Rodney, the Ranger, with Daniel Morgan on Trail and Battlefield

by John V. Lane

  CHAPTER V

  A PLUNGE INTO THE FOREST

  March fifteenth, 1773, Rodney Allison set out with a party of five menwho were leaving to join Clark's party on the Ohio.

  The task would be somewhat like finding the needle in the haystack,perhaps, but all were confident and went away in high spirits.

  Mrs. Allison smiled bravely and Naomi called after him, "You bringback a little bear for me to play with," whereat they all laughed, butthe laughter was very near tears. Indeed Mam threw her apron over herhead and fled to the cook-house.

  "You don't want ter look so blue, Rod," cried Angus, coming into theyard. "I only wish I was goin' along. Alec Stephens' father saysthar's prairies out thar where buffalo hev wallered great tracesthrough the grass, thet's higher'n yer head, an' the deer an' elk arethicker'n skeeters in the swamp. He 'lows as how them as gits the landwill sure beat the tide-water gentry on ther home stretch."

  Thus encouraged the boy turned his face westward. There were two packhorses in the party and they were heavily laden. The journey to theriver was without special incident. Many were going over the trail,and scarcely a day passed that they did not fall in with others. Onarrival at the river the horses were left and the goods were loadedinto canoes.

  It was April and the great stream was filled to its banks. At thestart Rodney felt as though he were paddling their frail craft out tosea toward an unknown shore. There was something sullen andirresistible in the might of that dark, swollen river, and the craftwas swept along like a twig on the great waters.

  The red buds were showing on the trees, a sign of hope, thought theboy. On his calling attention to them one of the men remarked: "Theyain't the only red thing that's out. We want to be on the lookout, ferthe word from the posts is thet the redskins are gittin' sassy."

  The third day Dominick Ferguson was Rodney's partner in the canoe. Hewas a vigilant and powerful man, speaking a rich brogue, and when helaughed all who heard him laughed with him. He had lived in thiscountry for twenty years, coming here as a soldier, and had passedmuch of that time on the frontier. It appeared that he was a man ofsome education as well as valuable experience.

  "I'm of the opeenion," he remarked, "that there'll be doin's out i'this country ere long. Virginny'll not yield her claims to the countrywi'out speerin' the why, an' Pennsylvania Dutchmen will cling to whatthey ha' like dogs to a root. I've noticed aboot half the partieswe've met are from that colony."

  "Do you think there will be fighting?"

  "Will there be fightin' at Donnybrook fair, do ye ask? Sure there willbe fightin', an' while the two white clans are tryin' to eat each theither, the red devils will be lookin' for a mouthful, I'm thinkin'."

  "You talk as though 'twould have been better for us never to have leftVirginia."

  "I'm not sure but 'twould ha' been, but nothin' venture nothin' haveis a sayin' as true now as iver. You don't want to turn back?"

  "I surely do not."

  "That's the Scotch in ye; an' 'twould ha' been the like if 'twereIrish. Now I ha' the advantage o' gittin' it both sides. Me mother'seyes were as blue as any colleen's in all Leinster, while the fathero' me was from Argyll, which is sayin' muckle. The one was papist an'the father a Presbyterian. When they tell ye oil an' water'll not mix,look at me."

  "I've heard they don't ask a man about his religion out in thiscountry."

  "Right, lad, but a mon ha' need o' all his religion, I'm thinkin'."

  "Well, as for me, mother is of the established church an' father is aDissenter."

  "Either'll do an' the both ought. It'll be no fault of our forebearsif we ha' not religion in plenty, an' some o' the gude as should gangwi' it."

  Rodney thought of the morning prayers at home, his father kneeling bythe old splint-bottomed chair. Tears came to his eyes, he knew notwhy, for was he not soon to see his father and were they not toprosper and go back in the fall for his mother and sister? Yet helooked out on the swirling water as through a mist.

  "One of the men said you had seen long service as a soldier in theking's army, Mr. Ferguson."

  "That's how I came to this country, an' when I laid by me red coat Ithought this a bonny place to bide in. I got me a good team an' wasmakin' a tidy bit cartin' supplies ower the mountains when the warbroke oot. I drove me team with Braddock's army an' afterward joinedthe militia."

  "Father was a soldier under Braddock. I've heard him tell how bravesome of the teamsters were in the midst of the panic and how cowardlywere some of the others."

  "Same old story; all kinds o' folks to make a world. I mind well thegrit o' one o' them, Daniel Morgan was his name. We drove our teamsower Braddock's grave in the road so's to hide it from the redskins.Morgan's a mon as belongs at the head o' the column. He fears naughton the face o' the earth, an' such men lead oot in this country wherecourage an' skill at war are more account than any ither place i' allthe world. Morgan an' I were teaming supplies to Fort Chiswell i' thesummer of 1756. One o' the British officers got mad at him an' struckhim wi' the flat o' his sword when Morgan he oop-ended the officer'sperson wi' a smart crack o' his feest. That was fat i' the fire youmay be sure. Insubordination don't go i' the army an' they tied Morganto his cart wheel an' laid five hundred lashes on his bare back. 'Twasa wicked sight, the flesh o' him hung i' strips, an' he as cool as acowcumber an' countin' every stroke. He always declared they missed astroke. A braw lad be that same Dan Morgan."

  "I should have thought it would have killed him."

  "Keel him! Lad, ye don't know the stuff o' which such men are made.Why, after he'd gone into the service he was ambushed by the savagesan' was shot i' the neck, the bullet comin' oot the mouth an' takin'the teeth o' one side along wi' it."

  "What became of him?"

  "He settled doon i' Winchester, which was then weel nigh the jumpin'off place, licked every mon in town as wanted a fight, an' thenmarried a fine woman an' bided there as respectable as ye please. Isure thought, tho', he would go to the dogs. I'm o' the opeenion thatwife will be the makin' o' him. What the boats ahead doin', lad?"

  "They are landing at the mouth of the little creek, there."

  "I have it; 'tis nigh sundown an' I reckon they hope to shootsomething fer supper," saying which he began to sing in a rollickingvoice the following, which may be presumed to be of his owncomposition:

  "Swate Widdy Hogan's married rich Flannagan To provide for Hogan's heirs; All tin twins o' thim great at shenannegan, An all o' thim born i' pairs.

  "Pat an' Terry, Tom an' Tim, Peter, Mary Ann, Dinnis, Nora, Shaughn an' Fin, Wid Kathleen an' Dan,"

  "Never mind the rest o' the family, Ferguson, come ashore an' helpwith the work."

  "Help wi' the work, is it, Joseph, me boy? Joseph wore a coat o' manycolours, ye know, but he was the same old Joe all the time. You'llniver improve, I'm thinkin'."

  Rodney was left to build a fire and told to keep his eye "peeled," fora prowling savage might happen along any minute.

  When he had a good blaze started, he sat down to wait. After a fewminutes, hearing nothing, he decided to take his rifle and go up thecreek a short distance in the hope of seeing game.

  That those returning and finding him gone need not be alarmed, he cuta piece of bark from a young tree and with the point of his knifewrote on the inside: "Up creek, back soon."

  The boy had not gone far when he came upon a path made by animalspassing to and from the creek. He noticed no fresh tracks butconcluded this as good a place as any where one might lie in wait fora sight of game.

  He selected the trunk of a fallen tree which commanded a view of thepath and where he would be screened from the observation of any animalpassing.

  It was near sunset and the rosy light shone through thin places in thefoliage overhead. Not a sound could be heard save the murmur of thewater in the creek. Rodney had paddled all day and was tired. He beganto feel drowsy. That would not do and he shook his hea
d vigorously,resolving to keep awake. He was fond of hunting and thought it wouldbe very gratifying if he might return to the fire with something toshow for his efforts.

  Back in the woods a fine buck came walking along the narrow path. Whenfully six rods from the creek he suddenly stopped, and lifting hisdelicate muzzle snuffed the air inquiringly. The next instant his tailwas lifted, showing the white of the under side, the "white flag," asthe hunters term it, and with a bound he was off in the forest.

  A few minutes later a dark form cautiously came along, careful not tobreak a twig beneath his moccasined feet. He was naked except for abreech-clout. The tuft of feathers fastened to his "top-knot" and thepaint on his face indicated that he was on the warpath.

  Turning, the Indian followed the narrow trail in the direction of thecreek for a short distance and then, leaving the path, made a detouron the side where Rodney had taken his station.

  The boy slept! The sun had gone down and only twilight remained. Hedreamed that a huge bear appeared on the path, its shambling feetsoftly treading. He tried to raise his rifle but his arms werepowerless, seemed paralyzed! The bear came on, now faster. Stoppingbefore him it rose on its hind legs and hugged him with its fore paws,and he struggled to scream but could not utter a sound. He opened hiseyes. A brawny hand was over his mouth, a powerful arm about his armspinioned them to his side. The hand was red, and on the wrist was acopper bracelet!

  A guttural voice spoke low but harshly in his ear: "Um no speak.Die!"

  Then the boy felt his arms being bound with leather thongs and helooked into the face of the savage, saw the hideous paint on it, thebright, beady eyes, the whites of which looked yellow; noted the highcheekbones, the nose like an eagle's beak, the cruel mouth like a thinslit in the face, and fear was upon him, such, as he never had known.

  "Halloo."

  Surely that was Ferguson's voice, and must be calling him.

  "Halloo!"

  The last call was from the other side and it was not Ferguson'svoice.

  The Indian lifted his tomahawk and the lad expected it to be buried inhis head. Instead came the low-spoken word: "March!"

  Guided by the savage from behind and stepping cautiously, as hebelieved should he break a twig or make other noise he would bestruck down on the instant, Rodney went on into the forest.

  They had thus advanced less than twenty rods when, through the treesand standing back to them, they saw a man. He appeared unconscious oftheir presence. Yes, that must be Ferguson! The thought flashedthrough the boy's mind and, unconscious of his own safety, his lipsopened to cry the alarm, which would have sounded his own death knell,when he saw a tomahawk hurtle through the air and bury itself in theman's brain. He fell to his knees without a moan. The Indian, leapingto his side, had scalped him before Rodney realized what had happened.Then, seizing the lad by the shoulder, he ordered him to "Run."

  When they stopped the boy was breathless, but the savage was as cooland snakelike in his movements as at the first. Soon they were joinedby other Indians. The boy was bound to a tree and they left him.

  "They've gone to ambush our party," thought the boy. What would becomeof him should the savages be driven off and he left tied to a tree inthat wilderness?

  A squirrel running behind him startled him so the perspiration stoodin beads on his forehead. He tried to comfort himself with thereflection that it would be better to starve to death tied to a treethan to be burned to death tied to a stake.

  He tugged at his bonds until the blood started on his wrists. Arattling fire of musketry was heard in the direction of the river.After a lull there were more shots followed by yells, which indicatedthat the savages had been successful in driving off the whites.

  All was still for many minutes. Then he felt, rather than saw, that hewas not alone. A heavy hand was laid on his wrists, untying thethongs, and his captor's voice again ordered him to "March."

  The moon had risen and its light filtered through the tree-tops.Stumbling forward, and guided as before, he went on till they came upwith the main party of Indians.

  He looked to see if there were other scalps, shuddering as he did so;but, save that one at the belt of his captor, he saw none which hadbeen freshly taken. He therefore concluded the others of his party hadescaped in the boats, leaving him to his fate. There were otherscalps, but they were not from white people. Evidently the Indians hadbeen South and had battled with their hereditary enemies, theCherokees.

  For several miles the Indians continued their march. Rodney was faintfrom hunger and thirst when finally they camped for the night. Driedvenison was eaten, the boy receiving his share with the others, alsoan opportunity to drink his fill at a cool spring. He then wasstretched upon the ground and each wrist and ankle was tied to aseparate sapling. The red men prepared for sleep and no one wasassigned to guard. Little sleep came to him. Thoughts of home, of hisfather in the great wilderness, flitted through his mind all night andhe rose unrefreshed and sore in every muscle.

  The next day they continued their journey, from sunrise to sunset,stopping at noon for a hasty lunch. The second night he was treated ason the first, but slept soundly because of sheer exhaustion. Thefollowing day the party killed a deer. The Indians, as was theircustom, gorged themselves on the meat, eating it half raw. They cut upsome of the best of it to carry along with them.

  That night, their heavy eating made the savages sleep soundly. Rodney,bound as on the previous nights, lay looking up through the trees atthe moon, occasional glimpses of which it was possible to get throughthe branches.

  For a time his thoughts were far away from his surroundings. Suddenlyhe became conscious of something cold and metallic under his righthand.

  It was a knife!

  Evidently one of the Indians, when cutting up the meat, hadaccidentally dropped it.

  Somewhat awkwardly, for his hand was tightly bound, he managed toclutch the blade in such a manner that after persistent effort hesucceeded in cutting his bonds.

  His joy at the sense of freedom almost made him faint when he foundhimself clear. Quietly and slowly, it seemed as if the beating of hisheart must waken the savages, he got possession of one of the rifles.He knew that a snapping twig would probably mean his destruction. Hehad heard of captives, who, in such straits as his, had slain theircaptors while they slept. The thought was revolting to him.Cautiously creeping away into the outer darkness, it seemed hoursbefore he dared press forward without fear of making a noise.