RETREAT OF THE PIONEERS
Dave's shout of warning reached Rodney's ears, and the young man turned
in time to see his father go down as just described. He gave a cry of
horror and then, with set teeth, discharged his gun straight at the
warrior who had laid Mr. Morris low. His aim was true and the Indian
fell to rise no more.
The fall of his uncle nerved Dave to greater effort, and as the Indians
rushed over the rocks he, with several others, met them in a short but
bitter hand-to-hand contest, in which blows were freely taken and
delivered. The redskins were yelling at the top of their lungs and using
their tomahawks with great viciousness. Dave was confronted by a tall
warrior who did his best to split the youth's head open with his
hatchet, but Dave dodged and the blow merely grazed his shoulder. Then,
before the Indian could aim another blow a bullet from the rear cut
short the redskin's career forever.
The forest was now full of shouting, and shots were being fired with
marvelous rapidity. Those in the fort could not understand this. Had
the Indians been re-enforced?
"If more redskins have come up we are doomed!" was the cry which went
the rounds, but almost on top of it came a yell of joy:
"The rangers have come! We are saved!"
It was true, the command under Lieutenant Baldwick had come up after a
long running fight with some Indians journeying toward the fort. These
redskins had been put to flight and with them about a dozen French
trappers and traders under Jean Bevoir, one of the trappers having been
slain, along with two Indians. Now the rangers were fighting desperately
to get to those hemmed in at the fort.
The coming of the soldiers put new life in the pioneers and the battle
broke forth afresh. Struck at from both the front and the rear the
Indians received a galling fire which filled them with sudden terror.
In the midst of the rangers were James Morris and Sam Barringford.
Dave's father was cool and determined and every shot from his musket was
sent with deadly effect. Barringford seemed to be in his element, and
danced around so rapidly that not an Indian could draw a "bead" upon
him.
"Thet for ye!" he yelled, firing his gun at the nearest warrior. "An'
how do yer like thet, eh?"--hitting a second with the butt of the
weapon. "I'll show ye! Ain't I a roarin' painter when I'm cut loose!
Cl'ar the track fer the bustin', roarin' whirlwind!" And thus shouting
in the style peculiar to the old-time trappers of that period he rushed
in, literally cutting a path over the rocks and into the fort proper. An
arrow stuck through his coonskin cap and his hunting jacket was ripped
in a dozen places by knives and tomahawks, yet with it all he seemed to
bear a charmed life and laid low every warrior who dared to bar his
progress.
In less than ten minutes after the rangers had appeared and closed in
the Indians began to retreat. Seeing them thus on the run, the pioneers
and soldiers increased their efforts and soon the warriors were only too
glad to get back into the forest. They left the vicinity of the fort and
took up their stand several hundred yards away, behind a small hill,
enclosed on two sides by rocks. It is possible they expected the rangers
to follow them to this point, but for the time being they were not
molested.
The reason for this was easily explained. Both pioneers and rangers were
utterly fagged out--the former by their hasty flights from their homes,
and the vigilance and fighting at the fort, and the latter because of
the forced ride from Winchester, and the first battle in the forest with
Indians and French. All needed a rest, and the wounded demanded
attention. So for the time being the battle remained a drawn one.
As soon as it was made known that the Indians had retreated, a score of
rangers who were unhurt were set to watch their movements, and then
began the caring for the wounded. All told, it was found that six men,
women and children had been killed outright and that one man was
mortally hurt. Of the pioneers five were wounded, and of the rangers
three, and of the killed two had been scalped.
"Dave, my son!" exclaimed James Morris, as he rushed up. "Are you safe?"
"Yes, father," was the answer. "And you?"
"I have a scratch on the leg, but it isn't much. How are the rest?"
"Uncle Joe has been shot down. I reckon the others are all right."
"Joe shot down? Is he--he----"
"There he is, over by the rocks. No, he isn't dead, but I think he's
pretty bad. He got an arrow right in the breast."
Father and son hurried to the spot, to find Joseph Morris stretched out
on a blanket and surrounded by all of his family, including Henry, who
during the advance of the rangers had fought as bravely as anyone. The
arrow had been extracted and Mrs. Morris was using her utmost skill in
binding up the wound.
"What do you think, James?" she wailed. "Will he live?"
"While there is life let us hope, Lucy," answered the brother-in-law,
tenderly. "Is he unconscious?"
"Yes," put in Rodney. "I--I'm afraid that arrow point was poisoned."
"Let me see the arrow."
It was passed over and James Morris examined it with care. At this point
Sam Barringford also came up and he, too, looked the arrow over.
"Ain't no p'ison thar," said the old frontiersman. "Thet tribe uses blue
juice an' if thar war p'ison the blood would turn greenish. But it's
rich red, as ye kin see. No, I allow as how he ain't p'isoned."
"I believe Sam tells the truth," said James Morris.
"But it's a fearful wound," said Dave. "I saw the arrow strike. It went
in straight."
All set to work to revive the unconscious sufferer and Barringford
insisted upon obtaining some liquor and forcing a few teaspoonsful down
the wounded man's throat. At last they had the satisfaction of seeing
Joseph Morris give a short gasp and open his eyes dreamily.
"Oh!" he murmured and for a moment was silent. "I--I am hit!" he went
on.
"Be quiet, Joseph," said his wife, bending over him. "Yes, you were hit
in the breast with an arrow. We will do what we can for you, but you
mustn't move, or the wound will start to bleed again."
"But the Indians--"
"The Indians have retreated," said Rodney. "The rangers have come, and
Uncle James is here, too, and so is Henry."
"All safe?"
"Yes."
"Thank God!" And then Joseph Morris relapsed once more into silence,
being almost too weak to breathe much less to speak.
Little Nell had been crying bitterly, and now Henry took her in his arms
and did his best to soothe her, for he knew his mother would not leave
his father's side.
"The bad, bad Indians!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how could they come
and shoot at us! And last night they tried to burn us up with their fire
arrows! Oh, it was dreadful!" And she buried her curly head in her
brother's shoulder.
The hours to follow were gloomy enough, and ones which those in the
stockade never forgot. The man who had been mortally wounded died
shrieking with pain, and the sounds rang in the ears of both young and
old, filling the latter with new grief. The dead were buried together in
one deep hole and over their last resting place were rolled several
heavy stones, that no wild beasts might disturb their common grave. The
service at this funeral was short, for there was no telling when the
Indians might make another attack.
Toward the middle of the afternoon word came in through the friendly
Indians under White Buffalo that the French Indians, as they were
called, were preparing for some new move. Instantly every available man
in the fort leaped for his gun and even some of the women armed
themselves, determined to fight to the last rather than risk the horrors
of becoming captives of the enemy.
But the alarm proved a false one, for the Indians, although they shifted
their camp to the opposite side of the fort, did nothing but exchange a
few shots with several of the rangers. Yet this move kept the pioneers
on the alert all night, so that little or no sleep was had by anyone.
"I must say I'm so tired I can scarcely keep my eyes open," said Henry
to Dave. "If we elect to retreat I don't see how I'm going to either
ride or walk."
"Take a nap," said Dave. "If another alarm comes I'll call you." And
Henry dropped down and was in the land of dreams almost on the instant.
On the following morning a council of war was held by Captain Tanner,
Lieutenant Baldwick and half a dozen of the leading pioneers, and it was
decided that the best thing to do would be to retreat to Winchester.
Provisions were getting low and so was ammunition, and the lieutenant
had been ordered not to hold Fort Lawrence, but do his best to bring in
the settlers and families in safety.
"The Indians are gathering steadily," said Lieutenant Baldwick. "Every
hour makes them stronger. I think the sooner we strike out the better it
will be for us." And in this Captain Tanner and the majority of the
settlers agreed.
The main difficulty which presented itself was how to care for the
wounded. It would be running a grave risk to move Joseph Morris and
several others, but there was no help for it, and the family were told
to prepare for leaving in an hour.
"We will make a litter between two horses," said James Morris. "Rodney
can ride on one of the animals and lead them along the smoothest part of
the trail he can find. We will bind the wound as tightly as possible, so
that the blood won't get much chance to start afresh."
Mrs. Morris wished to demur, fearing her husband might die ere the
journey was completed. But she could not remain behind alone, and so,
with a sinking heart, she prepared to move as had been ordered.
The settlers were cautioned to leave the fort as silently as possible
and to carry along only that which was absolutely necessary. Before they
left the rangers and some of the Indians under White Buffalo went ahead,
to make sure that the trail chosen by Captain Tanner was clear. Eight of
the rangers remained at the fort, to give it the appearance of still
being inhabited and, in case of attack, to rush out and cover the
settlers' rear.