THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN
The report that the Indians had attacked the pack-train was true, and
as soon as he learned of this, Colonel Bouquet ordered the advance
guard to fall back to the support of the train.
"We must save our horses and our supplies!" was the cry, and back went
regulars and rangers, in double-quick order, the Indians on either side
of the road sending in a hot and galling fire as they retreated.
The pack-train was thoroughly disorganized, for the firing had
frightened the horses, and they were plunging in all directions. As
Dave, Rodney, and Barringford retreated in a bunch, one horse came
tearing along the road and bumping against the charger ridden by one
of the captains of the regulars, pitched the officer headlong to the
ground.
"Look out, there!" cried Dave, for another horse was coming on also at
a reckless speed. The steed was on the point of stamping on the fallen
captain, when Dave caught him by the curb and swung him aside. At the
same moment Rodney dragged the fallen captain in the opposite direction.
"I--I--thank you!" gasped the fallen officer, and with Rodney's aid he
scrambled to his feet. "Very well done, sir!" he called out to Dave,
and then ran to rejoin his men.
The Indians on the sides of the road had disappeared, and for a moment
the troops had a breathing spell. But the enemy were only reloading
their weapons, and now, with fierce war-whoops, they came out once
more, and bullets and arrows flew thickly, killing officers, men, and
horses. In the midst of the tumult some of the cattle broke loose and
went galloping down the back road, directly into a band of approaching
red men.
Covered with perspiration and dirt, Dave, Rodney, and the old
frontiersman continued to use their rifles whenever an opportunity
presented itself. The English were at a disadvantage, being not only in
the roadway, but also on something of a hill, while the Indians kept to
the shelter of the brushwood and the tall timber. Already a score of
men had fallen and six horses were dead or disabled.
For hour after hour the battle went on. Occasionally there came a lull,
and the English would think the Indians were retreating. But then
would come those mad war-whoops, and the painted red men would leap
into the open as if by magic and pour in their deadly fire. They also
lost heavily, especially through the fire of the sharpshooters and
experienced hunters, who picked them off whenever the chance showed
itself.
At five o'clock the little body of soldiers, hemmed in on all sides,
was almost exhausted. Dave and Rodney were so dry they could scarcely
talk, and not a drop of water was to be obtained. Some of the soldiers
were resting on the ground, unable to stand because of the terrible
strain endured.
"We can't keep this up much longer!" panted Rodney. He was deathly pale
from exhaustion.
"We've got to keep up!" replied Barringford. The teeth of the old
frontiersman were set and his eyes gleamed like those of some wild
beast. He was thoroughly aroused and ready to fight as never before.
Soon came another attack, and, led by Barringford, the rangers rushed
upon one band of Indians and drove them deep into the woods. In the
meantime the regular troops fought with renewed vigor, and, as a
consequence, the red men retreated. Then darkness fell, and gradually
the battle came, for the time being, to an end.
"Perhaps this night will be our last." Such was the thought of more
than one soldier. The troops did not dare to move, for fear of falling
into some trap. Gathering his men around him, Colonel Bouquet made a
short speech.
"We must be on our guard to-night," he said. "I expect every man to do
his duty. Should one man fail, it may cost all of us our lives."
In the pack-train were a number of bags of flour, and of these an
inclosure was made, into which were carried the wounded. All told the
English had lost sixty in killed and wounded. How much the Indians had
suffered never became known. Rodney had been hit in the side by an
arrow, and Dave and Barringford had received numerous scratches.
"Rodney, is the wound bad?" asked Dave.
"Not very, Dave. But I wish I had some water."
"I'll get some if I can."
To get water was not easy, and Dave and Barringford spent half an hour
before they found a tiny pool. They scooped up what they could in a cup
and gave it to Rodney, going thirsty themselves.
Completely exhausted, the soldiers took turns in resting, while the
others remained on guard. Occasionally a distant shot was heard, but
that was all. The Indians were holding a council of war, to decide upon
the plan of action for the morrow.
At the first streak of dawn, all the soldiers were called together and
placed in a wide circle around the improvised camp. Some were behind
hillocks of dirt, while others had cut brushwood with which to screen
themselves.
The movement came none too soon, for just as the troops took their
positions, the Indians again raised the war-cry and came rushing
forward, bent upon breaking into the camp and scattering the soldiers.
They had been reinforced during the night by some red men from
around Venango, and soon the battle broke forth with a fury that is
indescribable. Men and horses fell on all sides, and for a while the
English were on the verge of becoming panic-stricken.
"Sam, this is terrible!" panted Dave. "I never had to fight so in my
life! I wonder how much longer it is going to last?"
"It can't last much longer," said Rodney. The blood was running down
his cheeks from a cut in the temple.
"If we could only get the Indians into the open," said the old
frontiersman. "The Highlanders can shoot well enough, but they can't
fight redskins behind the trees."
By ten o'clock in the morning the situation was desperate, and Colonel
Bouquet realized that something must be done, or he would be defeated
and annihilated. More Indians were coming up, and the little army was
caught like a rat in a trap.
"It is one chance in a hundred, but we must try it," he murmured to
himself, and riding forth, gave orders for several of his companies
to retreat. At the same time other companies were scattered along on
either side of the roadway, taking positions behind the nearest trees.
The bugles sounded the retreat, but it was understood this was only a
ruse.
"Good!" yelled Barringford. "That's the trick to play. Now we are goin'
to show 'em a thing or two, by George!"
"If only it works," came anxiously from Dave.
"I don't understand it," said Rodney. "Are those companies going to
retreat?"
"Jest far enough to deceive the redskins, Rodney."
With wild yells the two companies of Highlanders retreated on the road,
and the others scattered as previously mentioned. Seeing the companies
going back, the Indians raised a blood-curdling din.
"The English are retreating! The white dogs cannot withstand our fire!
Forward, and slay them all!" came from the throats of the red men, and
without stopping to think twice they rushed forward, poured into the
road, and made after the soldiers who were on the run.
The dust was kicked up on all sides, and in the general confusion of
this and gun smoke, added to the wild stampede of many horses, some
of the regulars slipped away, made a double-quick march through some
timber, and came up on the outside of the Indians. The red men were now
caught from without and within, and realized only too late how they had
been tricked.
"Fire!" was the command given, and a deadly volley was poured into the
Indians. Then the regulars and sharpshooters began to pick off the
chiefs. The Indians tried to break away, and in a twinkling fierce
hand-to-hand encounters were in progress on all sides. The red men used
their tomahawks and the rangers their hunting knives.
Side by side the Morrises and Barringford fought as gallantly as ever.
A big Indian chief leaped upon Rodney and hurled him backward, but ere
the red warrior could do further harm, there came a lightning-like
stroke from Barringford's hunting knife and the chief fell, struck
to the heart. Then another warrior threw his tomahawk at the old
frontiersman, but Dave put up his rifle and the hatchet merely hit the
barrel of the weapon.
Finding they could not hope to hold their own, the Indians began to
retreat on both sides of the road. They broke through the troops as
best they could and ran in a dozen different directions. The soldiers
were ordered to go after them, and some were chased for the best part
of half a mile. Finding themselves pursued so far, they hid among the
trees and rocks, where they remained until nightfall made it safe for
them to retreat still further.
In the pursuit of the Indians went Barringford and Dave, Rodney being
too exhausted and suffering too much from his wounds to fight more. The
course lay along a hill, and the rangers in the squad numbered eight.
"This is our chance to teach 'em the lesson they need," cried
Barringford. "Come on!" and he went ahead, with Dave beside him.
The rangers had discovered and fired on six red men, when they came
to a ragged patch of timber, with rocks on the south side. Here there
was a spring, and all stopped for a much-needed drink. They were just
getting the water, when there came a shower of arrows, one taking Dave
in the side.
"Look out, they are coming back at us!" was the alarm, and in a trite
some of the rangers were on the retreat. Then Barringford found himself
surrounded, and was forced to seek shelter among the tall trees back of
the spring.
Dazed by the turn of affairs, and with an intense pain in his side,
Dave started to run. He felt like fainting and could scarcely see. He
plowed along into some brushwood, and then scrambled over some rocks.
Back of the latter was a hollow, and here he rolled over and over,
until he reached a good-sized hole and tumbled in. He felt some dead
leaves falling down on top of him,--and then he knew no more.
In the meantime, Barringford was having a struggle for life with three
warriors who had attacked him, and he had no chance to see what had
become of his younger companion. He discharged his rifle at one Indian
with good effect and then swung the rifle around by the barrel.
"Keep yer distance, ye varmints!" he roared. "Keep yer distance, ye
sons o' the Evil One!" And then, as one red man leaped at him with
upraised tomahawk, around came his firearm, and the Indian was sent
to the ground with a shattered skull. Seeing the fate of his two
companions, the third Indian took to his heels and disappeared among
the trees.
The fighting continued for the best part of half an hour, and then even
the distant firing came to an end. Several times Barringford looked
about him, but saw nothing of Dave.
"Must have gone back to camp," he murmured, hopefully, and returned
with what was left of the rangers. He looked everywhere for Dave, and
then rejoined Rodney.
"Have ye seen Dave?" he questioned.
"No. Why he went with you," answered Rodney.
"Then he's missing, an' I don't know whar to look fer him," returned
the old frontiersman, and heaved a deep sigh.
"Oh, Sam, was he shot?"
"I don't think he was, Rodney, but I ain't sartin. We got in a terribul
mix-up, an' each man had to fight fer himself fer awhile."
"We must find him, dead or alive," answered Rodney.