Beyond the Quiet Hills

by Aaron McCarver

  “I appreciate hearing it. Abigail’s been afraid to come to your place. Afraid she wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “I wish she would. Sarah misses her, George. She needs all the friends she can get.”

  The men were putting another log into place, and as he moved toward one end and Stevens took the other end, Hawk said, “All we can do is pray for Jacob, which Elizabeth and I have been doing for a long time.” He leaned over and put his weight behind the log as it was hoisted into place by men on top pulling with ropes, then he said just loudly enough for Stevens to hear him, “I know God will send an answer if we will just wait on Him.”

  ****

  Abigail had spent considerable time at the building site, helping her mother cook for the men who came in from the outer settlements. Now that the fort was finished, her father said one morning, “I think you ought to go over and visit the Spencers, Abby. They might think you don’t feel right toward them, staying away like you have.”

  Abigail agreed at once and began to make her way toward the Spencer homestead, wondering how she would be able to behave acceptably toward Jacob. She had slept badly ever since the breakup, and Sarah had told her how Jacob was refusing to say more than a few words to anybody.

  Now as she entered the clearing she found herself apprehensive, and when she saw Jacob plowing in the garden patch, she forced herself to go to him.

  “Hello, Jacob,” she called out and stood waiting to see what he would say.

  Jacob pulled the horse to a stop with a curt word and turned to face Abigail. His face was expressionless, and he said merely, “Andrew’s in the barn.”

  “I came over to see Sarah.”

  “She’s with him, and Amanda, too. Get up, Flossie!”

  Abigail was hurt by Jacob’s abrupt manner, but there was no way she could make things any better. She turned and walked quickly to the barn, where she found Sarah, Amanda, and Andrew admiring the newborn calf. “Hello,” she said.

  At once Sarah came over and gave her a hug. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too,” Amanda said. “Come and look at the new calf. Sarah wants to name her Jezebel.”

  “You can’t do that, Sarah. She was an awful woman,” Andrew protested. He was smiling at Abigail, leaning back on one of the beams that held the roof in place. At nineteen he was in the prime of manhood, strong and fit. He seemed pleased to see Abigail and asked, “How are your folks?”

  “They’re fine. It’s good to see you all.”

  The four stood there admiring the new calf, with Sarah doing most of the talking. She was now sixteen and already a beauty. Her red hair was fixed neatly for a change, plaited behind her back, and her pale green eyes were flashing with excitement as she spoke.

  They talked about the fort and other things of interest in the community, but all the time Abigail was thinking primarily of Jacob. She was unaware that he had halted his horse and had come to stand outside the barn, listening to their conversation.

  Even as he stood there, Jacob had an impulse to move inside, for he missed the camaraderie that he had had with all of the young people. He was twenty years old now and realized that he was acting like a small child. If he had been more honest with himself, he might have realized that he was at times reverting to the days of his childhood—striving to become again the small boy who desperately missed the father who had abandoned him. For a while he listened, then tore himself away and went silently back to the horse and began plowing again.

  ****

  The coppery faces around the campfire were sullen, and dark eyes were bright with bitter anger. Most white men saw all Cherokee as being more or less alike, but the members of the tribes who had gathered to plan their strategy were similar and yet vastly different. From the north there were the Mohawk, the Delaware, the Ottawa, the Nancuta, the Mingo, and the Shawnee. Others of the Iroquois Federation sat around the circle. The meeting had been long, and all of these tribes were determined to enlist the aid of the Cherokee, the strongest tribe of the south. Now it was Dragging Canoe who stood before the representatives of all the tribes and made an eloquent plea. His pockmarked face was alive with excitement as he said, “We must support the British. We must drive the long knives back across the mountains, then we will have our land back.”

  The old chief Attacullaculla had reluctantly agreed to support the British. Now, however, he drew himself up and stared across the fire at his son. He studied him carefully and said, “You cannot trust the British. They claim that they will let us keep our lands, but they will not keep their treaty.”

  “We do not know that, Father,” Dragging Canoe spoke up at once. “We do know that the long knives from across the mountains will take all that we have. We must fight for what is ours.”

  A rumble of agreement went around the circle, and Attacullaculla knew a moment of deep despondency. For years he had been the friend of the white men, and now that the white men themselves had divided into two groups, he knew he could not support both. He sat silently while the debate went on, and finally, when he was forced to speak again, he rose and made his decision.

  “I will support the king’s cause, but I do not want the Cherokee to fight in this war.”

  “We must fight,” Dragging Canoe said instantly. He made a passionate plea, and finally the battle cries broke out from the throats of all of the warriors.

  Attacullaculla knew that he had lost. He sat down and stared at the dirt floor before him and said no more.

  Henry Stewart, the king’s representative, knew a surge of joy, for he had accomplished his aim to enlist the Indians to kill every settler in the area. But now he stood up and said quickly, “My brothers, you have done well to come to support the king, and you will be well rewarded, but I must ask you not to kill those white people who are still loyal to the king.” He knew, in effect, that this was a useless plea, for when Indians went blind with battle rage, a scalp was a scalp. None of the Indians had the slightest notion of British politics, but he was constrained to say so. He knew now what would happen. He would go back to Mobile to the south in Alabama Territory and the northern tribes would leave, and the Cherokee women would begin to prepare their men for the war that was certain to come.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Washington, Lincoln, and Nancy Ward

  By the spring of 1776 the flames of revolution were burning higher and higher. Across the sea King George III made his final mistake. The Colonies had made a peace overture called the Olive Branch Petition, which the monarch rejected out of hand. He pressured Parliament to send an army of fifty-five thousand men in order to crush the revolution. He soon discovered, however, that his subjects were not in sympathy with the British cause. Indeed, there was much more sympathy for the Americans!

  The British soldiers and sailors who had always been ready to answer the call to battle turned a deaf ear to the king’s invitation to crush their fellow Englishmen. Faced with such a lack of response, King George III went looking for hirelings.

  Germany was a fruitful ground for those seeking hirelings, and eventually some thirty thousand German mercenaries served under the English colors in the American war. Since most of them came from Hesse-Cassel, they were all simply called Hessians. The German sovereign paid thirty-five dollars for each soldier killed, twelve dollars for each one wounded, and over five hundred thousand in cold cash.

  This was King George’s final indignity, which convinced most Americans that there was nothing left to do but declare their independence.

  The thirteen Colonies then drew themselves together and eloquently drafted their statement of independence from British tyranny forever. Thomas Jefferson was selected as the chairman for the committees to vote for independence. At thirty-three he was the youngest of the delegates at Philadelphia and not nearly so universally known as Adams or Franklin.

  The pathway to the Declaration was not simple, for although nine of the thirteen Colonies could be counted on to vote for independence, both New York and Penn
sylvania had been instructed to oppose it, while South Carolina and Maryland were not firm in their decisions.

  Finally, however, Thomas Jefferson was commissioned to write the Declaration, and he did so, thus making himself immortal. On July 1, John Adams declared publicly that the Colonies were free and independent, but still only nine Colonies would support the measure. On July 2, Congress convened after a tremendous battle between the Colonies. It was a toss-up as to whether the Declaration of Independence would take place—indeed, whether independence itself would come. Tension rose among the delegates. A driving rain came up, and those in favor of independence searched the rain-soaked streets. The decision might lie in the hands of a Delaware delegate named Caesar Rodney, who was known to be a friend of independence, but who was at the bedside of his ailing wife. Finally Rodney arrived and flung himself off his horse. He was splashed with mud and soaked to the skin. His small, round face, hardly bigger than a large grapefruit, was livid from the ordeal. He was rushed into the chambers and put Delaware into the affirmative column, after which Pennsylvania came into line, and South Carolina then followed.

  On July 4, all the delegates to the Congress were present, except John Dickinson, and approved the Declaration of Independence. John Hancock, President of the Congress, signed first with the great strokes of his pen, which would make his name synonymous with flamboyant signatures, and declared, “There, I guess King George will be able to read that!”

  They all signed then, the Lees of Virginia, Charles Carroll of Carrolltown, a Catholic in the midst of a Protestant sea, and finally it was Ben Franklin who wryly said, “We must all hang together or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

  The Declaration of Independence was printed and sent all over the Colonies with tremendous effect. Savannah burned King George in effigy, New York pulled down his statue, and Connecticut melted it down for bullets, while Boston tore George’s coat of arms from the State House and burned it in an exultant and defiant manner. Thus it was that America was born, and the independence that burned in the hearts of the colonists was put into the immortal words of the Declaration of Independence.

  ****

  Isaac Lincoln had not been an outspoken member among the Watauga leaders. A small man with a full gray beard, he was faithful to the court and to the settlement but had taken almost no part of the leadership. He was a distant relative of Daniel Boone and had come to the area on his recommendation in November 1775.

  Isaac Lincoln now sat quietly listening while the leaders discussed what to do. James Robertson had brought the news that Virginia had refused to accept them as part of their state, and William Bean had spoken up, saying, “I think it might be best to send a petition to North Carolina. I have reason to believe that they will be glad to accept us as part of their colony.”

  “I’m for that,” Hawk spoke up quickly. “Now that the Declaration of Independence has been made, we’ve got to make our position clear. I’m for petitioning to join North Carolina as Washington County.”

  It was then that Isaac Lincoln spoke up, saying, “We must make one thing clear, gentlemen.” He looked around at their surprised faces, for he had never spoken so firmly before, but it was clear in his mind what he wanted to do. “Whatever else, they must accept the fact that the purchase of our lands from the Cherokee is legal.”

  A murmur of agreement went around the room, and immediately the messenger left with the petition, the ink almost wet upon it. Hawk came over to stand beside Lincoln and said, “That was a good point, Isaac. It wouldn’t do much good to fight for liberty if we had no lands of our own in the end.”

  Isaac smiled slightly, then grew sober. “I wonder what the Cherokee are doing,” he mused.

  “Nothing for our good. You can be sure of that,” Hawk murmured.

  ****

  Indeed, the Cherokee were making plans to go to war. They had met with all of the chiefs, and now the decision had been made. Chief Old Abram was there, as well as Chief The Raven. But it was Chief Dragging Canoe who acted as spokesman for the group.

  “We must strike and strike at once!” Dragging Canoe stood before the others. A large crowd of braves had gathered, and even some of the squaws stood in the background. All knew that war would come and they were hungry for it—at least the young men were.

  Far in the background Nancy Ward, the niece of Attacullaculla, stood listening quietly. She allowed nothing to show on her face, but her heart was saddened because of the deaths among both whites and Cherokee that soon would come. She listened, hoping to find some mitigation in the views of Dragging Canoe, but the more she listened, the more she knew there was no hope of averting war.

  “Chief Old Abram will lead four hundred warriors against the Watauga and Nolichucky whites,” Dragging Canoe said loudly. “I will lead that many against the Long Island settlement, and then move to Virginia. Chief The Raven will take a group of braves and attack the settlement at Carter’s Valley, and then join me in attacking Virginia. We will wipe the white men from the face of our land! They will never return, for we will soak the earth with their blood!”

  For some time the meeting went on, and Nancy Ward stood listening to all that was said. Finally she knew that although her heart was with the Cherokee, and she was called the “Beloved Woman” of the tribe, she could not allow the slaughter to take place. Turning, she walked quietly away. No one paid heed to her as she disappeared, mounted her horse, then rode out of the Cherokee camp.

  Shadows were growing long by the time Nancy had reached the home of her cousin, Wurteh. Wurteh was married to a Virginian named Nathaniel Gist, and she met Nancy with her seven-month-old baby in her arms. The child was named George, but called Sequoyah by the Cherokee.

  “My sister,” Wurteh smiled. “You are welcome.” Then seeing the expression on Nancy Ward’s face, she said, “What is the matter?”

  “Where is the trader Isaac Thomas, Wurteh?”

  “He is with Nathaniel and with some other traders outside the town. What is wrong?”

  Nancy hesitated. “It is war. I will tell you later, but now I must go find Thomas.” She left at once, guiding her mare until she found Isaac Thomas speaking with William Faulin and Jarrett Williams, who turned to greet her. All had great respect for Nancy Ward, and after greeting her, they waited until she spoke.

  “You must get the settlers away. Dragging Canoe and the other warriors will attack very soon now.”

  Nancy’s statement electrified Gist, and at once he began to make plans. “I’ll get you some horses,” he said to the traders, “then you’ll have to get out of town. We’ve got to warn the settlers of what is to happen.”

  Nathaniel turned to Nancy and put his hand lightly on her shoulder. “You have saved many lives, Nancy. All of our people will be grateful to you.”

  Nancy did not return Gist’s smile, for she was a woman caught between two destinies. She loved the Cherokee, but she also loved her husband and the white people in the valley. Now she knew as she turned away that there would be dead men, women, and children on both sides of her heritage.

  ****

  Hawk made a final trip out to the wagon to toss in the feather mattress. It was goose down and represented the labor of many months. He himself had always been satisfied with corn shucks, but Elizabeth had not only plucked her own geese but traded for feathers from everyone in the area. As he put the mattress down he thought, Well, I don’t think there’s any danger of Indians making off with this, but I will admit it’s pretty nice on a cold winter night.

  As Hawk turned away he bumped into Andrew, who had brought out the last of the clothes stuffed into a cotton sack. He tossed it up on the wagon, waited to see if it would roll off, and when he turned to Hawk, his eyes were bright with excitement. “Do you really think there’ll be fighting, Pa?”

  Hawk made a slight grimace at the look of expectation on Andrew’s face, but he knew that young men thought differently about war. He looked with affection into Andrew’s face, thinking, as he
often did, how much he looked like his father, Patrick. “I calculate there will. That’s why we’re going to Fort Caswell.”

  “Why did they name it Fort Caswell? It seems they’d have named it Fort Bean or after one of our people.”

  “Richard Caswell is the Governor Elect of North Carolina, son. Now, we’d better get ready. I wouldn’t put it past the Cherokee to attack at any time.” He looked up as Jacob came out the door carrying the large black pot that was Elizabeth’s pride and joy and said, “Jacob, would you go see if Iris and Amanda are ready to go? And finish helping them load up.”

  “All right,” Jacob nodded briefly, then turned toward the smaller cabin. He stopped long enough to put the pot in the wagon, then moved quickly until he came to stand before the second wagon, where Amanda was just putting a sack of something inside.

  “Let me help you with that, Amanda.” Reaching down, he lifted the sack and grunted. “This is heavy. What is it?”

  “It’s our cooking pots and an iron that Mr. Smith made for us at his smithy.”

  “Are you almost ready to go?”

  “Almost. Just a few more things.”

  “All right. Pa says we’ve got to leave in a hurry. I’ll come back and drive the wagon for you.”

  Amanda had been working hard on loading the wagon. If an attack came, it was likely that the Indians would burn the cabin, so all the settlers were taking everything they could into the fort. Now, however, as she looked at Jacob, she saw something in his face that made her call out impulsively, “Jacob?”

  Jacob turned and asked impatiently, “What is it, Amanda?”

  “I . . . I was just wondering what was wrong with you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but it seems there’s never time.”

  “I’m all right. There’s nothing wrong with me,” Jacob snapped.

  Amanda shrank as Jacob spoke sharply and she turned back toward the door. However, before she entered the cabin, suddenly her face changed. She was a mild-mannered girl, never challenging what her elders said, but something seemed to come to her and she whirled and said, “Wait a minute!”