The Longhunter got up after having buttoned his arm into his shirt to hold it in place and walked over to join the couple.
“Lass, I’m sorry about your folks. Alex and I gave them as proper a burial as we could with the time we had available.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glendenning. I’d like to go back to the cabin and pay my proper respects to them if I could. I’d also like to gather up any of my possessions that might have survived the fire.”
Captain Ellison McCoy was the head of the Fort Cumberland detachment of the Maryland Rangers. He put his medical supply kit back into his saddle bags and walked over to the group to join the conversation.
“Lad, are you sure that you are okay?” asked Ellison.
“I’m fine, sir; I’m just happy you and your men showed up when you did. You saved my life and Alexander’s too,” said Alex.
“That’s our job, lad. We go where we’re needed and do what needs to be done in order to keep the frontier safe for people like you, Alexander and Martha here,” said Ellison.
“Sounds like good, honorable work,” said Alex.
“If yer looking for a job, we are in need of a Ranger right now, and you seem to have plenty of grit,” said Ellison.
“I’ll take the job, sir. But first, I need to see Martha settled and get my shirt back,” said the bare-chested Alex with a grin as he raked his long blond hair out of his eyes with his left hand.
* * * *
Samuel
“Hey Tom, does it get any rougher than this?” yelled Samuel at Tom Jenkins’ back.
Tom Jenkins, the nefarious ex-militia scout, led the way for the small party of men on horseback and the wagon carrying the rifles. They had traveled west, first following along The Great Wagon Road from Philadelphia, for several days, and later, turning off it onto a game trail. Samuel was driving the wagon, sitting on the driver’s bench. His two friends, who had sailed with him from England, were riding horses along both sides of the wagon in places where the trail was wide enough to allow them to ride beside the wagon or behind the wagon if it wasn’t. They had passed through Lancaster, Pennsylvania early that morning and were well on their way to the meeting that Tom had arranged for them with an Iroquois band.
The game trail followed a narrow path through the trees, and the going was getting pretty rough. The wagon could barely pass through many of the tighter spots and their progress had been slowed to a crawl.
“It opens up just ahead,” shouted Tom in reply, turning his head to look back at Samuel Ruskin and his two friends.
It did in fact open up just a few miles ahead, and when it did, Tom fell back to ride alongside the wagon in order to speak with Samuel while he rode.
“We’ll follow this trail for a while and then turn off south at the next fork,” said Tom.
Samuel just nodded and glanced briefly at Tom before he turned his head back to watch the trail ahead. Tom had earlier cocked his rifle flintlock and grasped his rifle stock while it was lying across his saddle between his lap and the saddle horn. An experienced scout and woodsman like Tom was always ready for anything when traveling in the wilderness. What Samuel didn’t know was that Tom had also primed his musket pan while he was leading the party. As soon as Samuel turned his head back to the trail, Tom pointed his rifle toward Samuel and pulled the trigger. Tom’s other hand was still holding his reins and controlling his horse.
Just as Tom fired the shot at Samuel, the right front wagon wheel had hit a downed tree limb that was about the size of a man’s leg and was lying at the edge of the trail, which caused the wagon to pause slightly before it could travel up and over the limb. This sudden halt in the wagon’s forward progress saved Samuel’s life. Instead of striking him squarely in the side where Tom aimed it, the musket ball grazed Samuel’s chest, knocking him back onto the gun cases in the wagon bed. Tom then pulled a pistol from his belt and fired point blank into the back of one of Samuel’s friends who was riding directly in front of him. Samuel’s friend was instantly dead and fell forward off his horse beside the trail. The sound of the two shots startled everyone, including the horses. As soon as everyone recovered, a second musket shot fired from the trees on the left side of the trail struck Samuel’s other friend in the left temple, knocking him off his horse. He also lay dead beside the trail.
Samuel knew immediately that he had been betrayed by Tom Jenkins, and the ambush he had ridden into was Tom’s plan. He also knew that there was probably no Iroquois village anywhere in the area, and there was no one else near who could help him. The scratch across his chest burned, but he didn’t think it was too serious an injury.
Tom jumped out of his saddle stirrups and onto the vacated wagon driver’s bench, pulling his hunting knife out of the sheath tied to his belt, intending to finish the job on Samuel Ruskin. But Samuel had already crawled on all fours toward the rear of the wagon. When Tom jumped from the wagon bench down onto the gun cases in the bed of wagon to lunge at Samuel with his knife, Samuel bolted over the wagon’s rear gate. After grabbing the reins of his friend’s horse, now standing behind the wagon on the trail, Samuel leaped into the saddle. Samuel was riding hard back the way he had come before Tom could climb out of the back of the wagon and come after him.
A short time later, a scruffy, buckskin-clad man with long hair braids emerged from the trees carrying a rifle and ran up to Tom.
“You want I should go after him, Tom?” asked the half-breed bandit.
“Nah; let him go. He won’t do us any harm. We’ve got the rifles, and he’s got nothing but his life and a horse,” said Tom Jenkins.
* * * *
Alex
“Well, Martha Kelly, let’s get going,” said Alex.
The Maryland Rangers had been able to catch two of the riderless Iroquois ponies that were running loose. They had also gathered up their weapons and what belongings they could find. Alex had made arrangements with Captain Ellison McCoy to report for duty with the Maryland Rangers at Fort Cumberland, Maryland in a few days. Alex and Martha helped the Longhunter into the saddle of one of the ponies and said goodbye to the departing Maryland Rangers. The plan they had come up with was first for Alex and Martha to escort the Longhunter to his cabin so that he could rest and recuperate from his wound. And then Alex would take Martha to say goodbye to her folks at their grave and see if any of her possessions had survived the raid and fire. Alex didn’t know what she wanted to do after that, but he thought it best to take things one step at a time.
They followed the game trails south with the Longhunter leading the way, riding slowly to prevent reopening the wound in his shoulder. The trip to the Longhunter’s cabin took them several hours on horseback. After they unsaddled his horse at his cabin, they soon had the Longhunter set up with everything he needed and resting in his cot. Alex borrowed a shirt from the Longhunter.
They stayed with the Longhunter for two days to make sure that he was going to be alright and could fend for himself. Alex hunted in the woods near the Longhunter’s cabin and filled his game bag that hung on the wall. Martha cleaned his cabin and washed his clothes while Alex was out hunting. The Longhunter was very weary from traveling, loss of sleep, and the ordeal, as well as from his wound, so he mostly slept. Alex and Martha had made camp just outside the Longhunters cabin. The Longhunter’s cabin was so small that it wouldn’t accommodate two additional people anyway, so Alex and Martha thought it would be best give the Longhunter some room to rest in his own space. Though he was tired from the day’s tasks, sleep eluded Alex, who was anxious about what the coming days would hold for him.
On the evening of third day, the Longhunter was much improved and there was nothing more they could do for him so they saddled up their ponies and said goodbye to the Longhunter. They rode away to start their journey, even though there was only an hour or so of daylight left, just as the sun was sinking low on the horizon.
The Longhunter had given Alex directions that would lead him back to Martha’s cabin, which was almost due south
of the Longhunter’s cabin. They rode until the sun went down, when they thought it best to stop and camp for the evening. Near a game trail, Alex found a nice clearing that offered some flat ground for their camp. He had taken some of the game he had hunted for the Longhunter, so they had some food and Alex did not have to hunt again for their supper. They both pitched in to prepare the meal, which they ate in an uneasy silence. After they cleaned up their gear and spread the blankets that the Longhunter had given them near the camp fire, Alex realized that he was much more exhausted than he had thought. So he lay down on his back on his bedroll, closed his eyes, and started to drift off to sleep. He was just about asleep when Martha decided that she wanted to talk.
“How long have you been in America, Alex?” asked Martha.
“Huh…, sorry…, what did you say?” replied Alex.
Martha looked down and her face turned red.
“Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t realize that you were asleep,” said Martha, eyes toward the ground.
“I have been in America only a few weeks,” said Alex, who rolled over and rested his head on his hand with his elbow on the ground.
“How about you?” asked Alex.
“I have been here almost a year. I came over from Ireland with my husband and my parents,” said Martha.
When Martha mentioned her husband, Alex’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He had assumed that she was unmarried. The Longhunter had never mentioned anything about her husband. Alex was instantly wide awake and wondering about the rest of the story and where her husband was now. He also upped his estimate of how old she was. Martha saw his eyes widen and his jaw drop, so she thought she should continue the explanation.
“My husband died during our ocean voyage from Ireland to Baltimore and was buried at sea. He caught a fever on the ship about two weeks after we left Dublin, and it got worse and worse until he eventually died. There was nothing we or anyone on the ship could do for him. I was very sad for a long time,” continued Martha.
“I’m sorry to hear about that. Please accept my condolences,” said Alex.
“It happened a little over a year ago, so I have pretty much gotten over it now,” said Martha, who then paused to think while Alex remained silent.
“My father was a printer in Dublin, and he printed some pamphlets that the Irish government didn’t approve of. A high ranking government official suggested that he leave the country rather than continue to try to change it. Our last name was O’Kelly in Ireland, but Papa dropped the “O” when we arrived in Baltimore because he didn’t want to be associated with Ireland any more. He said he wanted to try farming in America and be an American. So, we homesteaded fifty acres of land on the frontier, where you saw what used to be our cabin. Father didn’t have the money he needed to buy land closer to Baltimore or any other settlement. My husband had been a farmer in Ireland and, he was going to teach us how to farm.”
She finally had to stop her narrative because she was choking up and had tears in her eyes. Alex didn’t know what to do or say, so he kept his silence and rolled to his back to look at the stars while she recovered.
“Alex, I know how tired you are, so I am going to stop talking now and go to sleep as well. We can talk some more in the morning,” said Martha.
Alex barely heard the last words. He had gotten almost no sleep for the last two days and was dead tired. He nodded his agreement and dropped immediately into a deep sleep.
When he woke the next morning, he saw that during the night Martha had moved her bedroll and was lying next to him near the ashes of the camp fire.
The shock and exhaustion from the previous few days resulted in Alex and Martha sleeping late at their little camp site in the clearing. The sun was high in the sky when they finally roused. They broke camp and mounted up as quickly as they could and rode to Martha’s cabin site and her parent’s new grave. It was several miles from the Longhunter’s homestead, so it was early afternoon by the time they arrived at the burned out ruins of the cabin.
Martha tied up her horse and went to her parents’ grave to spend some time there. Then she searched the burned out cabin for any of her possessions that might have survived the fire. Alex made a wooden cross to mark her parent’s grave and then hunted for something for them to eat. There was nothing of Martha’s possessions left in the cabin. The fire had destroyed everything. Alex used most of the scattered chimney stones that had fallen away from the cabin’s fireplace during the fire to cover the grave so that wild animals would not dig up the bodies.
There wasn’t much else they could do at the homestead and cabin. It was all gone, and there was nothing to be salvaged by staying there.
“What do you plan on doing now?” asked Alex cautiously.
“Well, my uncle, Sean Kelly, runs a general dry goods store in Williamsport. You may have met him and his wife if you were ever in Williamsport. They don’t have any children of their own and they always treated me well.”
Alex recognized that he had in fact met both of them when he and the Longhunter were resupplying in Williamsport after losing almost all their possessions to the Iroquois in the ambush that they narrowly escaped.
“We stayed with them for a while when we first came to America,” continued Martha. “I think they would take me in and would want me to work for them in the dry goods store. I hear that their business is rapidly expanding. So I think I’d like to go to Williamsport to talk to my uncle Sean and my aunt.”
“Okay, Williamsport it is. We had best get started if you are ready. It’ll take a few days on the trail to get there. We’ll probably have to stop and camp again, maybe more than once. Is that okay with you?” asked Alex.
“That is alright with me. I would rather not stay here any longer with all these bad memories,” said Martha.
They mounted and turned their horses eastward toward Williamsport and rode until the day was fast drawing to a close. Alex began to scout for a stream, so they would have water for their camp. He soon found one not too far from the trail that they had been following. Alex had been able to take down some small game that he had encountered while they were at the cabin site, and the meat grilled up very nicely over the camp fire for their dinner. Martha put her bedroll down right next to Alex’s as they prepared to bed down for the night.
Alex was not opposed to the familiarity that Martha exhibited. But he was not sure about her mental state, since she had just lost both her parents. She had also been held captive by the Iroquois and almost violated by the warriors in the tribe. They were both very tired physically, mentally and emotionally after their efforts of the past several days and were still recovering their strength from the ordeal. They immediately crawled into their bedrolls without much conversation and fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning Alex and Martha woke up in each other’s arms, both of them sleeping in Alex’s bedroll together. They traveled slowly, and it took them almost a week to cover the eighty or ninety odd miles from Martha’s burned out cabin to Williamsport. They thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company during the trip, and by the time they reached Williamsport, they were deeply in love.
* * * *
Samuel
Samuel Ruskin did not slow his horse until he was back on The Great Wagon Road. Instead of turning to ride eastward back toward Philadelphia, he had turned southwest and ridden fast until he was well away from his close call with Tom Jenkins. He thought that his potential pursuers would assume that he was headed back east. So he had decided he would throw them off by going in the other direction. When he finally realized that there was probably no one coming after him, he had stopped at a creek that ran across the trail to assess his chest wound. The wound was not too bad and looked like it would heal without any major problems. He cleaned the wound as best he could, bound it, and mounted his horse. Riding at a slower pace to save his horse’s strength in case any pursuers unraveled his ruse and caught up with him, he had made his way toward York.
The altercation had
left him shaken and a bit unsure of himself. In England, he had always been in charge and was the one who cooked up schemes for others to follow. It was disheartening to have a plot backfire on him and to lose his two best friends, along with his investment in the muskets, all at once. These Americans were apparently a different breed of cat, so he would have to reassess himself and his ability to survive and prosper in this new land.
After a few hours’ ride, Samuel had arrived in York, Pennsylvania where he spent the night in an old inn. A few rounds of ale before turning in relaxed him and helped him recover from his ordeal before he fell asleep for the night. The next morning, he arose late and soon was riding back toward Philadelphia. It took him several more weary days on the trail to finally arrive in Philadelphia. Without his friends at his side and with his moneymaking scheme gone awry, he had no idea what he was going to do next.
As Samuel rode down the streets of Philadelphia, he decided to stop at the same tavern where his adventure to sell the guns had started.
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” said the barkeeper.
“I didn’t either,” replied Samuel.
“What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story. Can you bring me a tankard of ale?” asked Samuel with a sigh.
“Of course, I can,” said the barkeeper as he walked off to fetch the drink.
* * * *
Alex
“Alex Mackenzie reporting for duty,” said Alex, while saluting Captain Ellison McCoy as he stood in front of Ellison’s desk at Fort Cumberland, Maryland.
“Alex lad, we are a bit more informal out here on the frontier. You don’t have to salute me or anyone else around here,” replied Ellison as he held out his hand to shake hands with Alex.
“Welcome to Fort Cumberland, Alex,” he continued.
“Thank you Sir, I am looking forward to serving with the Rangers.”
“Good. Our job is mainly to protect the settlers from raids by the Iroquois. We patrol this frontier area north to the Pennsylvania border and south almost to Winchester, Virginia. We also coordinate our activities with the Virginia militia and the Pennsylvania militia. It’s a big area, and we are stretched pretty thin to cover it.
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