THE FIVE BOY CAPTIVES (1785)
ADVENTURES OF "LITTLE FAT BEAR" AND ALL
When in 1778 the energetic Colonel George Rogers Clark marched
northwest out of Virginia and descended the Ohio River, to seize the
Illinois country bordering the Mississippi, on his way he camped at the
Falls of the Ohio, drilled his men upon Corn Island, built a
block-house and left thirteen families to form a settlement.
The little settlement crossed to the mainland on the Kentucky side, and
the present city of Louisville was founded.
By 1785 it numbered about 150 persons, on Corn Island, and on the
mainland, living in log cabins upon clearings amidst the forest.
Among the settlers whose cabins were the farthest out from the village
was Colonel Pope. He and several other men formed a small settlement
of their own. They lived scarcely within shouting distance of one
another, and were independent, like all pioneers.
This winter of 1784-1785 Colonel Pope engaged a tutor for his two boys,
to teach them the three R's--Reading, 'Riting and 'Rithmetic. He did
not wish them to grow up numbskulls. He invited his neighbors to send
their boys over and be tutored at the same time. It was a backwoods
school.
Of course, on Saturday the school had vacation. And on a Saturday
morning of February, 1785, the two Linn boys (whose father, Colonel
William Linn, had been killed by Indians), young Brashear, young
William Wells, and a fifth who perhaps was one of the Pope boys,
started out duck-hunting.
The War of the Revolution had ceased by treaty of peace almost a year
and a half before, but the Indians had not quit. They still were of
the belief that the British had not given up their lands "across the
Ohio," and that the king their father was "only resting." So they
continued their forays along the Ohio River. They killed many more
Long Knives.[1]
After having been kept at school for most of the week, frontier boys
were not the kind to stay at home on Saturday for fear of Indians. Not
when there was good hunting, and they could borrow their fathers' or
brothers' guns and skip the chores. A successful hunter made a
successful Indian-fighter. It was the right training. A fellow who
did not know how to shoot was useless as a soldier, and a fellow who
could not take care of himself in the forest and prairies was useless
as a scout. Besides, the settler had to depend on his rifle for his
meat.
In those days there was wonderful hunting along the Ohio. The boys
knew exactly where to go. For turkeys, squirrels and deer they need
not go far at all. But the prime place for ducks and geese lay about
three miles out, at some swampy ponds near the river. With a couple of
fowling-pieces and the ammunition they trudged away. William Wells and
the older Linn were fourteen. Boy Brashear was twelve. The other Linn
and the fifth boy were nine or ten.
They hunted around the ponds until dusk. Then they decided to stay out
all night--which was no trick at all. They made camp like regular
scouts, cooked some ducks, and slept in a bough hut that they built.
During the night the snow fell, sifting down through the trees, but
they did not care a whit.
They had planned to find more ducks in the ponds, in the morning; but
the storm interfered.
"Aw, let's go home," said Wells.
"All right. Let's."
After breakfast they gathered their stuff, and were just starting,
when with a dash and a whoop the Indians were upon them--likely
enough had been watching them since daylight.
"Injuns! Run, boys!"
It was sharp work, but soon over. William Wells, the littler Linn and
the fifth boy were grabbed; the larger Linn had a goose and several
ducks slung over his shoulder and did not mean to give them up; but he
was one of those pudgy, plum-pudding, over-grown boys, and stumbled on
his own feet. He was nabbed by a big Indian who patted him on the back
and called him "Little Fat Bear."
Brashear, though, nearly got away. He was the best runner at school,
and gave the Indians a pretty chase among the trees before they caught
him at last. They seemed to think all the more of him for his try, and
called him "Buck Elk."
Well, this was a nice how-de-do! Five boys, all captured. Still, the
same had happened to other boys, and to trained scouts. Nobody could
blame them, but they felt rather sore.
The Indians now began to question them in broken English.
"Where from?"
"Louisville."
"You lie. No from Louisville. Where live?"
"Louisville."
"You lie. Get beatin'. Mebbe get killed. Where live, fat boy?"
"Louisville."
One and all they stuck to the story. They had no notion of betraying
the cabins of Colonel Pope and his neighbors.
The Indians grunted in disgust, put the boys in their midst and hustled
them to the river.
"Guess we're in for it," remarked William Wells. "We'll keep a stiff
upper lip. Who are they? Miamis?"
"Reckon so. Or Potawatomis. Glad they ain't Shawnees," answered
Little Fat Bear. "Shucks! If I hadn't tumbled--! Don't you cry,
brother," he warned.
"Who's cryin'! Don't you bawl, yourself!"
"I blamed near skinned out. If I'd had a better head start I'd have
run clean home; and then the folks would be makin' these Injuns hop,
you bet," declared Brashear, the "Buck Elk."
"Aw, the Injuns would have followed you. They'd likely have shot you,
so you wouldn't give the alarm," retorted Fat Bear, wisely. "We're all
right. Who's afraid of Injuns. If we don't act up they'll treat us
well. The Miamis and Potawatomis ain't as bad as the Shawnees."
"Wonder where they'll take us," puffed the fifth boy.
They were being hustled at a trot. The river was crossed on the slushy
ice. All that day they traveled northward; and all the next day, and
the next, and the next, and on and on. No pursuit was sighted.
Probably Colonel Pope and the other families had thought that they were
spending Sunday at the ponds, and had not looked for them until Monday
morning.
The Indians were Miamis. That promised a journey clear to northern
Indiana, perhaps. Whew! But Little Fat Bear and Buck Elk encouraged
the fellows to "keep a stiff upper lip," and take whatever came; then
the Indians would respect them more. If they put up a "holler" and
"bellered," they'd be licked.
This worked out finely. Pluck always does. They and their captors got
along splendidly, and they were not tied at night nor made to carry
loads. Nevertheless, it was a tremendous journey, straight northward
through the wilderness, with never a glimpse of any town, until, after
a week or more, they arrived at the Miami village.
"How far've we come, you think?" asked William Wells, when the village
was to be seen and by the preparations they knew that it was the place.
"Upwards of two hundred miles, I'll bet," replied Fat Bear. He was not
so fat, now.
That was a shrewd guess. The village was upon the Little Calumet
River, near present Valparaiso in northwestern Indiana--a full two
hundred and twenty-five miles from Louisville opposite the southern
boundary. They had been taken through the whole state.
"The gauntlet! Cracky! We've got to run the gauntlet!"
"Golly! The same as any prisoners!"
"Don't you show the white feather, any of you. Keep together and run
like sixty."
"And don't you tumble over again, either," they warned, of Fat Bear.
"If you're down once, you'll get licked proper."
"Make for the council house. That's the way to do."
At the "prisoners'" whoop the village people had boiled out of their
woven-reed houses. One of the Indians had hurried in advance, to tell
the news, and the gauntlet lines were forming. It was to be a gauntlet
by boys for other boys! There were only Indian boys in the lines--they
were armed with sticks and switches and stones and small tomahawks and
handfuls of salt and dirt (for the eyes), the same as warriors and
squaws.
The five captives were halted. They had been greeted with yells and
screeches; but they set their lips and clenched their hands, and stood
ready. What their brothers and fathers and grand-fathers had done,
they could do. It was quite an honor, to be made to run the gauntlet,
like men.
The littler Linn was shoved forward, to lead the race. He was the
smallest, and would hold the other boys back--and he had been the
spunkiest, all the way up, because he had a quick temper and was prompt
to fight. The Indians had liked to tease him.
"Go!" shouted the chief Indian. "Run!"
They ducked their heads, and ran. How they did run, and dodge, and
scoot, in between the two lines which showered them with blows and
kicks and stones and dirt! Boys against boys; that was it--and some of
the Indian boys were hulking big fellows.
The five white boys did well; they were shifty and butted right on,
till young Linn "got his mad up." Two-thirds of the way down a big
Indian boy hit him a stunning crack full on the jaw. So what did he do
but stop and whirl and with a straight left-hander knock the boy
sprawling.
This was contrary to gauntlet rules. Anybody running the gauntlet was
fair prey to everybody else, but he couldn't strike back. Now the
warriors who were watching the fun doubled over, laughing at the way
the small boy had bowled the large boy over. The Indian boy's mother
and the other women shrieked angrily.
"Kill him! Kill the little Long Knife demon!"
Young Linn--he burst through the line and ran for life, to the council
house. The lines broke, and yelling, chased after. It was to be blood
for blood--and more than a mere bloody nose, too.
He got there first. He was a sight. His shock of hair had fallen over
his forehead, his eyes glared--he had put his back to the council-house
post, planted his foot, his hands were up, and he dared the whole crowd
of them. He was so mad he could scarcely see. He looked dangerous for
even a ten-year-old.
The largest of the Indian boys rushed him, to down him. Young Linn was
left-handed--and a left-hander is a bad proposition, in a fight.
"Smack!" Over went the Indian boy; Kentucky Linn was right on top of
him in an instant, kicking and pounding and clawing him until he howled.
The warriors were highly pleased. They formed a ring, and danced and
cheered and whooped, to see the white boy take care of himself. But
the other Indian boys charged in, wild with rage. It might have gone
hard with Master Linn had not his four partners joined the fray. Then
there was a lively fracas. It was Kentucky against the world. Fat
Bear, Buck Elk, William Wells--they all five cleared a circle. The
Indian boys large and small toppled right and left--did not know how to
use their fists, tried in vain with clubs and rocks, were sent flying
every time they dived to grapple, staggered away with bloody noses and
swollen eyes; and pretty soon they had enough and to spare.
All this time the men were whooping and yelling, praising the white
boys and urging the red boys to thresh them. Now they drove the
remaining Indian boys away, and carried the five Kentuckians into the
council-house, patting them on the back as heroes.
"We're goin' to be adopted," gasped Little Fat Bear.
"I don't care," wheezed Buck Elk. "Say! Did you see how little Jack
uses his left hand?"
"Well, we told him to hold his temper. He'd like to have got killed,"
complained Fat Bear. "But we licked 'em, anyhow."
"You bet we did!"
They were adopted. All the warriors were eager to have one of the
fighting young Long Knives. At last the matter was settled; each boy
went into a different family, to be an Indian. But they had to bid
goodby to William Wells; his new father lived in another village. He
was taken away, and they did not see him again--at least, not for
several years. He stayed with the Miamis for eight years; was named
Black Snake; grew up with them; lived in Chief Little Turtle's town
near the Fort Wayne, Indiana, of to-day; married Chief Little Turtle's
sister; and was much thought of by the Miamis. Then in 1793 he left,
in the open, saying that he was going back to the white people and help
the American army in its fights with the red people. He could not fire
upon his own nation.
The four other boys remained here, in this town. They were well
treated. They had shown their spunk; they were not cowards. The
Indian boys made friends with them. They all played and hunted and
fished together, and soon it was hard to tell the white boys from the
Indian boys. But the four did not intend to be Indians any longer than
they had to. They wanted to go home. It was the kind of vacation they
had not figured upon spending--and yet it was fun, if only their folks
could know. They learned a lot that they would not have learned in
school. Still, they rather preferred school, after all; and home.
The spring passed; and the lively pleasant summer. Indian boys do not
work. They are free to loaf or hunt, and train for warriors. Only the
girls work, so as to make women who will work.
In the crisp fall all the men except the very old left on a grand hunt,
to bring back meat and prepare for winter. The old women and girls and
little children remained in the town with the old men. The four young
white Indians had not been taken, either. They had to stay. They were
thought not to be old enough, yet.
"I reckon this is our best chance to escape," said Buck Elk, when he
might.
Little Fat Bear nodded.
"We'll plan and watch sharp. If one goes, all'll have to go, though.
No lone trail."
"Of course. We won't desert each other."
"But we've got to wait for a clear field. It's a pesky long way home."
"That's so. Just the same, we can make it if we have a good start."
They told the other boys, and they all lay low, waiting and scheming.
"We're going fishing to-morrow," finally announced Buck Elk, to Fat
Bear. "Want to?" And he winked.
"Who!"
"All of us. Old White Eagle and Singing Bird are going with us, to
clean the fish. But that doesn't matter."
They were the old father and mother who lived in the same family with
Buck Elk.
"Time's getting awful short," Fat Bear mused. "But maybe we can try
something."
With wrinkled White Eagle and Singing Bird scuttling close behind, they
went fishing in the river below the village. They had not said it to
each other, but they hoped never to come back. They must make a break
for liberty soon. The warriors might return within a week. The forest
beckoned close at hand. And southward, far, far southward, their real
home called to them. They had been gone almost eight months, but it
felt like an age.
"To-night, huh?" murmured Buck Elk, as he and Little Fat Bear fished
together, and the two old Indians drowsed in the shade, or wove baskets
of reeds.
"How?"
"Light out from camp while they're asleep. May not get another chance.
That's why I told 'em we'd like to stay all night, so as to get plenty
fish."
"They'll signal help and trail us. Some of those old men can travel
heap fast."
"So can we. We'll have a head start, and I don't believe there's
anybody in the village who can catch us."
"All right. They can't do any more than beat us if they do catch us.
We'll tell the other fellows."
They sidled along, until they could tell their partners.
"I'll go," Fat Bear's spunky brother agreed at once. "If they try to
catch us we'll fight 'em off with clubs and rocks. Who's afraid of the
old men? We'll make their tongues hang out."
"I'll go, you bet," agreed the fourth, also. "My folks need me. I'm
sick of playing Injun."
"Well, we'll all lie down to sleep; and in the middle of the night I'll
wake you up," proposed Buck Elk.
"Sure?"
"Sure. Now don't let's talk any more."
At dark the camp went to bed. The two old Indians were sound sleepers.
About midnight Buck Elk softly turned; he had not slept a wink. He
nudged the next boy, the next boy nudged the next, and the nudge was
passed on. They softly slipped, one after another, from their
blankets. The two old Indians never stirred. In the star-light the
four hastily grabbed what food they could; and leaving White Eagle and
Singing Bird lying there they tiptoed away, on their silent moccasins,
into the forest.
Fat Bear led. He was a good woodsman. Soon they ran; and they ran and
walked fast until daylight, traveling with their backs to the North
Star. Then the sun guided them, until about noon, when they had to
stop and rest.
"How far, you think?" panted the fourth boy.
"Twenty-five miles, I guess. We'd better cover our trail and hide.
Come on. Follow me," bade crafty Fat Bear.
They stepped on rocks and logs, swung from tree to tree, and dropped
down among bushes. That was an anxious afternoon. One kept watch
while the others slept. They took turns watching and listening. They
heard not a sound of the pursuit. Except for the birds and squirrels
the forest was quiet. Their hearts beat hopefully. But of course
tottering old men on the trail was a different matter from that of
swift, crafty warriors.
In the dusk they started on again, to travel all night. After this
they traveled by night and slept by day. That was the proper way.
They knew how to do, as well as men. They trudged down hill and up,
scrambled through ravines, crossed brush and forest and swamps, they
waded and swam, they ate the ripe berries and nuts of the October crop,
managed to kill a squirrel and rabbit, now and again, with a rock or a
club; their buckskin clothes and moccasins were worn to tatters, but
they slept warm in sunny nooks: and all the nights they were pushing
steadily on southward for the Ohio River and Louisville.
A journey like this, of over two hundred miles afoot, making their own
trail, avoiding the Indian villages and hunters and out-pacing the
pursuit, and living off the country, getting food by their wits, no
boys ever had achieved before.
It took them three weeks. In November they emerged upon the north
shore of the Ohio, squarely opposite Louisville. They had struck their
goal exactly. They shouted and waved, but nobody would come for them,
and the rapids of the falls ran swiftly between the two shores. They
could see people gazing; the people saw them.
"They think us Injuns," Fat Bear gasped, at last. "Blame it, guess we
do look some like Injuns, in our rigs."
"Shucks! How'll we get over? We can't swim."
"And Injuns are on our trail. You know we sighted smoke last evening.
We don't want to be caught here."
"We'll go up above the rapids and make a raft. Quick! We can manage
with this knife."
They hurried. They went up the shore about six miles, and worked hard
gathering logs, and cutting brush and vines with their one knife. They
feared that they'd hear the Indians any moment. The warriors were hot
after them. Whew! And there was home, just across!
The raft, when finished, did not amount to much.
"It won't hold all of us," puffed Fat Bear. "You get on. I'm the
heaviest. I'm the best swimmer, too. You-all paddle, and I'll swim
alongside."
They tumbled aboard, with branches for oars. Little Fat Bear shoved
off and began to swim and push. They had no time to spare--
"Listen!"
Shrill whoops sounded. The Miamis were on the fresh trail.
"Hurry!"
Fat Bear kicked and pushed mightily; the others dug with their boughs.
The clumsy raft moved slowly, and was carried down stream by the
current. Would they never get away from shore! Would the Miamis swim
after them, or shoot! They made a good target.
"Look! Somebody's coming to meet us!"
That was so. From the opposite shore a boat--two boats had put out.
The raft was drifting badly, but the danger shore gradually receded,
the rescue boats neared, and the home shore grew plainer. Swimming,
Little Fat Bear was getting blue around the mouth, his face was pale
and pinched. The November water had chilled him to the bone.
"Can you keep going?"
"Yes, I'm all right. You keep paddling."
"There they are!"
The Miamis had burst out upon the shore behind. They yelled furiously,
and shook their fists--but they yelled and threatened in vain. Now
they dared not follow farther. The boats from the Kentucky shore took
the paddlers off the raft; dragged Little Fat Bear from the cold water.
His teeth chattered. He could not manage himself. He had not been
taken out any too soon.
"Who are you, anyhow! White boys? Where from?"
"We're the boys that the Miamis stole from the Pope settlement last
February--all except Billy Wells. He's with 'em still."
"What! How'd you get away? Your folks had give you up. I declare!
Made off alone, did you!"
"Clear from the Little Calumet River. Been three weeks."
"Whoopee! Think o' that! Guess we'd better take you down to
Louisville, soon as we can. Colonel Pope's moved into town, 'count o'
Injuns. He'll be powerful glad to see you, and so will your other
folks."
And that proved true. Colonel Pope met them at the landing. Little
Fat Bear was carried ashore, to be rubbed and dosed. And from this
time on for many a week there certainly were four boy heroes in the
Louisville district, with "tall" stories to be told over and over again.
Sometimes they wondered how William Wells, "Black Snake," was getting
along; but they knew that he was all right.
[1] See chapter on "Little Turtle of the Miamis," in "Boys' Book of
Indian Warriors."