Wyoming

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

  Wyoming Series.--No. 1.

  WYOMING

  by

  EDWARD S. ELLIS

  Author of "Young Pioneer Series," "Log Cabin Series," etc., etc.

  PhiladelphiaHenry T. Coates & Co.

  Copyright, 1888.byPorter & Coates.

  "He was stopped in the most startling manner that can beimagined."]

  WYOMING.

  CHAPTER I.

  On the sultry third of July, 1778, Fred Godfrey, a sturdy youth ofeighteen years, was riding at a breakneck speed down the Wyoming Valley,in the direction of the settlement, from which he saw columns of smokerolling upward, and whence, during the few pauses of his steed, he heardthe rattling discharge of firearms and the shouts of combatants.

  "I wonder whether I am too late," he asked himself more than once, andhe urged his splendid horse to a greater pace; "the road never seemed solong."

  Ah, there was good cause for the anxiety of the lad, for in that lovelyWyoming Valley lived those who were dearer to him than all the worldbeside, and whatever fate overtook the settlers must be shared by him aswell. He had ridden his horse hard, and his flanks glistened with wetand foam, but though every foot of the winding road was familiar to him,it appeared in his torturing impatience to be double its usual length.

  Fred Godfrey had received the promise of his father, on the breaking outof the Revolution, that he might enlist in the patriot army so soon ashe reached the age of seventeen. On the very day that he attained thatage he donned the Continental uniform, made for him by loving hands,bade his friends good-bye, and hastened away to where Washington waslonging for just such lusty youths as he who appeared to be severalyears younger than he really was.

  Fred was a handsome, athletic youngster, and he sat his horse with thegrace of a crusader. Although the day was warm, and his face glowed withperspiration, he wore his cocked hat, blue coat with its white facings,the belt around the waist and another which passed over one shoulder ereit joined the one around the middle of his body, knee-breeches, andstrong stockings and shoes. His rifle was slung across his back, and acouple of loaded single-barreled pistols were thrust in his belt, wherethey could be drawn the instant needed.

  During his year's service in the patriot army Fred had proven himself anexcellent soldier, and the dash and nerve which he showed in more thanone instance caught the eye of Washington himself, and won the youth alieutenancy, at the time when he was the youngest member of his company.

  The ardent patriot was full of ambition, and was sure, should noaccident befall him, of gaining higher honors. When he tramped withseveral other recruits from Wyoming to the camp of the Continentals,hundreds of miles away, one of his greatest comforts was the beliefthat, no matter how the current of war drifted back and forth, there wasno danger of its reaching Wyoming. That lovely and secluded valley wasso far removed from the tread of the fierce hosts that they might feelsecure.

  But behold! News came to Washington that the Tories and Indians wereabout to march into the valley with torch and tomahawk, and he wasbegged to send re-enforcements without delay. The Father of his Countrywas then on his campaign through the Jerseys. The British army hadwithdrawn from Philadelphia, where it spent the winter, and Clinton witha part of the force was marching overland to New York, with theContinentals in pursuit.

  The campaign was so important that the commander-in-chief could illafford to spare a man. He knew that Wyoming was not entirelydefenseless. Colonel Zebulon Butler of the Continental army wasmarshaling the old men and boys, and there was the strong defense knownas Forty Fort, built by the original settlers from Connecticut, not tomention Wilkesbarre near at hand, so that it would seem the settlersought to be able to protect themselves against any force likely to bebrought against them.

  However, Washington told several of his recruits from Wyoming of theappeal that had been made to him, and gave them permission to go to thehelp of their friends, though he added that he did not think itpossible for them to reach the ground in time to be of service.

  But a half dozen started on foot toward the threatened point. Within aday's tramp of their destination they fell somewhat apart, as each, inhis familiarity of the country, believed that he knew a shorter andquicker way home than the others.

  Fred Godfrey was almost in sight of his home, when he was both pleasedand alarmed by coming upon an estray horse. He was saddled and bridled,and though contentedly cropping the grass at the roadside, theperspiration and jaded look showed that he had come from thebattle-ground. It was startling to know that such was the fact, andsupplemented as it was by the reports of guns, shouts, and the blackvolumes of smoke pouring upward, Fred was filled with an anguish ofmisgiving.

  Without stopping to make inquiries or to guess who could have owned theestray steed, the young patriot slipped forward, caught the bridlebefore the animal had time to scent danger, and vaulting lightly intothe saddle, turned the head of the horse toward Wyoming, and strikinghis heels against his ribs, quickly urged him to a dead run.

  "I am needed there," said Fred, urging his spirited animal still more,and peering down the highway; "you're the best horse I ever rode, but Ican't afford to spare you now."

  Fred Godfrey not only was close to the stirring scenes that marked thatmemorable massacre, but he was among them sooner even than heanticipated.

  CHAPTER II.

  Just here we must turn aside for a minute or two, in order to understandthe situation.

  On the third of July, Colonel Zebulon Butler, of the Continental army,had marched forth at the head of his two hundred and odd boys, old men,and a few able-bodied soldiers to meet his cousin, the British ColonelButler, with his horde of soldiers, Tories, and Iroquois Indians.

  "We come out to fight, not only for liberty," said the patriot leader,as the battle was about to open, "but for our lives and that which isdearer than our lives--to preserve our homes from conflagration, and ourwives and children from the tomahawk."

  For a time all went well, and Colonel Zebulon Butler began to hope thatthe marauders would be driven off, but his force was unsteady, and someof them gave way when they saw their enemies as they swarmed out of thewoods and assailed them.

  The trembling mothers who were prayerfully listening to the sounds ofbattle on the plain above, heard the regular platoon firing which showedthat all was going well; but, by and by, the increasing yells, thedropping shots, the blaze of musketry from the swamp on the left of thefighting settlers, where the Iroquois were rushing forth, thepanic-stricken fugitives coming into sight here and there, white,panting and wild, told the dreadful truth. The patriots had beenoverwhelmed by the invaders, who were driving everything before them.But a single hope remained--flight.

  Some might succeed in reaching the mountains on the other side theriver, and possibly a few would be able to force their way through thedismal wilderness known as the "Shades of Death," and reach Stroudsburgand the sparse settlements on the upper Delaware, many miles away.

  The moment the patriots began flying before the Tories and Indians, thepanic spread to all.

  It is a historical fact that in the flight the pursuers shot many of thepatriot officers and soldiers in the thigh, so as to disable them fromrunning, and left them on the ground to be finally disposed ofafterwards, while the Iroquois hastened after the other fugitives.

  Many of these were tomahawked in their flight; others fled down theriver banks in the direction of Wilkesbarre, on the opposite side of theriver; others made for the mountains back of the battle-ground; stillothers hastened to the protection of the Forty Fort, while a great manyfound a temporary refuge in the undergrowth of Monocacy Island, in theSusquehanna. Still others got across the river and plunged into themountainous wilderness and began their toilsome tramp through thesection I have named, and which is still known as
the "Shades of Death."

  It was at this hour that Fred Godfrey galloped directly into themassacre in his desperate resolve to do all he could to save hisfriends.

  He had turned off from the main highway, and was making toward a pointwhence came the sounds of sharp firing, and such shouts as to show thatsome unusual conflict was going on. He caught glimpses of figures movingamong the trees, but he paid no heed to them, and pressed steadilyforward over a half-broken path until he was stopped in the moststartling manner that can be imagined--that is, by a rifle-shot.

  Some one fired from the front, and undoubtedly would have struck theyouthful rider, had not his horse at the very instant snuffed the dangerand flung up his head. The action saved the life of the rider at theexpense of the steed, who received the cruel bullet and lunged forwardand fell to the ground with such suddenness that but for the dexterityof Fred Godfrey he would have been crushed.

  As it was, the youth saved himself by a hair's breadth, leaping clear ofthe saddle and brute just in the nick of time.

  The thin wreath of smoke was curling upward from the undergrowth, andthe horse was in the act of falling, when a Seneca Indian, in his warpaint and agleam with ferocity, bounded from the cover, and with hissmoking gun in his hand and the other grasping the handle of histomahawk, dashed towards the patriot, whom he evidently believed wasbadly wounded.

  "S'render! s'render!" he shrieked, coming down upon him as if fired froma cannon.

  "I'm not in that business just now," snapped out Fred Godfrey, levelingand firing his pistol, with the muzzle almost in the face of the fiercewarrior.

  The aim could not have been more accurate. The subsequent incidents ofthe Wyoming massacre were of no interest to that Seneca warrior, for thesharp crack of the little weapon was scarcely more sudden than was theending of his career.

  CHAPTER III.

  Fred Godfrey did not stop to reload his pistol. He had another ready foruse, and he unshipped his rifle in a twinkling, and hurried for thepoint where he hoped to gain some tidings of his loved ones. Everythingwas in a swirl, and of his own knowledge he could not tell the propercourse to take.

  He ran through the wood toward the point for which he was making at themoment the Seneca Indian shot his horse, but, short as was the distance,all sounds of conflict were over by the time he reached his destination.

  Among the parties dashing hither and thither, in the blind effort toescape the Tories and Indians, who seemed to be everywhere, Fredrecognized several friends and neighbors. Indeed, since Wyoming was hisnative place, it may be said that nearly all the fugitives were known tohim.

  "Why ain't you with your folks?" suddenly asked a middle-aged farmer,who stopped for a moment in his panting flight to exchange a few wordsand to gain breath.

  "Can you tell me where they are?" asked Fred in turn.

  "They're well on their way across the Susquehanna by this time, if theyhaven't reached the other shore."

  "How do you know that?" asked Fred, his heart bounding with hope at thenews which he was afraid could not be true.

  "I saw them go down to the river bank before the fighting begun: Gravitytold me that just as soon as he saw how things were going he meant torun to where they were waiting and take them over in his scow."

  "How do you know that he has done so?"

  "I don't know it of a certainty, but I saw Gravity making for the riverbank a while ago, and I've no doubt he did what he set out to do."

  This news was not quite so good as Fred supposed from the first remarkof his friend, but it was encouraging. Before he could ask anythingmore, the other made a break and was gone.

  "Oh, if they only _did_ get across the river," muttered Fred, makinghaste thither; "it is their only hope."

  And now it is time that you were told something about those in whom theyoung patriot felt such painful interest.

  They were Maggie Brainerd, whose father, a leading settler fromConnecticut, had gone out with the company to fight the invaders ofWyoming; Eva, her eight-year-old sister, and Aunt Peggy Carey, thesister of the dead parent, and who had been the best of mothers to thechildren for the last three years. Maggie and Eva were the half-sistersof Fred Godfrey, between whom existed the sweetest affection.

  Maggie was a year younger than Fred, and Aunt Peggy was a peppery ladyin middle life, who detested Tories as much as she did the father of allevil himself. When Mr. Brainerd bade each an affectionate good-bye andhurried away with the others to take part in the disastrous fight, theyhuddled close to the river bank, hoping he would soon return to themwith the news that the invaders had been routed and driven away.

  Side by side with the patriotic father marched the servant of thefamily--Gravity Gimp, an enormous African, powerful, good-natured, andso devoted to every member of his household that he gladly risked hislife for them.

  Gravity went into the battle with his gun on his shoulder and with theresolve to do his part like a man. He loaded and fired many times, butat the first sign of panic he broke and made for the river side,determined to save the women folks there, or die in the attempt. He lostsight of his master, whom he left loading and firing with the coolnessof a veteran. It did not occur to Gravity that he might do good serviceby giving some attention to the head of the family, who had not half thestrength and endurance of himself.

  Aunt Peggy, Maggie, and Eva waited on the river bank, with throbbinghearts, the issue of the battle. When it became certain that thepatriots had suffered a check, they hoped that it was only for a brieftime, and that they would speedily regain the lost ground.

  While they waited, the smoke from blazing Fort Wintermoot was wafteddown the valley, and became perceptible to the taste as well as to thesight. The fugitives were seen to be taking to the river, fields, andwoods, and the painted Iroquois were rushing hither and thither,gathering in their fearful harvest of death.

  "Aunt," said Maggie, taking the hand of Eva, "it won't do to waitanother minute."

  "But what will become of your father and Gravity?"

  "They are in the hands of God," was the reverential reply of thecourageous girl, who had asked herself the same question.

  When her loved parent had kissed her good-bye he made her promise thaton the very moment she became assured of the defeat of the patriots shewould lose no time in getting as far away as possible. She would havefelt justified in breaking that pledge could she have believed there wasany hope of helping her father, but she knew there was none.

  Eva was in sore distress, for now that she understood, in her vague way,the whole peril, her heart went out to the absent ones.

  "Where's papa and Gravity?" she asked, holding back, with the tearsrunning down her cheeks.

  "They are doing their best to keep the bad Indians away," repliedMaggie, restraining by a great effort her own feelings.

  "I don't want to go till papa comes," pleaded the broken-hearted littleone.

  "But he wants us to go; he told me so, Eva."

  "Did he? Then I'll go with you, but I feel dreadful bad."

  And she ran forward, now that she knew she was doing what her fatherwished her to do.

  CHAPTER IV.

  The scene at this moment was terrifying.

  The river was swarming with fleeing soldiers, old men, women, andchildren, struggling to reach the other side and get away from themerciless hordes assailing them.

  Where so many were taking to the river, it would seem that there waslittle hope for the three, who were moving along the bank toward somepoint that would take them out of the rush.

  For a time they attracted no special notice, but it was impossible thatthis should continue.

  "Oh, the scand'lous villains!" muttered Aunt Peggy, applying herfavorite epithet to the Tories; "how I would like to wring their necks!I've no doubt that Jake Golcher is among them. The idea of his coming toour house to court you--"

  "There, there," interrupted Maggie, "this is no time to speak of suchthings; Jacob Golcher is among them, for I saw him a few minutes ago,and w
e may need his friendship."

  "I'd like to see me--"

  "There's Gravity!" broke in Eva, clapping her hands. The other two,turning their heads, saw that she spoke the truth.

  The bulky negro servant of the family came limping toward them with hissmoking musket in hand. He was bare-headed, like Maggie and Eva, and hisgarments were badly torn. He was panting from his severe exertion, andthe perspiration streamed down his dusty face.

  "Where's father?" was the first question Maggie asked, as he drew near.

  "Can't tell," was the reply; "when I last seed him, he was fightin' likeall creation, and graderlly workin' off toward the woods."

  "Then there is hope for him!" exclaimed Maggie, looking yearningly atthe servant, as if asking for another word of encouragement.

  "Hope for him? Course dere am, and so dere am for you if you hurry outob dis place."

  "But where can we go, Gravity? I promised father to try to get away,but how can we do so?"

  "I'll soon show you," replied the African, rapidly recovering his wind,and moving along the bank in the direction of the present site ofKingston.

  Gravity knew there was no chance for his friends until they reached theother side of the river, but it would not do to enter the stream nearwhere they then stood.

  A portion of the Susquehanna was so deep that it would be necessary forall to swim, and, strange as it may seem, the only one of the party whocould do so was Maggie Brainerd herself. Though Gravity had lived foryears along the river, he could not swim a stroke.

  It was a wonder that the little party had not already attracted thenotice of the horde swarming along the shores. They must do so very soonand Gravity hurried his gait.