Voices; Birth-Marks; The Man and the Elephant Part 26

"* * * I have been reflecting many days whether it would be proper to inform D'Arges of the idea of Wilkinson and the latter of the errand of the former in order to unite them, that they may work in accord with each other, * * * Wilkinson * * * would be greatly disgusted that another person should share a confidence on which depended his life and honor. For these reasons I am not able to declare the matter to D'Arges, nor could I confide the errand of the latter to the former before knowing the intention of His Majesty about Wilkinson. The delivery of Kentucky to His Majesty, the princ.i.p.al object to which Wilkinson has promised to devote himself entirely, would a.s.sure forever, this province as a rampart to New Spain, for which reason I consider the project of D'Arges a misfortune."

On May 15, 1788, General Wilkinson wrote a letter to Miro and Navarro, in which he said:

"I antic.i.p.ate no obstacle on the part of Congress, because under the present confederation that body cannot dispose of men or money and the new government, if it succeeds in establis.h.i.+ng itself, will encounter difficulties that will keep it without vigor for three or four years; before which time I have good reason to hope we shall complete our negotiations, and we will be too strong to be subjugated by whatever force may be sent against us."

On the 22nd of May, 1790, Governor Miro, wrote to the Spanish Minister, Antonio Valdes:

"Although I thought with Wilkinson that the commercial concessions made to the western people might deter them from effecting their separation from the United States, * * * yet I never imagined that the effect would be so sudden and that the large number of influential men whom Wilkinson in his previous letters had mentioned as having been gained over to our party, would have entirely vanished, as he now announces it, since he affirms having no other aid at present than Sebastian. * * *

"* * * Nevertheless, I am of opinion that said brigadier general ought to be retained in the service of His Majesty with an annual pension of two thousand dollars, which I have already proposed in my confidential despatch No. 46, because the inhabitants of Kentucky and of the other establishments on the Ohio will not be able to undertake anything against this province, without his communicating it to us, and without his making at the same time all possible efforts to dissuade them from any bad designs against us, as he has already done repeatedly. * * * A pension should be granted to Sebastian because I think it proper to treat with this individual, who will be able to enlighten me on the conduct of Wilkinson and on what we have to expect from the plans of said brigadier general."

CHAPTER XV.-Dorothy Again a Prisoner.

John, after eight months' absence, was home again. The quiet of the valley was profound and satisfying. Though he brought back in money less than he had taken away, he had stored up much worldly wisdom and experience; and like all men had paid the price.

His guilelessness was gone; the old faith that he could love all men as he loved everything of the valley was no more. Before, he had looked out and seen that everything was good; now he knew that all were not good and that not every spoken word was true; and without ever having wronged any one, he had been forced to flee as a criminal. It made him morbid.

His heart overflowed with love for his mountains; for the deep silent forest and for the Pinnacle-from it he might look forth and see so much of nature's pleasant face and feel the peace that reigned. How he loved the smell of the growing corn, the clover fragrance of the meadow and nature's minor voices; of rippling waters, of summer breezes, of singing birds, of chirping crickets by night, of harvest flies and katydids by day, of summer daylight showers and on sultry nights the low distant thunder rumbling in the mountains.

How much purer life seemed, how much simpler than in the Settlements.

Here, G.o.d in nature reigned; there, where man seemed master, the face of nature was defaced. It was a confusion of ugliness, of new cabins, brush heaps, stumps, the decaying skeletons of dead and belted trees; and the earth was barren and torn.

He would spend his whole life in the valley-if only Dorothy were here; *

* * man must not live alone; * * * she alone were needed to make this as paradise, before the fall of man.

* * * What have you to do with fallen men? "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." * * * Not as you love the stars. Are you to remain here cradled in the lap of nature? A wood nymph of six feet two? Why your great strength?-your broad shoulders? Why a man that can discern? Why a voice? Why a soul?-and one that has visions of the glory of G.o.d. What use for a teacher in this solitude? What use for broad shoulders where burdens are light? What use for vision if you are not a prophet? Visions but beget broader vision. Are you not of those whose honors come after death? Since you first began to think and speak have you not thought and said: I will go forth to service, in order that the grain ripe for harvest may not perish from my neglect? Wouldst be questioned and commanded: Wist you not that you must be about the Master's business?

Go!

Through the last days of June and into July, John hoed and sweated in the corn; the weeds came thicker than the year before; the tares grew denser and closer-and whence the tares? And his mind was on the call to go to the Settlements to serve men-where Dorothy * * *

The corn was laid by, the days grew sultry and hot, it was early August.

Then he went into the meadow; with each swing of the blade and each rasp of the whetstone he heard the call to service-or to Dorothy.

Each Sunday afternoon and when unfit weather made a holiday, he climbed to the Gap and the Pinnacle; and always his eyes were turned northward towards the Settlements; where the harvest was ripe and needed reapers and where Dorothy, if she were home again, * * * but why always was his call to service coupled with thoughts of Dorothy? Was it in truth a call-or did he merely wish to leave the valley to be with Dorothy?

This Sunday afternoon on the Pinnacle resolutely he turned his back to the Settlements, facing the unbroken forest of Powell's Valley, saying: "I fought this out a year ago; my call comes first."

His vision became fixed upon a fleecy cloud way to the southward or was it the smoke from a burning forest? Did he sleep; or did he see the misty filmy substance take shape? He never knew with certainty. In any event he saw a great river and floating upon it a large flat boat, such as river emigrants used. As he looked the boat rounded a great bend and approached the mouth of a smaller river emptying into it from the northward. Hid in the willows at the mouth of the smaller river, he counted, one by one, ten large war canoes filled with Indians waiting.

He recognized the location. It was the mouth of the Big Miami; where John Filson and Colonel Patterson, with their men, had held the pow-wow with the Indians, on their way up river to lay off Losanteville.

Two white men running along the bank of the Ohio, some distance above the willows, were calling to the boat: "Come ash.o.r.e and take us aboard.

We escaped from the Indians last night and shall be found and murdered."

They were the decoys of the war party.

The boat had heavy bulwarks and was heavily loaded; aboard were more than a dozen men and several women and children. On the deck fastened to a chain running between two heavy supports were eight horses and several cows.

The crew, confident of their strength, approached the sh.o.r.e though warned not to do so by Captain Fairfax, who with his daughter were pa.s.sengers. The captain of the boat said: "They may be decoys as you say, but we will not land; merely go in close enough to ascertain who the men are and if they are in distress throw out a line, if they cannot swim to us. It seems hard to believe that white men could be found to decoy us; and if they are closely pursued and murdered in our sight or recaptured we would never forgive ourselves for not helping them.

Several of you men have your rifles ready in case of attack. The beach is clear of undergrowth until we reach the willows and we will shove out again before we get that far."

They came within a short distance of the sh.o.r.e, calling to the men to swim to them. One answered he could not swim and they ran along the sh.o.r.e abreast of the boat, all the while drawing near the willows. When the men reached a wash-out they dropped into it out of sight. At the same time the Indians dashed out in their canoes and the battle began.

The men at the sweeps were killed at the first volley; the boat drifted yet nearer the sh.o.r.e and the canoes were almost upon it.

The horses and cattle frightened by the firing and by the noise began to struggle and plunge and to crowd and push towards the off-sh.o.r.e or port side of the boat; which was tilted until the water flowed in and the overloaded boat sank in seven feet of water.

Some of the crew and pa.s.sengers struggled in the water, the children were drowned in the cabin. Those yet on deck stood shoulder deep in the water but their rifles were useless; and the Indians coming very close, tomahawked and scalped the survivors.

John saw Captain Fairfax strike with his rifle barrel an Indian sitting in the bow of a canoe. Several Indians with the muzzles of their rifles within a foot of his face fired; he sank into the water, but reaching down they recovered his body and scalped him. Then he saw a young woman swimming from the sunken boat out into the river towards the swift running current, hoping thus to escape. She swam well, and for a while he thought she would escape; but one of the Indians pointed her out to those in his canoe and they gave chase. When almost near enough to strike, she dived and rose again twenty feet down the stream; but the canoe was also riding with the current and each time she rose it was near. She dived again and when she came up the Indian in the bow who had first seen her, caught her by the hair and hauled her into the canoe.

John saw her face. He had felt all the while it was Dorothy. The Indians were strangers to him and he grew sick with fear for her. They were from the headwaters of the Big Miami. For the first time in his life he was possessed with an overwhelming desire to kill.

The Indians again landed at the willows; removed from their canoes several of their dead and wounded and four captives, two men and two women. The men were bleeding from wounds and nearly drowned. A little later two canoes came ash.o.r.e, leading by their halters three horses and two cows.

They bound the two half drowned men to stakes and built great fires about them. They killed the two cows and roasted the men and their meat in the same fires.

A few small pieces of drift and an upturned canoe marked the site of the battle; otherwise the bosom of the river was as placid as before. * * *

And the vision faded.

John, as deeply moved as if he had been tied to a stake and helplessly witnessed it all, knew that the vision he had seen had just occurred as pictured, though he was more than two hundred miles from the mouth of the Big Miami.

He went home in a very frenzy of pa.s.sion; ate his supper in silence and as his parents noticed in a sort of semi-consciousness; eating more than he habitually did.

After supper he told them of his dream, as he chose to call it, saying: "After I have rescued Dorothy I will take her to her mother; then I will attend a theological school for some months. After I have finished, I will come back here and help during the summer; then I shall give my whole time to preaching."

He made hasty preparation to leave for the Miami country; knowing in an unaccountable way that Dorothy was yet alive. He went to bed and slept until the moon rose over the mountains, which gave sufficient light to travel, then set forth afoot, carrying only his girdle, a hunting knife, hatchet, blanket and several days' rations of parched corn and jerked meat.

He took the Warrior's Trail northward, traveling the first sixty miles in twenty hours, stopping only for a drink of water now and then, munching an occasional mouthful of parched corn or dried meat as he walked. Darkness having come again and, needing rest, he bathed in a small stream, and in a dry, sheltered spot under an overhanging cliff slept until the gray of morning; then he hurried on, breakfasting upon the corn and meat as he walked.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, he reached the south bank of the Ohio, opposite the mouth of the Miami, and could see the willows where the Indians had waited in their canoes. Walking up the stream to offset the distance the current would wash him down while swimming across, he selected from a pile of drift two small, dry cottonwood logs and lashed and launched them into the river; having tied his clothing on one end and holding to the other, he swam across, landing on the opposite sh.o.r.e at the mouth of the draw a few yards above the willows.

Having dressed again, he ate the last of his ration of corn and meat, which was supplemented by a few late dewberries which he found growing on the bluff. Then hiding in the willows at the mouth of the river, he spread his blanket on the soft white sand and almost immediately went to sleep.

Some hours later he was aroused by the grating of the prow of a canoe upon the sandy beach a few yards above him; then another landed. Though the sound may have been made by hostile Indians, it was a break in his loneliness; as since leaving home, he had not seen or heard a human being. It was too dark to see, but listening intently he was convinced his neighbors were Indians because they were stealthy of movement and talked in brief and subdued monotone.

He finally made out they were Mingoes; and thought he recognized one by his voice as Deer Runner; one of the Indians who had been with him at Jenkins' Station the year before.

Greeting them as friends, he called the name of this Indian and announced his own. There was a moment of absolute silence; then he asked about the Prophet and several others of his friends. Then he heard one say to his companions: "It is Chief Cross-Bearer, the strong armed. Let us light a fire so we can see his face and cook something. I am hungry."

Then he came over to where John sat, and for an Indian, greeted him cordially; the others followed.

He told them the cause of his journey; and in turn was informed that two white women who had been taken from a boat on the Ohio, were held prisoners at an Indian town about fifty miles up the Miami.

Convinced that Dorothy was one of them he asked Deer Runner to take him in the small canoe to the village and ordered the other four Indians to hasten to Shauane-Town, and tell the Prophet of Dorothy's capture and ask his a.s.sistance.

At daylight he and Deer Runner left for the village in the small canoe, while the others were yet making preparations to continue up the Ohio to the mouth of the Scioto, the Mingo country.