I would have given kingdoms in those days to have been seventeen and James Ray.When he was in the fort I dogged his footsteps, and listened with a painful yearning to the stories of his escapes from the roving bands.
And as many a character is watered in its growth by hero-worship, so my own grew firmer in the contemplation of Ray's resourcefulness.My strange life had far removed me from lads of my own age, and he took a fancy to me, perhaps because of the very persistence of my devotion to him.I cleaned his gun, filled his powder flask, and ran to do his every bidding.
I used in the hot summer days to lie under the elm tree and listen to the settlers' talk about a man named Henderson, who had bought a great part of Kentucky from the Indians, and had gone out with Boone to found Boonesboro some two years before.They spoke of much that Idid not understand concerning the discountenance by Virginia of these claims, speculating as to whether Henderson's grants were good.For some of them held these grants, and others Virginia grants--a fruitful source of quarrel between them.Some spoke, too, of Washington and his ragged soldiers going up and down the old colonies and fighting for a freedom which there seemed little chance of getting.But their anger seemed to blaze most fiercely when they spoke of a mysterious British general named Hamilton, whom they called ``the ha'r buyer,'' and who from his stronghold in the north country across the great Ohio sent down these hordes of savages to harry us.
I learned to hate Hamilton with the rest, and pictured him with the visage of a fiend.We laid at his door every outrage that had happened at the three stations, and put upon him the blood of those who had been carried off to torture in the Indian villages of the northern forests.
And when--amidst great excitement--a spent runner would arrive from Boonesboro or St.Asaph's and beg Mr.
Clark for a squad, it was commonly with the first breath that came into his body that he cursed Hamilton.
So the summer wore away, while we lived from hand to mouth on such scanty fare as the two of them shot and what we could venture to gather in the unkempt fields near the gates.A winter of famine lurked ahead, and men were goaded near to madness at the thought of clearings made and corn planted in the spring within reach of their hands, as it were, and they might not harvest it.
At length, when a fortnight had passed, and Tom and Ray had gone forth day after day without sight or fresh sign of Indians, the weight lifted from our hearts.There were many things that might yet be planted and come to maturity before the late Kentucky frosts.
The pressure within the fort, like a flood, opened the gates of it, despite the sturdily disapproving figure of a young man who stood silent under the sentry box, leaning on his Deckard.He was Colonel George Rogers Clark,[1]
Commander-in-chief of the backwoodsmen of Kentucky, whose power was reenforced by that strange thing called an education.It was this, no doubt, gave him command of words when he chose to use them.
[1] It appears that Mr.Clark had not yet received the title of Colonel, though he held command.--EDITOR.
``Faith,'' said Terence, as we passed him, `` 'tis a foine man he is, and a gintleman born.Wasn't it him gathered the Convintion here in Harrodstown last year that chose him and another to go to the Virginia legislatoor? And him but a lad, ye might say.The divil fly away wid his caution! Sure the redskins is as toired as us, and gone home to the wives and childher, bad cess to thim.''
And so the first day the gates were opened we went into the fields a little way; and the next day a little farther.They had once seemed to me an unexplored and forbidden country as I searched them with my eyes from the sentry boxes.And yet I felt a shame to go with Polly Ann and Mrs.Cowan and the women while James Ray and Tom sat with the guard of men between us and the forest line.Like a child on a holiday, Polly Ann ran hither and thither among the stalks, her black hair flying and a song on her lips.
``Soon we'll be having a little home of our own, Davy,''
she cried; ``Tom has the place chose on a knoll by the river, and the land is rich with hickory and pawpaw.Ireckon we may be going there next week.''
Caution being born into me with all the strength of a vice, I said nothing.Whereupon she seized me in her strong hands and shook me.
``Ye little imp!'' said she, while the women paused in their work to laugh at us.
``The boy is right, Polly Ann,'' said Mrs.Harrod, ``and he's got more sense than most of the men in the fort.''
``Ay, that he has,'' the gaunt Mrs.Cowan put in, eying me fiercely, while she gave one of her own offsprings a slap that sent him spinning.
Whatever Polly Ann might have said would have been to the point, but it was lost, for just then the sound of a shot came down the wind, and a half a score of women stampeded through the stalks, carrying me down like a reed before them.When I staggered to my feet Polly Ann and Mrs.Cowan and Mrs.Harrod were standing alone.For there was little of fear in those three.
``Shucks!'' said Mrs.Cowan, ``I reckon it's that Jim Ray shooting at a mark,'' and she began to pick nettles again.
``Vimmen is a shy critter,'' remarked Swein Poulsson, coming up.I had a shrewd notion that he had run with the others.
``Wimmen!'' Mrs.Cowan fairly roared.``Wimmen!
Tell us how ye went in March with the boys to fight the varmints at the Sugar Orchard, Swein!''
We all laughed, for we loved him none the less.His little blue eyes were perfectly solemn as he answered:--``Ve send you fight Injuns mit your tongue, Mrs.Cowan.
Then we haf no more troubles.''
``Land of Canaan!'' cried she, ``I reckon I could do more harm with it than you with a gun.''