to
burn it to the ground, and gave the alarm. A crowd of twelve hunters
and soldiers went out to capture the Indians, if possible, but when
they arrived at the spot they found the cabin ablaze from top to bottom
and the miscreants gone.
"Come on after 'em!" was the cry of one of the hunters, and all lost
no time in hunting for the Indians. Various trails were tried, without
success, and then the party came suddenly upon White Buffalo, with
Grace Chowith still in his arms, in a faint.
[Illustration: The party came suddenly upon White Buffalo, with Grace
Chowith in his arms.]
"Hullo, here is one!" was the cry of a soldier, and he was on the point
of firing upon White Buffalo when another of the party stopped him.
"That redskin is a friendly one--he's a friend to the Morrises," was
the explanation. "I've seen him there plenty of times."
White Buffalo was quickly surrounded and was asked to tell how it came
that he had the young woman as his captive.
"My white sister is no captive," said he, calmly. "White Buffalo sat
in woods, smoking his pipe, when she came running up, shrieking as if
filled with the great Evil Spirit. White Buffalo sorry for her, and as
she is like dead he will take her to the Morris home. That is all."
"Did you have a hand in burning down the Digly cabin?" asked another,
sharply.
"White Buffalo is at peace with his white brothers--he burns no cabins
and hurts no person."
At that moment Grace Chowith recovered from her swoon, and struggled to
her feet.
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me go. Do not slay me as you did my
sister! Let me go!"
"Did this Injun slay your sister?" asked another of the crowd.
"Yes! yes! And her husband too!" was the answer of the poor woman,
who did not realize what she was saying. "Moses was shot, and Nellie
tomahawked--close to the well. Oh, save me! Do not let him tomahawk
me!" And she fled to the arms of one of the soldiers.
Black looks were cast at White Buffalo, and more than one rifle was
pointed at his head. He did not quail, but faced the crowd calmly.
"You hear what she says," said one old settler. "She says you killed
her sister and her brother-in-law."
"It is false. White Buffalo knows nothing of such a crime."
"But she says you did do it," came from another. "She ought to know."
"He did! he did!" shrieked Grace Chowith. "Oh, do not let him touch
me!" And then she swooned once more.
"She must tell the truth," put in one of the soldiers who had thus far
said but little. "She saw the thing with her own eyes. Digly and his
wife were killed close to the well, just as she says. Why should she
accuse this redskin if he didn't have a hand in it?"
This appeared to be sound reasoning, and again black looks were turned
upon the aged chief. But he stood his ground as calmly as before.
"White Buffalo has spoken the truth--the woman lies," he said.
There was a moment of suspense, during which several heard a sound at
a distance. Some persons were approaching on horseback. They soon came
into view, and proved to be a settler named Thompson and Dave.
"Why, White Buffalo, what does this mean?" demanded Dave, bringing his
steed to a halt.
"He's a bad Injun, that's what it means," spoke up a frontiersman in
the crowd. "He murdered, or helped to murder, Moses Digly and his
wife."
"Oh, White Buffalo, this is not true!" gasped Dave.
"It is not true, Dave."
"Tell me about it," went on the youth, and in a few words received the
story.
"I speak the truth. Does not Dave believe me?" asked the aged chief,
and now for the first time he showed some emotion.
"I do believe you, White Buffalo," answered the youth, promptly. "There
is some awful mistake here, and we must clear it up."
"Ain't no mistake," came in the rough voice of one of the party, a
man who had lost his son in an uprising a year before. "Thet Injun's
responsible an' I fer one vote to shoot him!"
"Yes! yes! shoot him!" was the cry, and again several weapons were
aimed at the aged chief's head.