by Eric Flint
But she wasn't sure, anymore. She was a lot more practical-minded than she'd been at the age of thirteen. And Sam Houston had been gone from John Jolly's island for those three years, back to the American society he'd come from. So she'd had time to think about things without the distraction of his presence.
Marriage to a white American certainly wasn't out of the question. Her own mother had done it, after all. But whether it would be successful or not depended mostly on the man's ambitions.
The ambitions of Captain Jack Rogers had been those of an adventurer, who liked the frontier and intended to stay there. "Hell-Fire Jack," they called Tiana's father, and for good reason. He didn't care in the least about the good opinion of proper society, as Americans figured it. If they chose to call him a "squaw man," he'd return the sneer with plenty of his own. What did he care? It wasn't as if he was planning to run for office, or get appointed to some prestigious position.
Sam Houston, on the other hand, had different ambitions. Tiana was pretty sure of that. And whatever his other qualities, he was not a man to let sentiment get in the way of his goals. He wouldn't do anything immoral to advance himself, as he saw it-and Sam had a pretty good sense of morals. But he'd stay focused on his purpose, and not let himself get diverted by passion or desire.
Something of her skeptical thoughts must have shown in her face, even in the dim light of the campfire. Old Nancy Ward leaned over and asked her softly: "So why did you come, girl?"
Tiana shifted her shoulders. "I don't know. I guess I just needed to find out. Or I'd wonder about it for years."
"Good reason."
"You think so?" Tiana was genuinely interested in the old woman's opinion. Nancy Ward was a Ghighua. The Cherokee word had several translations into English. "War Woman" was one of them. But Tiana just thought of her as "wise."
The old woman smiled, wisely. "Oh, yes. Best reason there is to do anything, I sometimes think."
TheRiversofWar
CHAPTER 16
JUNE 18, 1814
Tiana and her companions left the island before daybreak, hoping to elude the Chickasaws altogether. If they pushed hard, they'd be safe by midafternoon, and they could make it to Ross Landing by nightfall. The area around Chatanuga was not one any hostile Chickasaws would venture near.
Her brother James predicted that the maneuver wouldn't work, and it didn't take long to find out that he was right. Just as the sun was coming up, they saw two canoes coming upriver toward them. Even at a distance, they could see that the canoes were packed with painted warriors.
"Chickasaws, sure enough," James said, reading the colors on the distant faces. That was enough, even if he couldn't see the specific patterns yet. He swiveled and studied the river behind them.
"Go back?" asked his brother. "Or go ashore?"
"Neither, I think. There's at least one canoe back there, although I can barely see it." His eyes quickly scanned both riverbanks. "And they've probably got warriors in the woods, too."
The canoe bearing John Ross, Sequoyah, and Nancy Ward drew alongside.
"What should we do?" asked Ross. The question was asked flatly and calmly. Technically, it could be argued that Ross was in charge of the expedition. But the young man was self-confident enough to know that James Rogers would have a better idea what to do than he would.
"Go at them directly. That'll keep the numbers closer to even. And they'll have the sun in their eyes, this time of day. If we can get past them, they'll never catch us."
His brother John winced. "True -if we get past them. They've got five men on each of those canoes, to match against our total of five."
Seeing that Nancy Ward was giving him a cold look, he hastily added: "Six, I mean."
Ward snorted, and drew a pistol from under her wrap. The Spanish-made weapon looked even older than she did. "I knew how to use this before your grandfather was born."
She wasn't bragging, either. Nancy Ward had earned the title of War Woman among the Cherokee following the battle of Taliwa, against the Creeks, sixty years ago. After her husband Kingfisher had been killed, Nancy had picked up his gun and led the final charge that drove the enemy off. She'd been eighteen years old, at the time.
"Does everyone have a gun?" asked Ross. The question was really aimed at Tiana. He already knew that the four men in the party did.
"No," she replied. "Just this." She unlaced a small parcel at her feet and drew out a knife.
James shook his head. "Actually, she does have a gun. Or will have"-he pointed into the other boat-"after you lend her your rifle."
Ross stared down at the weapon in question. It was a very expensive-looking rifled musket. The kind of hunting weapon that only a rich family like the Rosses could afford.
"Uh…"
"Don't be stupid," James said curtly. He bent down, lifted his own musket, and passed it forward to his brother John. "We've got three long guns. Sequoyah's got one of them, and he's a good shot. I'm giving mine to my brother, because John's a better shot than I am. And our sister is a better shot with a rifle or musket than either one of us. Probably with a pistol, too."
He flashed her a grin. "But I can still outwrestle her. So can John. Although neither one of us has tried in a while. Too risky, with her temper."
After a moment, Ross's face got that easy, relaxed smile Tiana had come to recognize in the days since she'd met him. He really was a very self-assured young man.
She decided that she liked him. It was too bad that he was already married, to a woman named Quatie. He'd probably make a better husband than Sam Houston, even if he wasn't as handsome.
Ross handed the rifle to her across the little distance separating the canoes. "I probably couldn't hit anything with it until we got close. And if I understand the plan right, we're going to keep as much distance as we can."
He cocked an eye at James. Tiana's brother smiled blandly.
"We'll go straight at the Chickasaw canoes until we get within musket range. Then we'll veer off and try to pass them on the southern side."
"Shooting all the way," his brother muttered. "As great war plans go, this one isn't going to be remembered."
"Best I could come up with." James hefted his paddle and began stroking again.
"We'll lead. You follow," he said to Ross and Sequoyah. Ross was in the rear of their canoe, Sequoyah in the bow. He'd stop paddling once they got near enough, then use his musket. In the middle, Nancy Ward had her pistol resting in her lap.
Tiana, also in the middle of her canoe, admired her newly acquired rifle. It was a beautiful-looking thing.
"I don't like Chickasaws," she pronounced.
"Who does?" said James, from behind her. "And when did you ever meet any Chickasaws?"
"This is the first time. I'm a good judge of character."
That was enough to make James laugh out loud. "Saying that! With you coming on this trip for no good reason than chasing after a bird!"
The plan went wrong right from the start. The first shot fired was by one of the oncoming Chickasaws. It was a stupid shot, made while they were still out of range.
Dumbfounded, Tiana saw her brother John twist suddenly. Then, clap one hand to his face.
She looked down and saw that his paddle had been shot right through, shattered by the lucky bullet just below John's grip, as he'd been raising it for another stroke. What was left of it, he tossed into the river while he pawed at his eyes.
"Splinters," he hissed. "Can't see a thing."
"It'll be up to you and Sequoyah, Tiana," James said grimly. "Don't miss."
He started picking up the stroke, to make good for their brother's incapacity. Tiana gauged the distance and shook her head.
"Stop paddling. The current's not bad, as long as you aren't rocking the canoe."
With a quick backstroke, James brought the canoe almost to a standstill. He was just as proficient with a paddle as he was with a war club. Next to him, moving more awkwardly, John Ross did the same.
"Ha
ve at it, girl," James said.
Tiana brought the fancy rifle up to her shoulder, sighting down the barrel. Ross's gun even had a rear sight, to match up against the front one. That'd be pointless with a smoothbore musket.
The range was long, well over a hundred yards, and probably closer to two. On dry land, braced properly, Tiana would have been confident enough in the shot, even with one of her father's muskets. Here, sitting in a canoe braced only with her own knees…
But the current was smooth, so the canoe was almost steady now that James had stopped paddling. And with the rising sun behind her, she had an excellent view of the target.
She'd trust John Ross, she decided. He might be a bad shot, but by all accounts the man was a shrewd trader. He'd have bought the best rifle available.
She aimed at the lead warrior in the canoe on the left. She'd try for a belly shot, as low as she could. If she missed, at least she might damage the canoe.
As always, when the gun went off, she was a little surprised. One of the reasons Tiana was such a good shot was that she knew how to squeeze a trigger instead of jerking it. She ascribed that to the superior virtues of women, trained in such practical and patient arts as sewing. Men, hunters, always tried to do things with a swagger.
"Hoo!" she heard James bellow. "Knocked him flat!"
She looked up and saw that he was right. Her shot must have caught the Chickasaw in the bow square on.
As good a rifle as Ross would have bought, her bullet might have passed right through the first man and hit the one behind him. The whole crew of that canoe collapsed into a confused pile, and the craft itself began yawing to the side.
She glanced at the canoe next to hers, and saw that Sequoyah had already assessed the new situation. He had his own musket up, aiming it at the other canoe.
Then, he shook his head and lowered the weapon. "Still too far, with my gun. If I miss the shot, I'll have to waste time reloading."
"Keep paddling ahead?" Ross asked.
"No," replied James. "Just keep the boats steady in the current, to give Sequoyah and Tiana as good a shot as possible. Let them come to us, while the sun's still half blinding them. The longer it takes, the better. Tiana will need a lot of time to reload that rifle."
He twisted in his seat, squinting back. "The canoe behind us is still a long way upriver. I'm sure they thought we'd go ashore. So they stayed back as far as possible. That way they wouldn't be swept past our landing spot by the current."
Tiana heard her brother John chuckle, even as he kept wiping his eyes. "Can you blame them? Who'd expect Cherokees to turn a simple river fight into a stupid formal duel? Good thing our father isn't here."
Tiana chuckled herself. Her father had fought a number of duels in his life, but not one of them had been what you could call "formal." Hell-Fire Jack's opinion of formality in a gunfight ranked somewhere below his opinion of worms.
Best time to shoot a man is before he's even got a gun in his hand. Better yet, before he's even looking at you. Best of all, when he's drunk or asleep, or both.
"Stop pawing at your eyes!" Tiana snapped, trying to keep her mind focused. "Splash some water on your face." Unkindly, she added: "Even blind, you ought to be able to find some water. We're in the middle of a river."
John leaned over and stretched out his right hand. Then, started splashing water into his eyes.
"They say white men have tender and sensitive girls for sisters," he muttered. "Mothers, too."
"Not that I've seen," Tiana retorted. "Maybe in the East. The way Sam tells it, his mother-"
"Tiana!" James barked. "You'd better get started on your reload. That's a rifle, not a smoothbore musket."
The reproof was unnecessary, since Tiana had already started. But, in the time that followed-it seemed like half a day-she realized why James had spoken so sharply.
Tiana had never fired a rifle before, and had been delighted by the result. Now, reloading one, she understood why warriors tended to curse the things-and why even American or European armies rarely used them.
A smoothbore musket could be reloaded in less than a minute. A rifle…
At one point, she almost despaired completely. Trying to force the bullet down that long and rifled barrel with a ramrod wasn't beyond her strength, as such. Tiana was a very big woman and had the muscles to match her size. If she'd been standing, she'd have done it readily enough. Not easily, no. But she'd have done it, since she could have leaned her weight into the task.
But sitting in a canoe! That required pure strength of arm and shoulder. Nor did she dare to use the measure of last resort, which would have been to slam the butt against the ground. As dangerous as that was on dry land-the gun could easily go off-it was impossible in a canoe. Any impact hard enough to force the bullet down past the rifling would punch right through the thin hull.
Somewhere in the middle of her labors, she heard Sequoyah's musket go off. Again, James gave out that exultant "hoo!," but Tiana didn't look up.
"Just wounded him, I think," she heard Sequoyah say apologetically.
"Who cares?" came James's reply. "That other canoe just started moving again, and now this one will be slowed. We'll have time for at least one more shot for both of you. For that matter, we've got John's-"
Tiana shook her head. "No. I want to save John's musket until the end."
She glanced up quickly, then focused back on her task. "They're still more than a hundred yards off. I probably couldn't hit them with the musket anyway. I'm surprised Sequoyah did."
Eventually, it was done. Tiana had barely enough strength left to bring the rifle back to her shoulders, and she worried that she might be too weak to hold the gun steady.
It didn't matter. By now, the nearest Chickasaw canoe was within fifty yards. That was the one Sequoyah had targeted, not the one she'd shot at.
At that range, Tiana could hit practically anything, even with a smoothbore.
Two of the Chickasaws, she saw, had already fired their guns. One, a musket; the other-stupid fool!-a pistol. Vaguely, she could remember hearing the sounds of the gunshots.
That left one Chickasaw with a loaded gun, the man farthest to the rear. He was starting to bring his musket up.
Tiana blew him right out of the canoe. Ross's rifle was a heavy caliber, with a bore well over half an inch. The bullet must have struck the man in the middle of the chest. He almost did a full back somersault before his body hit the water.
Then Sequoyah's gun fired again. The Chickasaw with the pistol seemed to fold up and collapse into the canoe.
"Three down!" barked James. "Forget that one. We'll go around them, Ross. Start paddling. "
A moment later, both canoes were driving through the water again. Not a moment too soon, either. Out of the corner of her eye, Tiana saw something flashing toward them.
Turning her head, she saw an arrow plunge into the river, not more than five yards away. A second later, another one did the same, even closer.
Looking up, she could see several Chickasaw warriors on the north bank of the river. They were armed with bows. The traditional weapons were too awkward to use well in a canoe, so they must have given their few guns to the men who'd be carrying the attack onto the river.
They weren't awkward to use on land, though. And "traditional" didn't mean the same as "ineffective." They were within bow range, too, even if at the extreme edge of it.
Tiana had seen the results of wounds inflicted by arrows. Worse than gunshot wounds, usually, since it was impossible to draw out the barbed arrowheads. They either had to be cut out or pushed all the way through the flesh. Removing the hideous things often caused more damage than the initial wound itself. They had to be removed, too. Bullets, dull and blunt, normally did little further damage once they were lodged in a body. And they tended to work their own way out, over time.
Not arrowheads, with their sharp edges. They'd keep cutting up flesh every time a person moved-and the barbs would make them work their way still deeper.
James was obviously of the same mind. Instead of staying as far away from the enemy canoe as possible, he steered directly for it. The enemy warriors on the shore wouldn't dare fire at them, right next to one of their own canoes. Although they were still within bow range, they were far enough away that the Chickasaws on the shore couldn't aim very carefully.
"Get ready," he hissed. "There's still two of them left in that canoe."
Three, really, since the man Sequoyah had wounded wasn't completely out of the fight. In fact, he seemed to have the only remaining unfired gun. A pistol, which he could use even with one shoulder maimed. If he was tough enough.
He was. Tiana could see him raising the pistol, grimacing like a madman. At the point-blank range James was bringing them into, he couldn't possibly miss.
"Here!" she heard John cry out. Still blinded from the splinters, her brother had been coolheaded enough to follow the progress of the battle by hearing alone. He was holding up his musket, thrusting it in her direction, gripping it one-handed by the barrel.
Even if Tiana had had the time to reload Ross's rifle, she wouldn't have had the strength. But the musket was already loaded. All she had to do was shoot.
She brought it quickly to her shoulder. But then she realized that James had already brought their canoe almost even with the enemy's.
The Chickasaw canoe was on her right. Tiana was right-handed.
She didn't even think to shift the butt to her left shoulder. That would have made for an awkward shot, but still an easy one to make, at such close range.
Instead, from reflex and excitement, she twisted and rose to a crouch. Brought the musket up.
"Tiana!" James shouted.
She fired the gun. The Chickasaw with the pistol went over the side of his canoe, spraying blood everywhere. The bullet had struck him in the neck, just above the chestbone.