A WELCOME VOICE
Dense bushes fringed a bluff looking
down on the Muskingum River. In these, concealed
from view, lay a boy of fifteen. His face was
worn and thin. His moccasins and leggins
were frayed from much running through undergrowth.
He was peering through the branches to a bend in the
river. He had lain there hours, watching.
That morning, a canoe containing two savages came
up past him. The Indians were paddling vigorously.
Why their haste? That was what the boy would know.
The reader has guessed the lad’s
name and so will readily understand that Rodney Allison
concluded if the Indians were being pursued it was
by white men.
Ah! was it? Yes, surely that
was the shadow of a canoe. Now he could see its
sides under the overhanging branches which concealed
its occupants from his view.
“An’ all tin
twins o’ thim great at shenannegan,
An’ all o’ thim born in pairs.
Pat an’ Terry, Tom an’ Tim,
Peter, Mary Ann ”
“Halloa!”
“There’s one of ’em
coming down through the bushes now, Nick,” exclaimed
a man in the stern of the canoe.
“I never could sing that song
without interruption, Chevalier.”
The speaker had shipped his paddle
and grasped his rifle, saying as he did so: “Look
out, boys, the voice is white but there may be red
shenannegan behind it.”
Rodney Allison leaped to the beach
below in full view of the party. There he stood,
panting and staring as though at a ghost.
“I say, sonny, if ye’ve
objections to our looks now’s the time to put
’em on file,” said Nick.
“Dominick Ferguson! I thought
you were dead!” gasped the boy.
“Aisy now, don’t
feel so bad bekase I’m not. Whereabout did
ye find the handle o’ me name, lad?”
“So you’re not the man
the Indians killed, that day down on the Ohio, when
they captured me?”
“Do I look loike I was?”
Then dawning comprehension showed in the man’s
face. “Ah reckon poor Job Armistead was
the unfortnit one; he never showed up. May your
name be Allison?” he asked.
“It is. Have you room in the canoe for
one more?”
“We’ll make room,”
spoke two of the men at the same moment, turning the
craft to shore. Thus, after long months of captivity
and days of fleeing through a country infested with
warlike savages, Rodney Allison came back to his own
people.
“You must have seen my father,
then, Mr. Ferguson?” said the boy as he stepped
into the canoe.
“Sure; found him expectin’
ye an’ he was nigh crazy. You ought to
heard him call us cowards an’ knaves fer
leavin’ ye. He wanted to start right off
alone to bring ye back, an’ would, but we told
him thar were others in his family to think about.”
“Where is he now, and have you
any news from Charlottesville?”
“He went back to Virginny an’
give up the enterprise down on the Kanawha. Saw
a man the other day who said he heard yer father had
joined the men under Lewis. Now if he’d
come along with us we’d had a family gatherin’
right out here in the woods. The family’s
well, I reckon, or yer dad wouldn’t hev gone
sojerin’.”
The next day the expedition left the
river and began a march toward an Indian settlement
known as Wappatomica Town. In the order of this
march the division under Captain Wood went ahead, much
to the disgust of some of the men with Morgan, for
they were greedy for glory, and a chance to win laurels
and the consequent promotions.
As they were marching through a part
of the country through which Rodney had passed in
his flight, he remarked to Ferguson, “I don’t
envy the fellows on ahead when they come to a place
about a mile from here. If I know anything about
Indians, they’ll lie in wait for us there,”
and he described a locality where he had hidden from
a party of savages, one of the critical experiences
in his flight.
“Me lad, you come with Ferguson,”
and Rodney was conducted by him to Morgan and introduced.
“Well, my boy, if you got out
alive we ought to be able to get in.”
“Captain Morgan, from where
I lay in hiding that day a dozen men could shoot down
fifty marching below.”
“This lad, Captain, knows what
he’s talking about. The chief of the village
where he was captive was the redskin that shot ye through
the neck and chased ye an’ threw his hatchet
at yer head.”
“Yes, Ahneota said the Great
Spirit turned the tomahawk aside so that you might
live to persecute the Indians.”
“I hope the old rascal was right.
I think, young man, we’ll need you for scout
duty.”
“Askin’ yer pardon, Captain,
but the lad’s had his share o’ risk, to
my thinkin’.”
“Nick, we are here to do something.
Every man must do the best he can. This boy can
do that work better than you or I. If you were the
best man would ye shirk it?”
“I’ll go, Captain,”
replied Ferguson, “but don’t send the boy.”
“I want to do what I can, Captain Morgan,”
said Rodney.
“I can tell ’em, Ferguson,
I can tell ’em,” and the look of approval
Morgan gave the boy as he spoke was one for which Rodney
Allison would have stormed an Indian town alone and
single handed.
“Now, young man, you run ahead
and warn Wood. Tell him Morgan sent ye.”
Rodney ran forward with alacrity,
proud of the responsibility that had been placed on
him. He had not gone far before he discovered
that the place of ambush was much nearer than he had
thought, an error wholly excusable, considering the
conditions under which he had first seen the country.
He ran at top speed, but was too late,
otherwise he might have been among the men who fell
under the volley which a band of about fifty Indians,
lying in ambush at the very place indicated by the
boy, poured into the ranks of Captain Wood’s
men.
Rodney hesitated and then ran forward,
joining in the melee.
A moment later there was yelling and
commotion behind, and Morgan and his men came running
to their support. A heavy hand was laid on the
boy’s shoulder, and Captain Morgan demanded of
him, “Do you know of any place where we can
get behind the red devils and dislodge ’em?”
“This way, Captain,” and
Rodney ran to the right. He recalled the way
he had left the hiding place. Up that bluff they
might attack the Indians in the rear.
“Come on, boys,” Morgan
shouted, and a rush was made upon the heels of young
Allison.
A shot from above warned them that
the Indians had discovered their approach. Rodney
heard the bullet singing. The next instant Morgan
seized him by the shoulder, saying, “Go back!
You are ordered to the rear;” then, with a yell,
the leader charged up the hill, his men close at his
back. The charge dislodged the Indians and they
fled.
The troops advanced toward the town
more cautiously, but found the Indians had deserted
it, carrying away everything movable.
“Why ain’t we chasin’
’em, I’d like to know?” asked an
ensign with an important air.
“We first better find out whether
they’re running or hiding,” replied Rodney,
nettled at the fellow’s importance.
“Sensible remark,” said
Captain Morgan, who had come up and heard the conversation.
“You know something about this country, also
about Indians. Suppose you slip along behind
the trees an’ cross the creek half a mile up
stream and see what ye can find. Don’t shoot
unless obliged to and don’t hurry. Don’t
leave shelter until you are sure there ain’t
a redskin behind the trees in front.”
It was a perilous task, and some might
blame Morgan for assigning the boy to it. As
it has already appeared, he would ask no one to attempt
that which he wouldn’t do himself, and the conclusion
must be that he thought the boy the best one he could
send on the duty which some one must do.
The boy had listened to Ahneota’s
descriptions of Indian methods in battle and knew
they would have scouts out. He believed the main
body would simply cross the stream and lie in wait
for the troops and attack them crossing so as to throw
them into confusion. They would, however, send
men to reconnoitre the main body of the troops, and
these scouts, assigned to a task similar to his, were
the ones he must avoid, a difficult thing to do, as
will be readily understood.
Rodney made his way with extreme caution
until he caught a glimpse of an Indian stealthily
advancing toward the main body of troops; then, believing
that Indian would be the only one sent from that quarter
and having eluded the redskin, he went hastily forward
to the creek, crossing it at a narrow place fully
half a mile above where the savages had crossed.
Making his way down toward the ambush
was nerve-racking work, but finally the boy was rewarded
by discovering a sentinel on guard.
The Indians were waiting just where
he had supposed. Now to get back without meeting
the scout he had passed! At last the feat was
accomplished without a glimpse of a savage on the way.
On his arrival he found the troops getting ready to
advance, for another scout, sent out at the same time
as he, had returned with the report that he found
no Indians and that they must have fled.
“Well, they are there,”
exclaimed Rodney, and he told what he had seen.
“The youngster’s got redskins
on the brain, I calc’late,” drawled one
fellow, at which the boy got very red in the face.
Captain Morgan here appeared, saying,
“You’re back at last. What d’ye
see?”
When the boy described what he had
done Morgan promptly said, “You did your duty,
my boy,” and proceeded to act on the information.
A guard was posted to make sure the savages did not
recross and make an attack, for it was found they
were in considerable force.
After several days, during which skirmishes
were fought and the Indians beaten, the savages sued
for peace and were asked to give hostages.
Rodney did not believe they wanted
peace. They had been too angry to be satisfied
with no worse defeat than this. His opinion proved
correct and, the troops being short of provisions,
a retreat began, everything belonging to the savages
being first destroyed even to the corn, of which the
troops took for their own use all they could carry.
In fact, before they got back to Wheeling, they were
obliged to live on one ear per day to each soldier,
very short rations for men marching and fighting,
as the savages dogged their footsteps and inflicted
considerable losses on them.
There were times on the retreat when
it seemed the troops would be cut off and annihilated.
In this struggle Rodney bore his part so well as to
win the approval of his associates. One day on
the retreat, when the boy and the “Chevalier”
were acting as flankers, scouting ahead and outside
the main body, Rodney saved his companion’s life.
The “Chevalier” was not
familiar with Indian methods of fighting and held
them in contempt. He and the boy had several arguments
about the matter, the former contending that a savage
was dangerous only when one was running away from
him.
In the work they were now assigned
to, it was a part of wisdom to screen one’s
self behind trees, advancing quickly from one to another.
The “Chevalier” declared
he was not out in that country for the “fun
of dodging.” Rodney, however, adhered to
the practice, luckily for both.
The “Chevalier” was striding
along as though an enemy were not within a hundred
miles, when the lad’s trained eye caught sight
of the heel of a savage, who was kneeling behind a
big tree and waiting for his foe to pass. The
“Chevalier” was walking on, his head up,
and in three paces would have exposed himself to the
redskin’s rifle.
Rodney yelled an alarm and took a
quick shot at the Indian’s heel, the only part
of him exposed.
“Jump behind a tree and hold
your fire,” the boy had cried, for, if he missed
the savage, he would need the protection of the “Chevalier’s”
rifle before he could reload. But his shot went
true, as a howl from the savage bore witness.
Startled by the cry and the report
of the rifle, the “Chevalier,” for once,
moved quickly to cover, and, between the two, they
compelled the Indian to surrender. He had a painful
wound in his ankle and finally, after being disarmed,
was left behind, though some of the men wanted to
kill him.
The “Chevalier” extended
his hand to Rodney, saying, “I have you to thank
for my poor existence. You did ill trying to do
well, but of course you didn’t know it.
Perhaps I will find a way to repay.”
The man spoke seriously, not in a
spirit of banter, and Rodney wondered. When he
told one of the men later what the “Chevalier”
had said, the fellow remarked: “So the
Chevalier was solemn, was he? Kain’t be
possible his mightiness is sufferin’ from liver
complaint with only one ear o’ corn a day.”
All were glad to be back at Wheeling,
where Major McDonald decided to wait for the arrival
of Governor Dunmore. The governor finally arrived
in all the pomp of war and with enough men to raise
the total number to about twelve hundred.
Up to the time of his arrival it had
been supposed that he would take his army down the
Ohio River and join that of General Lewis before making
an attack on the Indians. Now he announced that
the army would proceed in boats down the Ohio to the
Hockhocking River and up that river to the falls,
whence he would march across country to the Indian
towns on the Scioto River. He sent messengers
to General Lewis ordering him to join the main body
at that point.
“If the redskins learn what’s
up they’ll have a chance to wipe Lewis off the
earth,” remarked one frontiersman in Rodney’s
hearing.
The Indians did learn Dunmore’s
plan and almost succeeded in defeating the division
under Lewis.