THE STORY Chapter 1
WILDERNESS CONFLICT
Two hundred axes slammed into tree trunks creating a
constant staccato of thuds from morning till night. Boys and women were busy hacking and pulling
the cut brush as far back into the woods as possible while ten teams of oxen
were hitched repeatedly to fallen trees in order to clear the way. Their groans
and grunts of displeasure mingled with the sounds of axes striking wood, filled
every waking moment of the day. Red jackets and green shirts were thrown in
disarray on every shrub or low tree limb that would bear the weight of the
garments leaving the men swinging the axes shirtless for the most part, but
many still wore their white silk undershirts. The women were wives, sweethearts
and even ladies of ill repute who had been following the large group of men
since the 29Th of May. It was now July 5, 1755 and there were twenty two
hundred men with General Edward Braddock on his march to capture Fort Duquesne
on the west side of the Monongahela River. The going was slow the army moving
less than two miles per day. A road had to be cleared through the dense
forest in order to pass canon and supply wagons onward to the point of future
conflict with the French and the pace was far too slow. The closer his army
moved toward the Monongahela the greater the odds of discovery and retaliation
by the French and Indians who occupied the fort. Braddock called a meeting with his commanders,
Charles Lee, Thomas Gage and Horatio Gates to determine the most advantageous
course of action. After thirty short minutes it was decided that General
Braddock would split his forces with he taking 1500 men (a flying column) and
pushing on ahead at great speed while Colonel Thomas Dunbar would command the
supply column and baggage wagons which would eventually fall far behind the
main thrust. July 7 and 9 found the flying column being harassed by occasional
rifle fire from deep in the woods by unseen adversaries. The only indication of
the enemy was the lingering puffs of white smoke from their rifle shots. The
General could now assume that the French and Indian defenders at Ft Duquesne
would be alerted to their presence and a surprise siege was out of the
question. The intelligence of that time indicated the fort contained
approximately three hundred French regulars and seven hundred Indians comprised
of Ottawa’s, Ojibwas and Pottawatomie's. That small contingent of French
regulars and savages would be no match for crack, seasoned British regulars and
Scott's Guard troops.
July 9, 1755 found Braddock crossing the Monongahela
River where he split his 1500 men yet again. He sent Colonel Thomas Gage ahead
at a fast pace to try to find siege positions on the South side of the French
fort. It was during this maneuver that Gage ran directly into a large party of
French, Canadians and Indians. The enemy scattered left and right disappearing
into the forest where seconds later the sounds of musket and rifle fire could
be heard and the associated white puffs of smoke could be seen from whence the
shots originated. The shooting began as a few occasional sharp cracks had
gradually accelerated to a continuous barrage of rifle and musket fire. The
French with their Indian allies had taken positions on both sides of the
British column. Colonel Gage and General Braddock both whipped the lobster
backs into long ranks and had the men step out away from the line in groups of
forty men. These groups of forty would split again and reassemble in a line
with twenty riflemen in front and twenty more directly behind them. In this way
the row of riflemen in the rear could fire a volley while their kneeling
comrades in front reloaded their muskets. While this military posturing was
being undertaken; the colonial militia took cover behind whatever was available
and returned fire. They aimed a foot under the white puffs of smoke that
lingered above a fired enemy gun. Balls could be heard whizzing by and smacking
hard into tree wood with a sound resembling a large stone striking a tree when
thrown. Sounds of Ka Thunk, were lead balls striking human bodies and that
sound was on the increase. The British formations were being decimated. Some
formations of forty men were quickly reduced to ten and less as the air was
thickened with the smell of burned gun powder that had an acrid stench to it
and burned the eyes. Screams could be heard from the forest as Indians were
growing eager in their success. An occasional savage would run full out and
into a formation of red coats swinging his tomahawk wildly, striking one or two
troopers and exit out the back side of the line before anyone could react.
A commotion toward the front of the fighting!! General
Braddock can be seen, left foot in a stirrup, mounting a horse. His white mare
has been shot from under him and he had commandeered another. Not a heart beat
later his newly acquired gray stallion
was felled by a bullet to its forehead. It lay on its side, legs thrashing and in agony. General Braddock was given yet
another horse and mounted it from the right side in an ungraceful manner.
The British formation blocks were deteriorating and the
dead and dying were many. Soon groups of red coats were breaking away from the
conflict and running back toward the rear terrified! Many more started and a
general route was taking place. General Braddock and Colonel George Washington
charged through the men on horseback and blocked the escape route in an attempt
to turn the tide of desertion and it was here that General Braddock threw up
both arms and tilted his head back, face to the sky, and fell from his horse.
He was quickly picked up by four aids and carried along toward the rear of the
fighting, shuffling through the hoards of frightened red coats who ran, crawled
and limped as best they could. The entire fifteen hundred man force was in
retreat. The Colonials held their positions, laying down heavy musket fire, to
cover the British exit. The French pushed forward until the militia found it
prudent to evacuate. They ran on and on. They were beaten. They had ideas of
surrender. But they ran harder at that thought. They had heard of what becomes
of prisoners taken by savage Indians. The French and Indians played a harassing
game. They were like mosquitoes; here, there and everywhere. Lobster backs were
falling from their rifle cracks. The holes were in the back; not in the front.
To make matters worse, the supply caravan was rushing toward the fight and was
startled to be confronted by what was left of the flying column running toward
them. The two groups collided on the small road. The fleeing troops instilled
terror into the wagon drivers and the two columns of troops that travelled
beside them. In two's and three's the wagons were stopped, backed up and joined
the retreating British. Oxen pulled hard as the heavy wagons creaked back
toward the South East. Drivers were jumping off the slow moving wagons pulled
by oxen and hitching rides on the swift moving horse drawn supply rigs.
Soldiers tried to cling to the wagon boxes with one hand and attempted to run
along side only to fall and be run over by the wagon wheels. Their haste to get
away would assure their capture by the enemy as there was no time in the
retreat to pick up stragglers. They prayed the French would find them before
the savages. Edward Braddock lay in misery on the bed of a jostling wagon. A
rifle ball entered his body from the right side, passed through his stomach and
out the other side leaving a gaping hole above his hip. He was gut shot and
passed in and out of consciousness until finally he expired. His cadre
instantly dug a grave in the middle of the wagon road, wrapped the general in
white linen and laid him in the hole on his back. The grave was covered with
dirt with hopes that the wagons and horses would drive over the grave site and
obliterate all traces of it from the enemy, who surely would decimate the
generals remains if found.
One of the oxen pulled supply wagons became lodged
between a boulder and a large spruce. The right rear wheel was broken off the
axle. The driver quickly jumped off the seat and ran up to the two oxen in
harness and withdrew an especially long knife and sliced through the harness
straps that secured the beasts to the wagon tongue. The proper thing to have
done, per orders, was to cut the throats of the oxen in order to deprive the
enemy of their use but the young man grew up on a farm in the colonies and his
father taught him to respect animals and to treat them with dignity. Animals
were the earth’s fruit and they sustained human life and provided
"everything" the pioneering people required to make a go of it on the
frontier. Animals were revered and their lives taken only for human sustenance.
So he set them free. They lumbered off a short distance into the woods and
started grazing. The Indians would probably feast on them tonight, but at least
they were free to stand or run.
The young man's name was Matthew Solomon. He was known as
Matty for short. His father was a farmer and a black smith in the colonies of Central Maryland . Most children of the time would follow
their father or mother's foot steps and simply continue on in life as tillers
of the soil or farmers wives but young Matty always had a wander lust about
him. He spent his time in the woods hunting or tracking when he could get away
from the farm crops and chores. After a few years he would succumb to the lure
of the wilderness and the unknown. He left the farm at 19 years of age and
travelled over the frontier working temporary, odd jobs in towns that had no
names. Enough money would be collected to sustain him with food, gun powder and
ball for his rifle and eventually a horse. His movements took him South along
the Allegheny Mountains to Fort Cumberland in the colony Maryland and It was
here that he saw the poster tacked to the tail gate of a colonial militia
supply wagon. It read "Experienced
wagon drivers wanted. Men of adventure needed. “Must be over 15 years old and
healthy. Inquire at Quarter Master's tent, first on left." Why not? There
was nothing else to do so Matty tore the poster from the tail gate and sloshed
through the muddy path called a street to the quarter master’s tent. "Yes
sir. The pay is ten cents colonial per day, mess provided by the king twice
daily." It was better than nothing. Matty would report to the quarter
master in the morning to receive his wagon rig, but one thing bothered him. Why would they want men of adventure? He would
find out. He made his appearance at the appointed place at 6AM next morning
were forty men already stood about or leaning against hitching posts or wagons.
Many were older and their leathery, dark skin proved that their lives were
spent in the wilderness. They were filthy and their clothes were buckskin
indicating a life of wilderness hardship while others were obviously straight
from the farm. For the most part they were young and, at the least, clean. A
militia man appeared with a roster and called out the names of the new hires.
"Aye!" and "here!" were yelled after the names were called
out. There were many names called that were followed by silence. The militia man
named Colonel George Washington appeared from a nearby tent and stepped upon a
nail keg to gain the advantage of height and stared out upon the assembled
rabble moving his head left and right with eyes unblinking and mouth tight shut
appearing stern and quite serious. Then he spoke.
"Men! We are
about to embark on a campaign against the French and Indian at Fort Duquesne
So this was it.,
The promise of adventure made his blood hot and almost giddy with excitement.
He waited there by his wagon until the British General Dunbar directed the
assemblage of teams into military order. One column of wagons two abreast
flanked by colonial militia. The lobster backs were assembled four abreast and
formed in front of the wagons in columns so long that Matty could not see the
beginning of them. There must be over a thousand of em, he thought. In reality,
there were 2200 red coats and Colonial Militia total. The wagon drivers were
extra. And so, off they went starting the grand adventure.
Matty
was 6 foot tall and weighed 195 pounds at 19 years of age. He worked hard on
his father’s farm since he was ten years old. Every pound of him was solid
muscle. His family did not have much worldly worth and lived in a one room log
cabin affair that his father and mother, together, hastily constructed on a
tract of land in North Cumberland ,
Maryland
Matty
knew that the farm could not hold him. He was 19 years old and wasn't really
sure what he wanted. But he was certain it wasn't the plow. He needed to leave.
The forest pulled him with the strength of oxen. He could wait no longer. It
would be Sunday in three more days and he would leave then.
"What
will you do and where will you go?, his mother said. “Your father and I have built this farm
knowing that someday you and yours would family here. How can you just leave?”
"Emily,
the boy is his own master. He can do as
he pleases. We came to this land to
escape the lords who all but enslaved us into labor. We are free to work the soil, to raise
children, and to assume wealth, little that it is. Matty is my son and I'll not be forcing him
to a life he does not want. Son, go yer
own way. But set the path back to yer
mother and me well in yer head."
His
father's eyes were glassy and a tear trickled down from the corner of his left
eye. He extended his right hand out to his son. When Matty grasped his fathers
hand, the old man leaped to his feet pulling Matty toward him, released the
hand shake grip and threw both arms around Matty's back and held his son tight
to him.
He whispered in Matty's ear, "I'm proud
of you son. Follow yer dream. And remember the path home."
Matty's mother sat in a stick chair, sobbing.
She seemed small and frail all of a sudden to Matty. Matty walked over to his mother and embraced
her.
"I'll be back mother. I'll not be gone forever. Maybe in the spring. Yes, the spring. I'll return in the spring - no later than
May. I'll have lots of stories to tell
you both."
Sunday finally came. The sun slowly began its
climb from the East; Matty had collected
a few necessaries, laid them on an open wool blanket and rolled the blanket
over them into a tight cylindrical shape. A four foot piece of rawhide was tied
to both ends of the blanket. The rawhide was just long enough to sling the
travel roll over his shoulder. At 7:00 AM Sunday morning, Matty hugged his
mother on the cabin porch. He used light but firm pressure to hold her against
him. His father came onto the porch carrying a package wrapped in heavy paper
saturated in bear grease. The bear grease would make it water proof. The
package was tied together with a single piece of rawhide.
His
father said, "Something for your journey.
No need to open it now. Wait
till tonight."
Matty embraced his father and then his mother.
He stood back away from the porch and gave them both a long endearing stair. He
then turned and walked down the path and entered the woods at the South side of
the farm. He didn't look back. If he did he might lose his resolve to leave.
No, he would hold his course south. He was on his own.
By
night fall he had happened onto a small stream that flowed north to south at
the base of the Allegheny foot hills. Up until now the going had been easy. The
ground was flat and lightly forested with tall, slender pines. In short, he
made good time travelling more than 23 miles since sun up. He would camp here
for the night under a huge hemlock that towered above the tallest tree in view.
He unrolled his blanket and spread it on the ground and lay down upon his back.
He looked up through the tree, his eyes searching through the branches. It was
interesting how the limbs all seemed to grow straight out from the trunk then
slope downward and out at an Angle. When viewed altogether as a whole, the
traditional pine tree shape was created. Round tree, larger at the bottom, and
tapering to a point on top. Amazing, he thought! He rolled onto his right side and noticed the
box his father had given him. His eyes came alive. Reaching out with his right
hand, he hooked his index finger under the rawhide tie and pulled the box to
him. While untying the package, his thoughts returned to his mother and father.
Both had tried to be strong and sympathetic with his wishes to leave home. But
he saw through their charade. His mother constantly blotted tears from her
cheeks with the bottom edge of her apron and his father often looked past
Matty's head to avoid eye contact while concurring with his reasons for his
leaving home. The package had a heft to it. The opening had a flap that was
held closed by a narrow rawhide strip twisted around a wooden dowel that pushed
through the box from the inside. The dowel protruded through a hole in the flap
thereby holding the flap closed. He turned the box upside down dumping the
contents out onto the ground. There were five pieces of jagged flint and a six
inch long, 1/2 inch diameter piece of iron stock. This was perfect for fire
starting. An old, worn wet stone tumbled out followed by a small tin of whale
oil. There was something heavy that was wedged tightly against the sides of the
interior. It would not fall out. When he turned the box over and looked inside,
he saw a knife and a leather sheath. His eyes grew very wide, and he sat up to
inspect this find. The blade was a good seven inches long with a stag bone
handle. The top of the blade was thick and two inches from the tip was
sharpened like a razor and sloped down and slightly up again to a needle point.
The bottom edge was sharpened from the hilt all the way to the blade's tip.
That edge gently curved upward to the point of the knife. A very wicked piece
of craftsmanship he thought. It was of heavy steel with impeccable craftsmanship
and contained a finish as smooth and bright as a mirror. An inscription was
etched on the left side of the blade. It read; Solomon 1750. Solomon - Father -
Did his father make this blade? He must have. But, when and where? It had to be
back in England
He
awakened at sun up, rolled onto his back, yawned, stretched and stood up. He
reached down and picked up the wicked looking knife and the leather sheath. The
sheathed knife was inserted behind his pant belt on his right side. All seemed
right with the world. He felt more complete and somehow, more secure with the
knife at his disposal. He gathered up his belongings and moved on toward the south
at a brisk pace.
Matty
would stop at small homesteads and villages along his path and work at odd
labor for meals and at times a few shillings. After three months he found his
way to Fort Cumberland
in Maryland Potomac River . As the French and English relationship
deteriorated on the frontier, there became a need for a military presence in
those territories. The old depot was expanded and a formidable defensible
fortification was created. It was here, at Fort Cumberland
"Yo,
yo, hold up. Wait!"
Matty
grabbed hold of the brake arm of the wagon and pulled himself up over the side
and onto the seat of the wagon.
The
driver, a boy of 19 yelled, "what happened? How close are they?
He meant the French and Indians.
"There must be over a thousand of em to
make the red coats turn tail like this," Matty replied.
The wagon driver spoke in a loud voice;
"we can't cover ground fast enough with all these soldiers all over the
road."
He would whip the two horses with his buggy
whip only to yell "whoa" when a group of red coats would step in
front of the wagon. Matty and the wagon driver could hear the rifle cracks
behind them. They were about an eighth of a mile back, but that was too close
for Matty.
Matty
addressed the young wagon driver; "What's your name?"
"Boone, Daniel Boone."
Boone
was all of 6'3". He was dressed head to toe in dirty deer skin garments.
The deer skin over shirt was worn on the outside of the pant. On his feet were
leather moccasins. His hands were large. His left hand held the traces that
controlled the team and his right held the buggy whip. Boone's head was bare,
but a colonial tri corner hat lay in the
bed of the wagon. His skin appeared weathered and sun tanned to the darkest
brown. Boone wore a trusting face and his gray eyes were constantly moving,
constantly searching the woods trying to penetrate deep inside the tree lined
perimeter.
Boone
said, "Here; take this."
Boone's eyes fell to the rifle that leaned
against his right side. Matty grasped the rifle and laid it across his knees.
"She's primed and all set to touch
off," Boone said.
It
was a beautiful long rifle of Kentucky
Boone reached over toward Matty, touched the
shot pouch and told him "reload without the patch. Its quicker loaden
and the shooten will be close range, if
there is any. Probably won't need to be
dead on for long shooten."
Matty
couldn't believe what he was hearing. This man in buckskin was talking about killing
human beings as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Matty looked down at the
rifle again and allowed his gaze to wander over the length of the weapon. It
was constructed as a full stock rifle with the stock flowing on past the
trigger guard and quickly tapering down to form a forearm (under barrel
support) that extended below the barrel to the end. He noted the calibre to be
.36. The inscription was on the lock plate. Someday he would own such a rifle.
Boone
drove the team at a steady pace. Actually it was a snail's pace. The path was
congested with panic stricken soldiers and terrified women. The women followed
along with the supply wagons well behind the advance force. Most of them were
entrepreneurs of the battlefields. Many of them had followed other military
engagements and were familiar with roaming the battle field for spoils. Those
battles were fought in the traditional European style of warfare. Battles on
European soil saw regiments and companies of combatants align themselves
parallel with each other, stand and fire into the ranks. They would be torn
with rifle ball and grape shot until one side called retreat. The women would
appear for the treasures that lay about amongst the fallen. They would rifle
each fallen man's garments for loot. It didn't matter which side was the
victor. Spoils of war were spoils of war. However, the fighting here in the Americas
The
sharp cracks of rifles could be heard from behind them. The Indian's were
murdering the wounded lobster backs. Those who could not keep up were left to
their own fate. A loud shriek off to the right caused Boone and Matty to both
snap their heads in unison in that direction. A naked savage broke out of the
forest and was running full out toward four wounded red coats who were limping
along the road. The easy prey must have proven too enticing for him. He
brandished a war club in his right hand. An awesome weapon! It had a two foot long
handle with a round stone the size of a grape fruit bound to the business end
of it. He raised the club above shoulder height as he ran down a gentle slope,
jumped high over the trunk of a fallen tree screaming at the top of his lungs.
He was heading for a wounded Scott's
Guardsman who was leaning on the butt of his rifle, muzzle to the ground. He
was stationary. Blood covered his right leg which he had lifted and bent at the
knee. Matty was spell bound as he watched the painted savage charging the
soldier in kilts. He snapped out of it when he heard Boone yell,
"shoot, shoot now! Hurry, now!"
Matty
acted dumb founded. He appeared at a loss for action. He felt Boone snatch the
long rifle out of his hands. When he glanced over at his companion, Boone had
just settled the stock of the weapon to his shoulder, pointed it and the weapon
cracked loudly. The Indian shrieked, and fell forward and lay still, flat on
his stomach, face down. A gentle zephyr blew away the white smoke from the fritzen and the muzzle blast. The wagon slowed
near the injured red coats and Matty jumped out to assist them into the wagon
box. He then climbed back up next to Boone on the driver's seat.
"Why didn't you shoot?," exclaimed
Boone.
"I never shot at a man."
"These
men will kill you if you don't shoot first.
And there methods ain't Christian
if they ketch ya."
Boone
had a disgusted look on his face when he told Matty,
"Don't think of em as men right off. Think of em as vermin. Later, when ya git used to killen em, you can think of em as enemy
men."
Matty
felt embarrassed. He did not act quickly. He didn't act at all. Boone did it
all. He handled the wagon team, shot the savage and saved the red coat. And
even now he was reloading his long rifle and handling the leads to the horses
at the same time. He had just pushed the ball home with the ram rod and slid it
back into the thimbles. Then Boone sat the rifle, butt first, onto the wagon box
floor so that it was propped beside him within easy reach. Matty's hand gripped
the handle of his knife and he felt more secure. The knife now represented
something more than just a sentimental gift. It was a survival tool. It was
necessary to his existence on the frontier. And so would a rifle be. Some way,
some how, he would own a rifle. After witnessing Boones’ handling of his rifle, Matty realized
it was mandatory he acquire one of his own - one like Boone's.
They
drove till night fall. The main contingent of French and Canadians had left the
battle field and returned toward Ft Duquesne.
Some Indians still followed along
keeping well hidden far back in the woods. An occasional shriek or whoop would
sound just to keep the British and colonials nervous. The guards were posted
heavy around the encampment. Boone and Matty struck out before sun up in hopes
of being in the front of the weakened column thereby avoiding the congestion of
foot soldiers, wagons and civilian women on the path. There were already dead
and dying British soldiers who pushed on past last night's encampment due to
terror. One of the horses went lame after only six miles. Boone jumped down to
inspect the lame horse's hoof. A large stone was embedded in the pulpy part of
the hoof. If allowed to continue the horse would lose its ability to walk. Boon
walked to the front of the horses and stood between their shoulders grasping
the harness at their jaws. He walked them off the trail a short ways into the
woods, wagon and all. He withdrew his trades knife and took a step toward the
animal to his left. Matty was observing the scene and immediately understood
Boon's intention.
"No, wait!" Matty yelled.
Boone glanced his way and waited as Matty
strode up to him.
"Cut them loose," Matty exclaimed. Their capture will not win or lose this
conflict.”
Boone replied "its our duty to deprive
the enemy of supplies." These two
horses are to be killed. We will go on
foot."
"No!" Matty replied. Turn em loose now! I can't let you kill them."
Boone
took another step toward the horse and Matty grasped his knife in his clenched
fist and struck Boone from behind as Boone was walking past him. By clutching
the knife handle tightly in his fist, his fingers became hard against the knife
handle creating a more solid fist - and a harder hitting fist. When Matty hit
Boone on the back of his head, Boone fell to the ground stunned. Matty lead
both animals a little further into the forest and removed the rest of the
harnesses. Then he swatted the rump of the white horse and repeated the action
with the brown one. Both horses moved out of sight back into the woods. They
were safe from Boone. Passing ladies and more wounded men helped the four Britt’s climb down out of the wagon. Matty grasped Boone under his shoulders
and hoisted him to his knees. Boone stared at the ground with unclear eyes and
inquired,
"What the hell happened?"
I
couldn't let you kill them horses, Danel. Like I say, their lives won't lose or win
this fight."
"I'll have to keep my eye on you from now
on Matty Soloman" Boone replied.,
Boone
slowly brought his right foot up under himself and rose to a standing position.
Matty took two steps back away from him not knowing what to expect. Matty
reached down and picked up Boone's knife.
"Here
you dropped this," and handed it handle first to his friend. Without a
word, Boone walked to the wagon and picked up his rifle and possibles.
"Guess
we may as well hi tail it outa here on
foot," Boone exclaimed.
"Agreed,"
Matty acknowledged.
There
were many soldiers sitting and lying about while the two worked out the
disposition of the horses. Most were badly wounded. Some were dying. As the two
started off, Boone noticed a red coat sitting with his back against the fence.
A large hole was in his red coat just above his heart and the white blouse
beneath the coat was soaked with his blood. Boone walked over to him and
discovered he was dead. Across his knees lay a Kings Army issue 54 Caliber
musket. The accessories to this gun would be in the pack lying beside the
fallen man. "Matty, here's your
gun. This one won't be needen it no
more."
Sporadic
rifle cracks could be heard, and not too far away. Occasionally a zinging sound could be
heard from a ricochet ball.
Sometimes the rifle balls could be heard passing through tree limbs and
stopping with a thud in a thicker piece of tree wood. The Indians were playing their harassment game.
They would follow the retreating army and snipe at them from far back in the
darkness.
"Lets get goin", Matty said rather
urgently.
Boone lead the way and instantly fell into a
sort of trot holding the rifle in his right hand straight down. Frontiersmen
can keep this pace up morning till night covering as much as forty to fifty
miles in a single day. Matty fell in stride behind Boone. He continuously
twisted his head from side to side searching the shadows under the trees for
their adversaries. At a small creek Boone stopped and they drank.
Boone exclaimed, "We'll stop for the night just over the
crown of that hill there in front of us".
As they topped the small hill, both stopped simultaneously.
There before them stood a small fort in the center of a meadow. Fog surrounded
it and gave the old stockade a macabre appearance. It was constructed simply by
stripping the limbs from four to eight inch diameter trees, cutting the trees
to eight foot lengths and inserting them in a dug ditch so that the cut lengths
of wood stood vertical. A circle about 40 feet in diameter was created by the
poles. In the center of the circle was a small one room cabin. Mounds of dirt
were created thirty feet from the stockade to provide troops protection while
they fired on the enemy. The meadow itself was protection as anyone attacking
the small stockade would have to come out of the woods and cross the open expanse
of ground between forest and stockade. This was Great Meadows - better known as Fort Necessity. It was
constructed quickly out of dire necessity. George Washington and two companies
of Colonials hastily threw this little fort together in winter two years ago
when they discovered a large contingent of French and Indians closing in on
them. The French laid siege to the fort but could not break the will of its
inhabitants. They finally sued for terms of surrender and Colonel Washington
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Chapter 3
They were in for a cold night. No fire would be lighted
for fear it would be a beacon for the Indian miscreant scouts of the French. They gathered pine
boughs and laid them along side the cabin walls to lie upon. Matty plopped down
on his bed with a sigh and a groan. His legs were tired keeping pace with the
frontiersman. It seemed Boone never grew weary. His endurance seemed endless.
Boone set a pace and never varied from it. Hour after hour they loped along stopping
only at streams for quick hands full of water. Then off again. Matty slid to a
sitting position, clasped his hands behind his head and rested his back against
the cabin wall. He watched Boone in the waning light as Boone carefully
inspected his rifle that carried the name Tick Licker. Matty studied Boone's profile. The face was an honest
face, the jaw cut sharp with a prominent chin. Boone's nose had the appearance
of being a bit large for the narrow face. The mouth was proportionate with
everything else and his lips narrow. When Boone was in deep thought, those lips
would close tightly together forming what appeared to be a straight horizontal
line under Boone's nose. Overall a handsome man, but a bit ungainly, Matty thought. Boone was
not an arrogant man but Matty noticed an ere about Boone
that bespoke hidden rage. Matty wondered what it would take to unleash that
characteristic in his companion.
"I reckon we'll head due south just before sun rise
and make for Ft Ligonier. It lies just forty or so miles from us," Boone exclaimed.
Matty acquired a
puzzled look on his face, thought a bit on Boone's statement and replied,
"Think I'll
head further east and south to drop dead south and over toward Ft Cumberland. My
folks live that way. They're due a visit."
"Suit yerself. Yer likely to
run into Boushways or Potowathomes if ya don't keep watch. They're
bad folks who will roast ya alive ifen they ketch ya. Huron is the worse of the lot but they're
up Mohawk Valley way
toward the Hudson River . I’ve seen a Huron scout grab hold of a stirrup of a French officer's horse and run along side while the
horse was galloping. They are a fine
example of Indian heathen. But thars no reasonin with em.
Only one way to talk at em and that's with lead. And
don't take no time a ponderen on weather to shoot or not."
Boone was referring to the incident back in the wagon where Matty hesitated
to use Boone's rifle. Matty swore to himself that would never happen again.
The gray sky's of morning promised a wet day. The air was
cold and thick with moisture. Boone commented that snow might be a possibility.
It was day break and the sun would surely warm up the latter hours.
They both gathered their possibles and moved to the cabin
door. Each lowered himself to one knee, Boone on the left and Matty on the
right side of the door way. Their heads slowly moved into the door opening for
a better view of the surrounding forest. This caution was necessary for obvious
reasons.
"I'll walk
out and turn south into the woods. You cover
me from here. Then I'll watch you when
you come," said Boone. Make sure
that musket is primed with dry powder Matty.
Blow out the old stuff and re prime the pan with this."
Boone handed Matty
a goat horn filled with fine pan powder for the fritzen of his musket. Matty did as Boone instructed. With
rifles ready, Boone stood vertical and exited the cabin through the door while Matty leveled the musket
toward the woods whence they came. Boone walked slowly and stood tall with
rifle across the crook in his left arm at the elbow. The fingers of his right
hand were wrapped around the slender portion of the rifle stock just behind the
cocked hammer with his index finger on the trigger of Tick Licker. He wanted to appear unafraid and daring to any enemy who
might be watching from the forest. Anything less than boldness would instigate
an immediate hostile action from any heathen who might be watching. Like
animals, the Indians always take advantage of the weak and fearful. The fittest always had a
better chance of survival. Such as it was on the frontier. Boone walked casually into the woods then
turned quickly and laid his long rifle across a fallen tree trunk to cover
Matty's exit from the cabin and the small stockade. Like Boone, Matty walked
tall and took long brisk strides appearing to care little about his surroundings. He even carried
his musket in his right hand, arm extended straight down at his side to
indicate his disconcert for danger. The hammer, however, was back
and the trigger set on the big gun. Matty had a feeling of security at the heft
of the weapon in his hand.
A sudden rush of heat flushed over Matty's face as
adrenalin shot through his body. He heard running feet behind him; a rapid thud, thud of someone running really fast toward him. As
he turned to look behind him he caught a movement off to his right. A Savage had run out into the open from the edge of the woods at
the north side of the meadow. Never stopping, Matty looked behind him to see a
French Boucheway trotting after him at much the same speed
Matty was moving. These half French half Indians were masters of the forest and a force to be reckoned with by the colonial militia. They would play havoc on
the British Army through the early period of the war until a special force would
later come on the scene and level the playing field. That force would be Rogers
Matty picked up the pace as he saw the Indian reach behind him to a quiver and withdraw an arrow and
fit it to his bow.
"Where was
Boone? He's supposed to be covering
me."
Matty felt the
first stages of panic. He ran hard. The Indian to his right had run not only
toward him but also to where he would intersect Matty if his arrow missed its
mark. At a position parallel to Matty, the savage dropped to one knee drawing
his bow in the same fluid movement. A sharp crack of a rifle sounded from the
thicket ahead. The arrow launched harmlessly into the ground as the miscreant
fell over onto his side.
"Shoot, shoot
now!" Boone was yelling at Matty from the woods.
"Shoot
now!"
It was a
recreation of the scene in the wagon from yesterday. Matty put it all together
in his head instantly. Boone had taken the shot and dropped the savage. His gun
was empty now and Boone knew the Canadian Boucheway would be on Matty before Boone could finish reloading.
Without slowing down, Matty spun around, and placed the stock of the gun to his
shoulder in one fluid movement. The Canadian was close. Matty could see the
surprised look on his adversaries face as the boucheway looked into the end of the musket. The Canadian held a
flint and ball pistol in his right hand and was raising it when Matty turned.
Matty pulled the trigger and the big 58 caliber musket recoiled back into his shoulder. White smoke
obliterated the view in front of him. His attacker lay flat on his back, his
face covered by a bloody mess, the skull broken in pieces and scattered
alongside the body. Boone was standing at the edge of the woods waving at Matty
to hurry.
"Yer a larnen. Yep, yer a larnen," Boone said.
Matty didn't understand why the Canadian didn't shoot
sooner. Of course Boone had the answer.
"He only had a pistol. Only good at close range. If he'd a shot at ya and missed, you would
have put him in a bad sityeaton with yer musket. He had to run up
close on ya to make sure he hit ya when he shot."
Funny thing - Matty didn't feel bad. He didn't feel
anything. A man tried to kill him and he killed that man. No, he didn't feel
bad at all.
Boone looked at Matty and said, "come on. We gotta make time. Thar will be others a comen and we'll leave a heavy track for em cause we ain't got
time to go careful."
At that Boone turned and took off running. He quickly
fell into a steady, casual run. Matty had just fitted the ram rod back into the
thimbles under the barrel of his musket after
reloading. He quickly closed the gap Boone had gained and fell into the
identical pace of his companion.
Boone slowed and stopped after about five miles. Matty
came up beside him and went down on to his left knee at rest.
Boone said, “I'm goin straight south from here to Fort Ligonier. It's only a day
and a half run. I'd advise you to come
along Matty. The French will have scouts
out now. Them scouts will be savage
unless I miss my guess. Better come along with me to the fort."
Matty stared at the ground while still on his knee.
"Nope, I"m headen for Cumberland
"Yep, I recon you will," said Boone. Alright friend - this is whar we split; " Boone said.
Looking at Matty
Boone said, "remember, run with the
sun anywhere but in front of ya and keep the woods close so ya can run and
hide. Indians is like wolves with a
brain. They stick with something once
they put a mind to it, and if that something’s you - well, good luck."
"We'll meet agin, Danel," Matty said.
"Take care of
yer hair Matty."
"Yep, take
care o yourn Danel."
Matty watched as
Boone disappeared into the forest. His eyes stayed on
Boone's dirty brown deer skin shirt until he was out of sight completely.
Suddenly the realization that he was all alone hit him. He was on his own again.
WILDERNESS CONFLICT Chapter 4
Journey Back
Matty jogged along at a steady pace on an eastern course for two hours
without stopping since leaving Boone. The musket was heavy and it was becoming
an effort to carry. He would switch it from right to his left hand while moving
through the woods. The British issue musket weighed three times that of the
much sought after Pennsylvania long rifle. It was only half the length of a
long rifle but fired a projectile twice the size of the .31 caliber ball of the
more preferred weapon. Muskets were designed to be utilized in volley firing.
It was desirable to throw as much led toward the lines of enemy soldiers as
possible. Its use was incorporated primarily in the European theater of battle
where combatants fought in a gentlemanly fashion. Here, in the Americas
Matty slowed to a stop at a small waterfall. He laid the heavy musket down
and on hands and knees, leaned down and drank heavily from the cold stream.
Rising up and sitting on his haunches he surveyed his surroundings. He was
certain no enemy could get close to him without the sounds of moving brush and
leaves. It was very dense with foliage here. He was uneasy though. He
remembered the occurrences of the morning. Then he had Boone as a companion. He
would be self reliant now. It would be prudent to show care in his travels. The
stream flowed south and east much in the direction he wished to go. He stepped
into the icy water and proceeded to walk briskly down the stream. He would
continue in this fashion until the stream meandered in a non desirable
direction. He travelled in the very shallow stream for an hour. Suddenly the
little rivulet made a sharp right turn against a sandstone wall and tumbled
down over a twenty foot fall. Matty stepped out of the water upon a fallen log
and walked the length of it for thirty feet. He then stepped off the log onto a
boulder and jumped from one huge stone to another until he had moved about
fifty yards from the stream. Upon standing on forest soil once again, he
grasped the musket in his right hand; arm extended straight down, and assumed
the frontiersman's gate that would carry him to nightfall.
Matty did not follow the trail but there was a natural strip of low grass
that grew out of a depression in the ground that he had been following in a southerly
direction for miles. It was a now dry stream bed that had grown up in bright
green grass.
"Probably hasn't seen nuf water in two years to run full", he
said out loud.
If Matty chose this path for its
ease of travel, then someone else could do as well. There were other streams
near by that ran full with clean, crystal water that would be good to camp
along. But to be found at the side of one of them asleep would be a death
sentence. It was nearly dark and Matty stepped onto a log that had fallen
across the dry stream bed and carefully walked off his path to the tree's
uprooted trunk. The land climbed rapidly at that point and Matty decided to
walk up the steep hill side. After forty feet he had to grasp hold of saplings
with his free hand so that his feet would not bear his entire weight and slip
on the near vertical ground. Just then a ledge appeared that cut back into the
hillside nearly twenty feet. It would be here that Matty would spend the night.
He didn't even unroll his blanket. He laid the blanket roll on the ground
against the bank farthest away from the edge of the hill and flopped down onto
the earth unceremoniously and put his head on the rolled wool bundle and
instantly fell asleep.
Matty opened his eyes and glared into a bright moon. The white orb appeared
to hang from the stubby, rotten limb on an old hickory snag that was clinging
to the hillside above him. Something had stirred him from his sound sleep.
There it was again. Talking. There were men below him and they were speaking
French. An occasional muttering of unintelligible gibberish would chime in
between the French from time to time confirming that Indians were also present.
They were camped on the spot where Matty had started up the hillside. It had to
be night time when they arrived so they hadn't discovered any earth scars he
may have made while precipitating the climb up the hillside. Morning's light,
however, may offer the French and Indians proof of his passing. They may send a
scout to try and overtake him while the rest continue on in their intended
direction. He must leave well before day break. He would carefully move
horizontally around the steep hill he was on until he could go up over the top
where it would be flat. There he could resume his speed and put distance
between himself and the French. The French and Indians should be asleep in an
hour or so and he could slip away. A piece of good luck occurred as Matty
prepared to leave his ledge. The sky became cloudy and the moon was nearly
covered in a cloak of darkness. A drizzle of cold rain began to fall. These
were perfect conditions for Matty to get away undetected. He slung his roll
over his shoulder and grabbed the big gun up in his right hand and inched over
to the edge of his ledge to peer at the visitors below. He saw nothing but
darkness. They had no fires. But they were there. He moved out across the side
of the hill as quietly as he could. The going was slow. He could not afford to
slip and cause any noise. When he figured he had gone a hundred yards; he
turned straight up the hill until he went over the top. It was flat there and
sparsely populated with huge trees. He fell into the mile eating gate that
would carry him further away from his enemies.
Just before sun up the French and Indian camp had awakened. The morning
necessaries were administered to and weapons were gathered. The entire group of
twenty French and Nine Seneca Indians were ready to move out in less than ten
minutes. The sun was coming up fast though. As the French hefted shoulder packs
and aligned themselves in single file on this dry stream bed, the Indians
appeared to arbitrarily position themselves on the sides, front and rear of the
French. Two Seneca’s rapidly ran ahead of the group before it started moving.
Those Indians were scouts for the formation. As the French finally started to
move the column, an Indian ran quickly toward a French Lieutenant who appeared
to be giving direction to the Indian contingent. At his arrival, he spoke
rapidly and pointed to the hill side where they camped. Then they both trotted
over to the site to inspect it. The Lieutenant motioned to two savages who were
approaching and pointed to the ground. Each of the two Indians looked up the
hill momentarily and started the ascent. The rest fell in with the French. It
looks like Matty would be followed.
Matty's trail was easy to follow. The two Senecas had no trouble seeing the
places where Matty's feet slid on the steep bank. They were expert trackers and
were travelling almost as fast as Matty was. They both carried French muskets,
a horn full of rifle powder and another smaller horn filled with fine flash
powder. The taller of the two Indians had a wicked tomahawk held to his deer
skin leggings with a length of rawhide. A trade’s knife was tucked into the
waistband of his breech clout. His partner was well muscled but with shorter
legs. When running it appeared his legs were moving twice as fast as his taller
peer. Occasionally they would slow or stop to inspect some bit of information
that pertained to their prey. After brief discussions they would be off again
on their mission.
Matty ran on until eleven o clock. His course lead him out onto a
triangular promontory that offered a view of a large valley far below. He sat
down to catch his breath and allowed his eyes to scan the valley in front of
him. He noticed clearings here and there and wondered if they were the work of
farmers. They were sparse, but they were there. He was not certain if he was in
Pennsylvania or Cumberland Cumberland Pennsylvania
A soft moan came from the girl on the floor. Matty quickly returned to her,
bent down and cupped his hands behind her head. She seemed none the worse for
wear other than the nasty lump on the side of her forehead she received when
her head hit the wall.
Matty said, "can you hear me? Please, wake up. We need to git away from here."
"Who, who are you?", the
girl said feebly.
"Matty Solomon's my name. I just happened by and tried to lend a
hand."
She lifted her head and looked around the room. Then she saw the boy.
"Tommy! Tommy! Oh No!"
She wept wildly. Matty could do nothing but hold her head against his leg.
She grasped his hand in both her's and pushed her face against it. Matty knew
they needed to move and move now.
"They're all dead mam. All of em.
Git it through yer head!. Theres
time nuff fer mornin when I git you to Ft Cumberland.
"What's yer name?", Matty
asked.
"Hanna. Hanna McGiven."
"Hanna, we got to git goin and
now. I know this is hard fer ya, but we
gotta go."
"Father; Mother!"
"They're in the front by the
porch mam".
Matty knew the next question.
"Could we bury them?"
"No Hanna, we can't. We don't have time."
Then Matty thought of something. He helped Hanna outside then went back in
and grabbed some clothes that looked like her's. He then walked to the edge of the clearing and
made her comfortable.
"I'll be back quick Hanna."
Matty ran back toward the cabin, went inside and tore all the blankets and
sheets off the beds and piled them against the cabin wall. He picked up a coal
oil lantern and emptied it on the pile. With flint, steel and scraps of paper,
he started embers burning. These he tossed onto the saturated blankets. They
smoldered and smoked and finally flashed into flame. Turning, he dashed outside
to the bodies of Hanna's father and mother. One by one he took them inside and
laid them on the top of the burning blankets. He walked out of the room. Any
heathen coming this way would not find a white body to hack to pieces. They
would find two dead Indian attackers. If Matty and Hanna were lucky, their
trail away from the cabin would be overlooked. Matty could not know that two
pair of eyes were watching the scene below from the ledge atop the mountain - the
very ledge Matty descended to the valley from. The two savages looked briefly
at each other and a sardonic smile appeared on the face of the bigger man. They
watched in silence as Matty and Hanna disappeared into the forest on the southeast
side of the little clearing the cabin sat upon. At the edge of the forest the
new companions both turned and looked briefly at the cabin. Flames were
shooting through the roof. Hanna was crying hard.
"Git yer self together girl. We need our wits about us. Ya can cry when we git ta Fort Cumberland
Matty practically dragged Hanna. She
was devastated and seemed to have lost her will to go on. But they were moving,
not as fast as Matty would like, but they were moving toward the south.
Two near naked figures silently slipped down the mountain side toward the
burning cabin.
CHAPTER 5
They walked for two hours without stopping. Hanna shuffled along staring at the ground in
an uncaring way. A stop was made to
drink from a narrow brook lined with wild flowers. Matty immediately sat down on a fallen log
and opened his travel roll. He pulled
out a wool blanket and cut two rectangular pieces from it. He then walked to a birch tree and with his
knife, made two cuts entirely around the tree, 24 inches between cuts. The bark was halved and each piece fashioned
into the size and shape of the human foot.
He folded the blanket pieces over the bark and applied a hurried
stitching of thin rawhide that fastened the blanket and bark together. Hanna sat motionless s Matty fastened the new
shoes to her feet and ankles. Another
foot long piece of blanket was cut and Hanna’s old leather, button down shoes
were tied one on each end of the blanket piece and both shoes were thrown high
in a tree where they caught in foliage and hung out of sight.
“We gotta go Miss,” Matty said.
Hanna didn’t answer but acted like his words never reached
her.
“Miss, we have to hurry along. I’m sure we’ll be followed. Our trail is deep.”
He walked over to her and slapped her across the face. Hanna snapped her head around to face him and
she had tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. Looky
here miss – what’s done is done and it can’t be changed. If we don’t hurry along we’ll be caught. Our only chance is to keep moving until we
get close to Fort Cumberland. We’ll
probably run into scouts from the fort.
Now, come on.”
Matty picked up her hand and pulled her to her feet. They were off once again.
Two shadows moved through the forest making no sound –
silent as cats on the hunt. The tallest,
a Huron, stopped abruptly and placed the palm of his hand on an invisible mark
on the ground and looked up at the shorter of the two, a Seneca, and voiced his
opinion concerning the find. A short
conversation ensued and they both jogged off through the forest with determination
on their painted faces. An hour of
constant running brought them to a narrow stream where they both squatted down
and scooped up cool, refreshing water in cupped hands. The Seneca jumped up excitedly and took two
rapid steps to a log – the same log Matty sat on. The Huron stood up and carefully looked at
his surroundings. His head and eyes
became still and a sardonic smile appeared on his face as he saw the tree with
the stripped away bark. Matty was right
when he said their trail was deep. The
two trackers instantly put all the sign together and the story unfolded to them
that they were following two whites who were moving slowly and – awkwardly
through the forest – their environment.
Matty knew they would be found if they stopped for the night. The pursuers would be relentless and follow
without rest. Hanna and he had to make
it to the fort or find a scout party before dark. He doubted Hanna could move through the
wilderness at night. She was exhausted
even now. They carried on a fast walk
for hours and finally came to a place where the forest was broken by a very
wide swath of open land resembling a field.
It was a field. Huge piles of
unburned trees were piled on the edge of the huge field on the opposite side
where the forest once again commenced.
It was too late in the year to plow and plant and the field was left
unattended, probably until spring. They
had to be close to a settlement and that meant that Fort Cumberland was
near. Everything within him told Matty
not to cross the field which would place them in plain view of all the forest’s
edges that surrounded the big open space on three sides. To walk around the entire field would take
over two hours. The brush was dense and
many trees were laid just inside the edge of the woods where the farmers had
dragged them. The field was shaped like
a horseshoe – the open end of the horseshoe faced south and was clear of trees
and brush. They stood at the bottom of
the horseshoe just inside the edge of the forest. Matty paced back and forth slowly, deep in
thought, constantly looking at the open field.
A decision had to be made, and quickly.
Darkness was setting in. He
opened the fritzen on his rifle and blew the fine black powder out of the flash
pan. Fresh priming powder was poured
into the pan and the fritzen closed.
Hanna made a plea to stop there and rest a while
longer. She seemed secure in the thought
that no one could possibly follow and find them these many miles from her
skirmish with the Indians at the cabin.
“No miss – we can’t stop now. I’m tellin ya there are miscreants on our
back trail and they will find us unless we can keep moving,” Matty said.
Hanna offered, “no one can find us. Who would chase after the two of us all these
many miles and, for what reason? It
makes no sense. I can’t go further.”
Matty replied, “the heathen are like wolves. Their on a blood trail and will not give up
until they find the prey. That would be
us. I don’t know everything about
Indians but I do know that when one sets his eyes on ya in blood lust – yer don
fur. A friend named Boone told me once
that ya don’t ever want to be caught by the vermin as they got unthinkable ways
of torturing a white. Now, lets git
goin.”
Matty noticed the sun was going to be in front of them as
they crossed the field. Boone told him to
walk in any direction except into the sun back at Great Meadows. Matty had no choice. They would have to walk directly into the
afternoon sun. there was no other way.
Matty helped Hanna to her feet and they stepped out into
the field to hurry along toward the open end of the horseshoe. Half way across the field, Matty stopped Hanna. He turned and looked back across the area
they had just come from. An Indian
stepped out into the open and looked back at him, his arms hanging down at his
sides – a tomahawk clutched in his right hand.
Not twenty feet beside him a shorter red man made his presence known. They did not proceed as they could see the
long rifle Matty cradled in the crook of his left arm. All participants stood motionless sizing up
the moment.
Matty
felt a chill run down the back of his neck.
He wished his friend Boone was here but – he wasn’t. It was all up to Matty. What would Boone do? What would he do? Matty understood that the two savages
respected the long rifle he carried and they would want him to shoot it. Then he would be defenseless as he could not
reload the weapon before they were upon him.
It appeared to be a standoff.
Neither Indian carried a rifle or an arrow and bow. Matty grabbed Hanna’s arm and turned her to
face away from the heathens. Then Matty
stood up as tall as he could, turned toward the opening in the long meadow and
the two proceeded to slowly walk away from the pair of angry faces that watched
them from behind.
“Don’t
turn around and look back,” Matty told Hanna.
“Don’t give em the pleasure of thinking you are afraid of em. If they sense we fear em they will be more
apt to try all the harder to kill us.”
Matty learned this from his friend Boone. How did Boone become so smart?
The
taller of the two red men grew anxious.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His face showed anger that grew more and more
by the second. The whites were ignoring
their presence as if they were invisible.
The shorter Indian watched his partner to see if he would instigate some
sort of action. The tomahawk rose up and
down as the tall Indian flexed his wrist.
He was on the verge of some important action but seemed not to be able
to implement it. He turned to his left
and angrily uttered some direction to his friend. Then they both started to walk toward Matty
and Hanna.
Matty
heard the gibberish behind him and instantly knew something was afoot. He turned around quickly to see both Indians
casually following them at a walk. Matty
turned back around and continued to walk on at a casual pace with Hanna.
Matty
said, “Take this knife and don’t let it go for nuthin. If this goes the wrong way – don’t let em
take ya girl. I think you know what I’m
sayin. At the least – drag it hard
across yer wrist.”
Hanna
took the knife in her right hand and said to Matty, “I’ve gotten you into this
sir and I’m sorry for it. You could have
left me back at the cabin but you didn’t.
For that I thank you.”
Matty
looked down into her face and locked his eyes to hers and replied, “I couldn’t
leave a pretty girl alone out here in the forest now, could I? ” His tight lips turned slightly up at the
corners in a smirk before he turned his face away from hers.
It
wouldn’t be long before Matty and Hanna reached the space in the surrounding
forest that allowed exit from the field.
Beyond that space the forest resumed after a short distance of treeless
ground. If they could make it to the
forest they would have cover and the game of cat and mouse would become more
interesting.
A
loud shrill whoop sounded behind them and Matty turned around to see the two
red men running full speed toward them.
Matty reminded Hanna of the knife, checked the flash pan and knelt down
on one knee raising the long rifle to his shoulder and taking aim on the
tallest man. The two Indians instantly
turned left and right and each ran toward the opposite edges of the open field. They then turned and ran back across the
field toward each other. They were only
50 yards behind Matty. The idea was to
tempt Matty into firing the rifle rendering it empty and him without a
weapon. They screamed taunting sounds at
the top of their lungs. The sounds made
Hanna cringe and she folded her shoulders inward to make herself appear as
small as possible but, the loud shrieks were ignored by Matty. He was totally focused on keeping the sights
of the long rifle at the proper lead for the tall Indian crossing before
him. Twice his finger squeezed upon the
trigger and twice he thought better of it.
The one shot contained in his rifle was the most precious thing in the
world at the moment.
The
two Indians ran across the field for the third time and returned toward each
other once more. As they approached each
other the tall one screamed an ear piercing order to his friend and both turned
simultaneously toward Matty and Hanna at a dead run. Their weapons were clutched in tight fists
and held aloft as they closed the distance to their quarry. Matty lowered the muzzle of the rifle and the
long legged Indian emitted a terrible scream when he saw the white man seem to
ignore the threat that he and his red friend posed. The entire scene was enacted in a few brief
seconds. Matty instantly snapped the
rifle to his shoulder when the two attackers were a stone’s throw distance from
him and he pulled the trigger. The tall
miscreant threw his arms out to his side and snapped his head straight back as
the ball penetrated the center of his chest.
The short legged fellow beside him faltered a step or two but resumed
his charge toward Matty. He was shorter
in stature than his fallen friend but his torso was thick and boasted
strength. He was on Matty in a
flash. Matty simply dropped to the
ground and the stalky Indian overshot Matty.
The red man was quick. He turned
around instantly and swung the war club at Matty’s head. Matty could only pull his head directly
rearward allowing the stone on the end of the war club to whisk past his face
harmlessly. The club reversed direction
and a deadly back swing was attempted at which Matty ducked his head below the
weapon as it passed once again near his head.
Before the Indian could recover from the swing of the weapon – Matty
lunged at his legs and brought the Indian to the ground. He then quickly pulled himself up the man’s
body until they were face to face. Matty
held the wrists of his opponent. The red man was powerful but his struggle
suddenly stopped and he looked into Matty’s face with surprised, wild open eyes
and a trickle of blood seeped from the corners of his mouth. His head bend down and he saw the point end
of Matty’s knife protruding from the center of his chest, the same knife
Matty’s father gave to him. The Indian toppled over and off Matty. Matty jumped to his feet ready to continue
the fight but calmed himself when he saw the hilt of his knife protruding from
between the Indian’s shoulder blades. Matty glanced around the open field and then
looked down at the Indian by his feet.
He kneeled down and placed his knee on the Indian’s back and grunted as he withdrew the long blade from
the back of his foe and wiped it clean on the Indian’s leggings. He stood looking at Hanna speechless. The long rifle laid on the ground a couple
steps away and he stooped down, picked the rifle up and reloaded it. Again he looked at Hanna. She raised her head up and stared back at
him. He thought how pretty she looked
just then. There was never time to see
how pretty she was, and he was proud of her at the same time because she saved
his life. They moved toward each other
and Matty embraced her and pulled her tight to himself. His hand gently cradled the back of her head
and drew it to his chest. The arm around
her back pulled her to him in a tight embrace.
Without a word he let her go, grasped her by the arm and walked at a
brisk pace toward the end of the open field and into the surrounding forest
beyond where soon a terrible, bloody war would rage for more than seven
years. Matty and Hanna would be plunged
into the French and Indian War. They had
no choice.
WILDERNESS CONFLICT
Chapter 7. DANGEROUS TIMES – A WAR IS BEGINNING
The boards creaked as the woman moved across them sweeping
twigs, leaves and soil from the front porch of the two room cabin. It was spring time in 1756 and a pretty blond
girl in a print gingham dress named Hanna was preparing to start her first summer
in the recently finished log cabin that she worked so hard to build with her
husband. She and Matty Solomon had been
married only 8 months and they worked on the cabin through late summer last,
fall and winter to get it done in time for planting in the spring. Hanna rested the broom against the cabin wall
and stepped forward to the front edge of the porch and allowed her eyes to scan
across the small meadow to the forest’s edge in search of the one man in the
world that she totally trusted. Matty
had saved her life and gave her a reason to live at the same time. They travelled here to the town of Dearborn
in the Mohawk Valley near the Hudson River to take advantage of a land grant offered
by the territorial governor. A chill
was in the air and Hanna went inside stoke up the fire in the hearth.
Matty had taken Hanna to Fort Cumberland in the Cumberland
Territory after escaping the relentless pursuit of the two Huron Indians over
mountain and meadow. He was told his
mother and father had taken refuge in Fort Cumberland to escape the violence on
the frontier that would eventually blossom into the 7 year war and ignite the
world on fire. Matty’s mother had passed
of the flux and he was deeply sorrowed at the news. His father was very ill and it is said that
he was suffering from the same decease that took his wife but Matty saw right
off that he suffered at her loss. He
remained distant to Matty and Hannah sometimes not even recognizing their
presence near him. Then one morning he
was discovered lying beside a stack of hay in the stable, his pitchfork at his
side. The usual tormented look on his
face was replaced with the appearance of complacency and peace. Matty was the last one left to carry on the
Solomon name. His father was laid to
rest beside his mother and that simply was that. A month later Matty and Hannah were married
and decided to leave this dangerous frontier county and move to a more
civilized environment up north toward Canada.
Little did they know they were jumping out of the kettle and into the
fire.
He was now 20 years of age and had had acquired the wisdom
taught by the wilderness through experience and by befriending the many
woodsmen he had met during the Braddock expedition that was assembled to
overtake Fort Duquesne in Pittsburgh.
That debacle resulted in the embarrassment and decimation of that entire
British force and the loss of many companies of red and blue coats alike. Matty often wondered what had become of his
good friend and companion Daniel Boone.
He missed that frontiersman and the easy way he moved through life, just
like the way he moved through the forest – with ease and determination. Their paths would cross again he was sure of
it.
He hefted the white tail deer up behind his neck and settled
it down upon his shoulders, reached over to pick up the rifle that stood
against the tree and checked the prime in the flash pan before heading off east
for home. It was cold and there was a
powder snow on the ground that was neither slippery nor offered any traction to
the slick bottom moccasins he wore on his feet.
Powder snow would not hold a track and that was a desirable thing
because he was on the edge of what was known as the frontier and the frontier
could be a dangerous place to tarry in.
This territory was host to the Abenaki faction of the Iroquois nation
and they were feared by the settlers in these parts and worse, promised
allegiance to the French who had built forts as far as across the frontier
beyond the Ohio River.. He would make a cold camp here and continue on
in the morning.
The clomping of horse’s footsteps could be heard outside and
Hanna froze, listening intently and finally the familiar voice of Charles
Wittman called out, “anyone home? Its
Charles and Ema?” Hanna ran to the door
and swung it open, stepped out and welcomed her neighbors with an invitation to
come in out of the chill and sit by her fire for a spell.
Charles declined stating the reason for their detour to
Matty and Hanna’s cabin from the main route to Dearborn was to deliver a
warning that a rather large contingent of Huron Indians had been seen crossing
the Hudson River at the shoals at Bryson’s
Bend. That was just ten miles
above Hana and Matty’s place. This was
indeed reason to be concerned. The
Wittman’s asked Hanna to come along with them to Deerfield but Hanna declined
stating she had to wait for Matty.
“All right then Hanna.
If we don’t see you by morning tomorrow we’ll send out the militia to
bring you in. Don’t worry none about
Matty cause he’s sharp as a tack and I doubt there’s any Indian that can catch
him iffin he gets them long legs of his churnin.
The snow disappeared as Matty left the forest and approached
the river. The land lost its beauty and
turned to a gooey, sticky, brown mud that tried to suck the moccasins off his
feet at every step. He would cross the
river at the Bryson Bend Shoals and jog north east for three miles to the cabin
and Hanna. Matty had been ranging
through the wilderness ever since the Braddock campaign and had become frontier
tough because of it. His endurance knew
no limits and his strength surpassed that of others his age and size. In short he was a formidable frontiersman and
a product of the wilderness. He fell
into a mile eating gait that experienced frontiersmen used to travel over great
distances and at the same time conserving valuable energy for emergency use if
needed. The weight of the carcass upon
his shoulders amounted to nothing and went unnoticed as Matty’s legs and feet
satisfied the gait required to get him home by sundown this night. The water
was cold as he splashed through the shallows of the shoals and onto the
opposite bank. He never slowed and
ignored the sudden stab of uncomfortable wet coldness that threatened to numb
his feet. He pushed on across the river
and up the mountain side to the narrow trail that would lead him across the top
and down the other side to his cabin and warmth. Hanna would be waiting for him there. Then he saw something that stopped him dead
in his tracks. A trail wound up the
mountain side from the river and cut across in front of him. He reckoned there were more or less a hundred
Indians in that bunch and they were moving quickly at a fast jog. He could tell because their individual foot
prints were spaced wider than a man would make at a walk and worse, they were
headed for Dearborn and would pass precariously close to his cabin and Hanna. He lifted the carcass off his shoulders and
placed it on the low limb of a tree that was sheltered by tall brush and
briars. A quick check of the flash pan
was made, the rifle grasped in his right hand, arm extended straight down and
he stood unmoving and barely breathing.
He listened to the sounds of the forests for some inkling of a sound
that didn’t belong. Satisfied that all
was well; Matty set out at a faster than
normal jog for the top of the mountain where he could save two miles of travel
time to his cabin and gain a lead on those who made the wide trail from the
river. The sun was rising fast and he
made good time over the treacherous ground.
He paused at the top of the ridge that overlooks his place
and scanned all that was below him. It
was then that he noticed movements far down at the base of the mountain where
the meadow started. It was them-and they
were moving at a very fast pace. They
passed into and out of small clearings in the forest. He would have never known they were there if
he didn’t have the vantage point of this high ridge. He counted fifty six miscreants and knew
there was surely that many more that he couldn’t see. Matty started to move off his position when
he saw something that made his heart stop.
A small contingent of Indians broke away from the main group and was
heading into the forest to their right.
If they continued in that direction long enough they would run onto
Matty’s cabin and Hanna would be in trouble.
Without further delay, Matty leapt over the edge of the rock line that
bordered the ridge in front of him and ran as fast as he safely could down the
mountain, bearing a bit to north of east
in order to avoid running afoul
of the intruders he was trying to outdistance.
If all went as planned he would reach the cabin well ahead of them.
Hanna didn’t come into the Dearborn stockade the previous
night and as promised, Charles Wittman
set out in a wagon to find and bring back Hanna
Solomon, ignoring the warnings of the militia sergeant at the stockade
gate not to go alone.
Hanna was tempted to gather up some warm clothing and leave
for town on her own more than a couple times but she wanted to wait for Matty
and share his company so they could make the trek of seven miles to the
stockade together and catch up on the frontier news, not to mention the delight
of sharing endearing moments together after being apart so long.
Matty heard a tapping sound far off in the distance. He stopped and stood still, cocking the right
side of his head in the direction of the sound.
It was rifle fire and it was a bit west of his cabin, between the cabin
and the town of Dearborn. Matty
instantly pushed forward directly toward the cabin and Hana as fast as his legs
would carry him, leaping over fallen logs and jumping small streams without the
slightest loss of speed. He had one
thing on his mind and that was Hana. She
could not know of the danger that was quickly moving through the forest toward
her.
Hanna laid the knit shawl on the bed and carefully folded it
into a neat square and placed it on top of the other garments that lay on top
the rectangular piece of deer skin. She
then pulled the corners of the deerskin up and made a turn of very narrow
rawhide lacing around the corners and tied the bundle tightly. She would be ready to leave when Matty
arrived. She stopped and snapped her
head around toward the window at the sound of rifle fire. It wasn’t real close but it was not far
enough away to suit her nerves. Without
thought she pulled the 31 caliber short Kentucky rifle off the mantle and
checked the prime. Matty had cut a foot
off the barrel of the gun in order to make it less wieldy for Hanna to handle
and constant practice with the piece made Hanna a skilled marksman, if she took
her time and aimed properly. Somehow,
the rifle didn’t do much to calm her as she remembered the sight of her mother
and father lying off the porch of their cabin and her brother, dead at the
window leaving her alone to face certain death herself at the hands of the
heathen. That’s when Matty came into her
life and has been there for her ever after.
She couldn’t travel the road to
Dearborn as that is the direction in which she heard the shots. No, she would have to set out north and west
for a few miles and then due west to the town.
With luck she would go unseen if she stayed just inside the edge of the
forest as much as possible. She wasn’t
sure if she determined the best route to go but at least she had a plan and to
stay here would invite desperate measures for sure. The prepared items were gathered up and tied
in a roll with a rawhide cord tied at each end and the bundle slung over her
shoulder leaving her hands free to carry and handle the gun, knife and powder
horn and bag of shot if necessary. Out
the door she went, down the porch steps and across the open area in front of
the cabin where she entered the forest.
It was shaded and dark under the heavy foliage but somehow she was
comforted by it because she was a frontier woman and the only thing they feared
was God. All else was just something to
overcome.
Charles Wittman slowed the team as the light wagon
approached the narrow stream. The stream
banks were high and he didn’t want to risk breaking a wheel, or worse an axle
by hitting the embankment too hard. The
front wagon wheels eased down the creek bank and were gently pulled up the
other side while the rear wheels followed suit.
He pulled the horses up just after the wagon was safe on the opposite
side. A rifle shot rang out and he
watched in horror as the right hand horse dropped to its knees screaming out in
pain and surprise. A second shot struck
the horse on the left and it jumped straight up in the air and became entangled
in the harness that was in disarray from the first injured animal. Both horses were now entangled in leather
straps and harnesses and lay kicking and bellowing on the ground still tethered
to the wagon tongue. More shots
punctuated by loud yelps could be heard and Charles could detect movement back
in the brush that grew across the creek off to his left. It all happened faster than he could
react. The shots, the horses falling and
screaming, the Indian war yelps were too much for the average town dweller to
comprehend. The yelps became louder and
Charles felt a panic that he never imagined.
He felt a tap on his chest that caught his attention and when he looked
down he saw a shaft of wood protruding through his shirt. It still didn’t register to him what had just
happened. Then, the second arrow
protruded from his chest beside the first one and he knew. He wanted to scream but terror would not
allow him to make a sound or even move.
Instead he tried to smile hoping that a friendly, non-threatening face
would cause his tormenters to cease harming him. Blood ran down over his forehead and eyes to
his mouth and he determined it was his blood.
A fist appeared before his eyes and the fingers were locked tightly
around a scalp that was slapped against his face repeatedly. Charles realized it was his scalp and he knew
he was lost.
Matty kicked the cabin door open and found it empty as he
expected. The rifle was gone as well as
all the possibles associated with it and travel. Clothing was missing and to his delight he
noticed that Hanna had the presence of mind to select the heavy moccasins with
leggings that would provide protection for her feet and legs if she travelled
in the forest. Hanna would never have
chosen the heavy foot gear if she were going to be travelling quickly over
meadows. No, she would be in the forest
for certain and he knew he would be able to catch up to her. The disconcerting thought was that if he
could find her then so could the miscreants that were about. Matty didn’t know that the Herons were
delayed at the creek where they had killed Charles Wittman and were now
pillaging his belongings. It wouldn’t be
long before they would set out again, unknowingly, toward Matty’s cabin.
Matty walked and half jogged along the edge of the meadow
where it met the forest until he found the clue he was looking for. There was a narrow slot through the briars
that was caused by the breaking down of individual briar stalks by someone or
thing in its passing. Wet fallen leaves
were carefully brushed aside and beneath them were found the track of Hanna’s winter
left moccasin. The trail was clear now
and Matty jogged faster, settling into that rapid gate that covers frontier
miles like no other means. The
frontiersmen can actually travel faster on foot across the elements than a well
mounted militia rider can. He determined
that Hanna couldn’t have been on the move for much longer than an hour or two
and judging by the direction she was taking to avoid the enemy patrol, she
would be turning to the south shortly in order to strike upon the Dearborn
stockade. He would turn south now and
attempt to rhondavous with her at some point on her southern course.
Six Huron’s carefully approached the cabin from the sides
and the rear while one lone individual brazenly walked across the one hundred
yard clearing toward the front porch. His
rifle lay across the crook of his left arm in a nonthreatening fashion, a smile
stretched ear to ear across his face. He
stopped short of the steps and voiced a request to be acknowledged to those who
dwelt inside. Five rifles pointed toward
every window and door waiting for the occupants to emerge from the cover of the
cabin. The lone figure in front of the
house again uttered his hello and again received no acknowledgement from
inside. The smile on his face was
quickly replaced with a diabolical frown as his single leap spanned every step
and he landed light footed upon the porch close to the door. A tomahawk appeared in his right hand and the
tiny ax was struck several times against the heavy planking of the door. Two other partners joined him on the porch
and together they put their shoulders to the door until it finally opened and
to their dismay found no one inside.
Matty came to the little spring creek where he and Hanna
were going to build a cabin and start their new life. A bubbling spring lay just upstream two
hundred yards and it was that spring where Matty hoped to find Hanna. He walked around the pool of water and noted
the moss depressed close to the cold pool.
It was her footprint. She was
making better time than he thought but he would catch up to her within the half
hour. The look on Hanna’s face was one
of total relief. Her smile was
infectious and caused an ear to ear smile on Matty’s face that caused him to
struggle slightly while pursing his lips for a kiss from his wife. There was no time for endearing talk or
discussing possible actions to take.
They had to press on to the stockade as fast as possible. Across one more mountain plateau and down that
short slope should put them within 30 minutes from the Dearborn stockade. Matty turned at the edge of the plateau to
have one more check on their back trail and noticed a wisp of dark smoke on the
horizon. It was the cabin. They
hurriedly shuffled down off the mountain and onto the meadow. Matty thought how much he hated to be
continually trailed and chased by an Indian enemy. This was the second time in two years that he
had to run for his life and he was getting very tired of it. The previous circumstance was much like this
one. Matty didn’t know it then but
experience and frontier wisdom would soon change all that. He was destined to become a skilled tracker
and gain a reputation with Indians, friend and foe alike, that he was not one
to be crossed and not one you would want on your trail. Matty figured he would run onto the volunteer
guards that were posted a quarter mile on the outskirts of the stockade that
protected the small population of Deerfield in emergencies. The guard unit was created by General
Nicholas Herkimer who was in charge of the safety of the town and its
inhabitance and was created to offer a first line of defense that would allow
the residences of Deerfield to reach the stockade in times of danger.
They were making good time as the fires of the town and
stockade came into view. It would be a
good guess that most of the town was inside the stockade judging by the volume
of cooking smoke wafting into the air from all corners of the compound. Just then the shrieking started behind them
and Matty grabbed Hanna’s hand and pulled her along as fast as he could get her
to run. Puffs of gray smoke could be
seen lingering in the air accompanied by the sounds of many rifles
igniting. Matty and Hanna were getting
close to the stockade and Matty could see the outline of people’s upper
torso protruding above the stockade
walls as they manned the redoubts in preparation to repel what appeared to be
an all out attack. The disconcerting
fact was that Matty wasn’t sure he could get Hanna and himself to the stockade
fast enough. Then off to his left and to
his right men dressed in frontier garb appeared carrying the ultra-long
Pennsylvania long rifles of 30 and 40 caliber that had proved so accurate on
the frontier. These professional scouts
and frontiersmen waited until Matty and Hanna closed the distance to them by
another 50 yards and then opened fire on the pursuers. Screams and shrieks of pain and anguish were
heard behind them but Matty and Hanna never slowed until they passed behind the
line of defending angels that just saved their bacon. The frontiersmen laid down a withering fire
that decimated the Huron contingent that so boldly ran out into the open behind
Matty and Hanna. The Hurons were turned
and they disappeared into the forest.
This was only a part of the total miscreant party and the danger was
certainly still real. Matty and Hanna
entered the stockade where they were fed by the Reverend Cole and his wife
before Matty reported to General Herkimer about the Huron war party that was
after him and Hanna. The general
informed Matty that the French had gained strong allies with the Abenaki
Indians and were providing them with supplies to wage war on English settlers
up and down the Mohawk Valley and the Hudson River. The French even offered bounties on English
and Colonial scalps as well as prisoners.
This news was disheartening as Matty and Hanna moved here from
Cumberland territory to escape the very situation they now found themselves
currently involved in…At least Hanna was safe here in Deerborn. The Indians couldn’t raise this town no
matter how hard they tried but an army of French regular army reinforced with
Abenaki and Huron allies would prove a formidable foe to repulse. It was troubling.
The countryside cooled during the next few weeks with few interruptions
to test the nerves of the farmers and hunters of Deerfield. Gardens were tended and fields were plowed in
preparation for seed. Matty had been
asked to join the Deerfield Militia which he readily agreed to do while Hanna
stayed with Mary and Benjamin Green on their little farm just south of the Deerfield
stockade. Hanna liked the Greens and she
and Mary got on like sisters, although Mary was ten years Hanna’s senior. Hanna and Matty weren’t sure but it looked
like their future would be tied to the Mohawk Valley unless future
circumstances changed the course of things.
Then one morning at militia roll call a new face appeared in
front of the garrison. The name behind
the face was Major Robert Rogers and he had assembled a special colonial
militia he called rangers. Major Rogers
was here to enlist volunteers for his new ranger company that was housed at
Rogers Island adjacent to Fort William Henry on Lake George. He needed a total of 600 men to allow him to
create to companies of rangers that would be capable of harassing the enemy in
their own territory thereby keeping the French and Indians on the defensive
instead of allowing them to run rampant up and down the Mohawk Valley on the
offensive slaughtering men, women and children and taking prisoners that would
be exchanged for gold with the French.
Rogers stated that the pay would be $10.00 to cover rifle, powder, shot
and clothing for the first year and all the food and excitement they could
stand. Rogers would be leaving in the
morning with any volunteers he could get and he asked all of them to give
serious thought to his offer. He wanted
to take the fight to the heart of the French and Indians and pay them back for
the slaughter they committed on the innocent colonial families in the immediate
territories adjacent to French Canada.
Roger’s speech was accepted very positively by the men in the garrison
and there were a few who stepped forward immediately to sign up with
Rogers. They, for the most part were
single fellows with no wife or sweetheart to provide for. Rogers indicated that recruitment would be
for a six month period at the end of which the militia members could return
home to provide for their families. They
would be returned two months thereafter for return to duty. The recruitment period was to span one year
and six months. Furthermore, the crown
promised land grants to all who completed their service term to their units
with honor. The promise of land got the
attention of every militia volunteer on that parade field. The grumbling and murmurs could be heard as
the men broke formation to return home.
Small groups of two and three men were seen here and there discussing the
idea of payment in land for service. It
also depended on what this Major Rogers fellow had in mind for them. They’d see in the morning. As far as Matty was concerned he had enough
dodging Indians and running all over the wilderness. He would attend the militia formation
tomorrow morning scheduled at 7 AM in front of the church with the others but
his heart was home with Hanna and that’s where he would stay, he thought…..
WILDERNESS CONFLICT
Chapter 8
ROBERT ROGERS
Matty and Hanna discussed what the future might hold for
them as they sat by the fire in Benjamin Green’s five room cabin. The home had two fire places and Matty and
Hanna were given the room with a fireplace to make their bed chambers. It felt good to lie down on a real bed with
an honest to goodness burlap mattress and wool covers. They lay on the bed staring into the small
fire and watched the wispy smoke disappear up the chimney just above the
flames.
Hanna turned her head toward Matty and asked, “What do you
think we should do now Matty? I mean,
Deerfield is a wonderful place and the people have welcomed us with open
arms. The Greens are our best friends
and have made it clear we can stay as long as it takes us to get situated in
our own place.”
Matty replied, “That’s the part that’s missing Hanna – our
own place. The cabin is gone and with it
all that we had. We’ve nothing now. I would have to work for someone a lengthy
period of time, years, to earn enough money to buy a new start for us. Chances are that you would have to sell your
labor also and I don’t like that idea.
We need land and another cabin, cattle, horses and other livestock not
to mention implements to work the land.
We’ve not the means to make a start of it now. We have to stay here with the Greens. Maybe they might have work for one of
us. I’ll ask in the morning, but for
now we better get some sleep. It’s been
a hectic week and we both are exhausted.”
Matty embraced Hanna and they held onto each other until
sleep overcame them.
Morning arrived too quickly and the couple wanted to linger
a bit longer in bed but Matty had to be at the church to join the militia
formation at 7 AM and he had no time to waste as it was 6:30 AM now.
“Hanna, why don’t you talk to Mrs. Green about the
possibility of working for her while I’m gone this morning? I’ll talk to Benjamin when I get back. They may have a place for us or know where I
can find work here in Deerfield. I’ll
come straight back here when the militia breaks up. Love you Miss. See ya in a while.”
Matty arrived just in time to find a spot in the ranks of
the militia formation. They were 70 men
and boys all from town and all there was between the heathens and their
future. They did the best they could.
General Herkimer marched to the front and center and called,
“Attention – dress right – firelocks right shoulder, move - firelocks to rest. The men sat the butts of their rifles on the
ground to their right side and stood at a relaxed position while waiting for
further instructions. Then Major Robert
Rogers walked over to the general and shook his hand and both men turned to the
formation and General Herkimer introduced Major Robert Rogers as the commander
of the finest fighting force ever assembled on the eastern frontier. The major stepped forward a few steps and
held his hands behind his back as he quietly scanned the men before him. His demeanor gave no indication of his opinion
about what he saw. His face was serious
with piercing eyes that moved slowly back and forth across the formation of men
and boys who called themselves militia and then he took one step forward, stood
as tall as he could with his chest out and exclaimed that he was here to gather
men to join his fighting force at Fort William Henry. He needed to return with at least fifty men
at arms from Deerfield. The rest would
come from neighboring communities and the balance would come from the 139th
a foot as General Howell at Fort Edward stated he would make up any
deficiencies with British volunteers. It
was unlikely that any red coat would volunteer to be a part of a colonial
militia let alone be told what to do by colonial officer. But, volunteer or not, the ranks of the new
ranger companies would be filled by British volunteers if needed or red coat
soldiers would be ordered to the ranger camp.
Either way, Major Rogers would get the men he required to fully populate
his ranks..
The major slowly walked down the length of the front rank
and back again letting his eyes make contact with the eyes of any and all of
the contingent of militia who stood proudly in their perfect rows. Rogers looked directly at a man’s face when
he spoke and not over his head or to one side like so many other officials
did. He had a look of honesty about him
and trustworthiness. It was heard that
the man was well liked where ever he was received and these men were beginning
to agree with that opinion.
“Men, my name is Major Robert Rogers and I’m here to ask for
volunteers to join a company of rangers I’m assembling that will put the fear
of God in the French and send the demons from hell to visit the Abenaki at St.
Francis. For two years straight the
Abenaki heathen have come south to butcher, kill and take prisoner of any white
person they found. Entire families have
been murdered in the most horrible way and entire towns have been destroyed by
these heathens. It’s well known that the
French in Canada pay bounties for English and colonial scalps and prisoners
delivered to the governor of Quebec bring a hefty reward for the Abenaki. Its time to put a stop to it. With the addition of the one hundred fifty
men I will acquire on this recruitment trip I will have a total of 600 men. Those don’t sound like many but each man
counts as five to the enemy. The 600 man
contingent will be called rangers – Roger’s Rangers. You will be taught to fight unconventionally
the same way as the French Busways and their heathen Injun friends fight. You will be a part of an organization that
will strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. I know most of you men are married and have
farms and crops to plant and harvest.
The term of enlistment is 12 months.
Any man who volunteers will do so for a continuous seven month period
and at the end of that time may return home to plant or harvest as the case may
be. He will then return to duty to serve
out the balance of his commitment to the Crown.
A pay of $10.00 a month will be distributed to each man. Food, clothing, knife, shot and powder will
be your responsibility. The Crown will
pay for your horse and rifle.
Low murmurings could be heard among the men in ranks and
faces appeared sullen, if not disappointed.
There wasn’t a man standing there who was not touched by the horrible
atrocities committed by the Abenaki’s and Huron’s. Many lost sons, daughters, wives and some
their entire reason for living. Rogers
was promising them a chance to strike at their enemy but the compensation was
mighty slim for the task they were being asked to perform.
Then Rogers called for their attention one more time. “Oh, and one more thing. Every man who enlists, returns with me to
Lake George and completes his commitment will receive an award from the Crown of 100
acres of land deeded free and clear and stamped with my name as well as General
Edward Howell’s to guarantee the gift.
What say you to that men? The low
murmurs turned to normal conversation and frowns were turned into smiles for
the most part. I need those of you who
are with me to be ready to move out in the morning at sunup. That is all.”
Matty had stood with his mouth hanging open since he heard
Major Rogers informed them about the 100 acres of land. That was more land than he ever imagined of
owning and it was being awarded to him for service rendered to the crown. He and Hanna could resume their lives
together on their own place beholden to none but God and it would only take one
year. He hurried back to the Green’s
cabin to discuss the affair with Hanna but, in his heart he knew what he was
going to do – what he had to do. He
would go with this Rogers character and put his time in as required, then
return home to start a new life with his bride.
Little did he know that the adventure of his life was about to unfold
and he would be changed forever for it….
THE LEAVING
Chapter
9
9
Matty sat down on the ground under an elm tree; grasp his
fingers together behind his head and leaned back against the trunk of the great
tree. He looked up through the thick
branches at the blue sky above and watched as a red tail hawk appeared in
between the spaces of the leafy branches as it soared in long ovals across the
sky above the shoreline of Lake George.
He had been on Roger’s Island for three months training and learning the
unique ways of this special force of fighting men. They’re numbers were 475 and they wouldn’t
move out for serious adventure until their rolls were filled with the minimum
of 600 men as agreed upon by the British Commander, General Daniel Webb at Fort
Edward and Major Robert Rogers, the man who got Matty into this in the first place. Rogers promised them all that 1756 would be a
year to remember and be proud of. The
men were bored with the constant practice and the repetition of repeating the
28 special ranger rules to any superior officer who asked, and they asked
frequently. It was the 28 ranger rules
that separated the unique fighting ability of the rangers from the standard
British red coat soldier. Matty knew
every rule and learned them word for word as they were written. These rules, Roger’s told the men, would mean
the difference between life and death to them while on the special, reconnaissance
missions they would be undertaking. The
shade of the tree felt good and Matty closed his eyes and allowed his mind to
drift away and as usual in cases like this it drifted to Hanna..
“Matty, are you sure this is the right thing to do? The Greens have offered me work on their farm
making butter and cheese and doing embroidery work for their little store in
the village. Livestock drover jobs will
come available in the spring as well as farm work. Why,
Cecil and Marge Terry already said they’d need help in late
February. We could save and be ready for
our own place in a few years.”
Matty replied, “Hanna, do ya not understand that we can
achieve in one year what it would take both of us working hard to achieve in
three? I have to go with Rogers. And besides, I don’t like the idea of you
working for someone else. I want you in
our home safe and doing tasks to better life for us and not for the Green’s. “
A tear ran down from the corner of her left eye, travelled
down over her soft cheek and dropped silently onto the dirt floor raising an
almost invisible puff of brown dust at its impact. “Truth is Matty, I love you and am worried
you will not come back and we would not know the life we promised each other. “
“Don’t worry about that little darling, this Major Rogers,
I’m told, worries over his men like an old hen over her peeps. Besides, nothing could keep me from coming
back to you- nothing. The thought of
seeing you again will make me be all the more resourceful in time of peril and
I will overcome anything to once again embrace you.”
Her eyes filled with tears and he held her to him during the
night. Morning’s light found Matty awake with Hanna cradled in his
arms. He pulled her to him and her eyes
opened and met his – the kiss was deep and long – the emotion heavy and they
reveled in each other’s love.
He embraced her at the door step to the cabin and gently
kissed her one more time before turning and walking toward the formation of
twenty men and boys who were lined up to follow Major Robert Rogers to Fort
William Henry and eventually to Roger’s Island located in the middle of the
Hudson River. He turned and waved and
Hanna moved her hand side to side halfheartedly while wiping the tears away
from her eyes. Matty looked back one
more time just before the about face order was given, “Forward March” and they were off. Hanna sat down hard onto the grass at her
feet and allowed the tears to flow. All
she could do now was wait and trust in this Rogers fellow to keep her love
safe. Matty dared not look back for fear
of losing his manly presence in the face of his fellow soldiers but the
pressure was great behind his eyes. It
was too late to turn around. The die was
cast and the adventure begun. Matty was
now an official participant in the 7 Year War and the thought of it never
occurred to him.
Wilderness Conflict
Chapter 10
ACTION
The 8 pound
Pennsylvania long rifle laid upon a thick layer of moss that was growing on top
a 30 inch fallen tree trunk. It’s sights
were trained on the second of ten Huron warriors who were slowly making their
way through an open area in the woods at the bottom of the hill while on the
high ground twenty five rangers lay in
wait for the entire group of miscreants to be in the open and away from any
possibility of running for cover. Matty
practiced holding his breath for the moment he would squeeze the trigger and
send his shot into the savages.
It was September on
Roger’s Island, a strip of land located in the middle of the Hudson River and
adjacent to Ft. Edward. It was here that
Major Robert Rogers housed his newly formed company of scouts and unorthodox
woodsmen that he would call rangers – Roger’s Rangers. He needed a total of 600
men to fill the ranks of his company and upon his return from Deerfield with
Matty and volunteers from the colonial militias in the surrounding counties his
rolls swelled to 537. Sergeant James
Adison was due back any moment now from his recruiting efforts in the eastern
colonies and his efforts should certainly complete the manpower search. In the meantime the daily schedule was
training, training and more training that covered the what to dos and what not
to dos in wilderness warfare. Rogers
laid out a set of 28 ranger rules that were guidelines for his wilderness
soldiers to abide by. They were rules
designed to make his rangers lethal in wilderness combat and they were
guidelines to help his rangers remain safe in all situations before, during and
after confrontation with the enemy.
Matty and many other newly appointed rangers already conducted
themselves in the woods according to unwritten rules that were in line with
Roger’s list of directives. All that was
different was the wording. These men were
woodsmen and they would prove to be highly effective against the French Marines
and their Indian cadre when Rogers was through sharpening up their edges.. The men drilled like soldiers across the
grassy prairie of Roger’s Island for hours every day. They were continually issued shot and powder
for target practice and each man was competent with the long rifle up to 200
yards and a few men could keep three balls in a circle at 300 yards the size of
an orange. The commandant at Ft Edward
complained that these ruffians were using up his powder unwisely and a stop
should be put to it. The complaint
coursed up through the chain of command until it reached General Webb who
quashed it instantly. Webb issued
orders to give Rogers anything and as much of it as he wanted because Webb
understood that his soldiers could not match the French regulars, French
Canadians and Canadian Bush ways and their savages in forest warfare using
European methods of conducting war campaigns.
He needed a strong force highly skilled in guerrilla warfare and Rogers
and his men were the answer.
Sergeant Addison
returned to Roger’s Island on September 20 with 90 recruits all eager to not
only put in the one year for the reward of 100 acres of land but to inflict
revenge on an enemy who showed no mercy to loved ones who were butchered and
tortured to death. These men wanted a
chance to strike a blow on the French controlled Indians that would decimate
them and eliminate them as a danger forever, especially the Abenaki at St.
Francis – the greatest offenders and miscreants of the lot.
The training
continued for another month and with the ranks filled to a total of 627
rangers, it was felt by Rogers that they were ready to be tested in the field
and every man felt up to the task. Major
Rogers was called to General Webb’s quarters on October 12, 1756 to be made
aware of a mission that Webb and Colonial George Monro, Commanding Officer of
Ft. William Henry were concocting. Ft.
William Henry was only 16 miles from Ft. Edward and perimeter guards were
reporting constantly that French and Indian spies have been seen conducting
themselves among the local friendly Indians living in villages between the two
British forts. The investigations of
these sightings by British Regulars were always unfruitful and were usually
carried out in a halfhearted fashion.
The French spies could easily detect the approach of British authority
simply by noting the bright red uniforms of the approaching investigators and
would vanish into the forest like smoke.
Webb and Monro confronted Rogers with an order to eliminate the spy
incursions and to secure one or two prisoners for interrogation because both
officers felt the French were up to something and something big because the
spying had more than doubled over the past two months. Rogers gave his affirmation that he could and
would put an end to the breaches in security and would secure prisoners as
requested. He would leave with his
contingent of rangers in the morning and provisions for seven days afield.
The ten Indians cleared
the forest and 10 men of the 25 man contingent on the high ground took deep
breaths and started to exhale slowly as fingers gently pressed against
sensitive triggers. Rogers and three men
had circled around down the hill and behind the Indians to find two French
regular Marines following behind as a rear guard. Rogers and his companion Private William Kerr
moved behind the two Frenchmen on their back trail and silently approached to
within an arm’s length from them when the barrage of shots from the rangers on
the hill rang out. The two French
Regulars instantly turned to run back from whence they came and ran directly
into Rogers and Kerr who quickly dispatched both men with the heal of their
hatchets. Kerr was a bit overzealous and
killed his intended prisoner. Matty
watched the second Indian in the line throw up his arms and crumple to the
ground after he fired his shot. This was
the second man he had ever killed, the first being one of two Indians who
charged him and Hanna over a year ago. The
rangers on the hill received little fire from the Huron’s below as seven of the
miscreants lay silent on the ground. That
was good shooting because only ten rangers fired, the rest holding onto their
shots in order to aim and fire while their peers reloaded. Two of the heathens dashed quickly across the
narrow open field and into the thick forest beyond and would later relate the
story of their failed mission. . Rogers
got his prisoner and his rangers performed to expectations and now they had to
return to Ft. Edward and deliver the Frenchman to General Webb. Rogers was proud of his men and their
performance in the face of the enemy.
They were green but would soon be transformed into seasoned guerilla
fighters that both French and Indians alike would respect and the word “ranger”
would strike fear in French and Indian hearts but a trial by fire was
approaching and it would be devastating and would test the mettle of the
rangers as well as Major Rogers himself.
WILDERNESS CONFLICT CHAPTER 11
PLANS ARE MADE
January 1757 found
the rangers awaiting orders on Rogers Island with a full complement of over 600
men. They had just returned from a
reconnoitering mission to Ft. Crown Point north of the Hudson to determine the
number of forces behind the walls of that fortification. Rogers actually considered trying to take the
French fort but thought better of it.
No, better to keep to the original plan and try to determine troop
strength. They had determined there were
2000 French regulars and another 500 Abenaki Indians on the premises of Ft
Crown Point with the Indians encamped just outside the gates. They had seen enough and started for Ft.
Edward to report their findings.
The rangers crested a
mountain ridge on a warm Thursday in August 1757 and saw the smoke hanging
above the trees in the windless sky.
Something was happening or had happened and it occurred recently. Guards were sent out to the left and right
flanks at the front of the ranger column and two tailing guards followed behind
the 150 man column of rangers just to be on the safe side. The smoke became more evident and a stench
was raised high into the sky with the black smoke. It was the smell of death. Fort William Henry had been burned to the
ground. The red coat and colonial
carcasses were degraded by the Indians and body parts were strewn about
indiscriminately. A sickening sense of
rage filled each man as Rogers kept the men moving over the grounds and on into
the forest in the direction of Fort Edward.
Fort William Henry was no more and there was nothing to do about
it. But, revenge would be sweet
medicine.
The French spying
operations between the now burned Fort William Henry and Fort Edward ground
down to a halt as the rangers repelled every French and Indian spying foray
attempted. The destruction of Fort
William Henry explained the reason for the intense spy operations conducted by
the French and Rogers wished they could have been there to contribute to the
defense of the fort instead of wasting time sneaking around Fort Crown Point.
French and Indians alike had gained respect
for these new formidable woodsmen who fought such an intense unconventional war
against them. They would tread through
the forests with more caution than previously displayed with the British as
Roger’s Rangers were strangers no longer to the French and were especially
hated by the Iroquois and Huron Indians.
The rangers conducted
skirmishes against French troops and French aligned Indians from January 1757
up until March. The Indians especially
continually attempted to retaliate against the rangers for what they viewed as
monstrous acts against them, as if they were angels on the battle field
themselves but, primarily the rangers were used as scouts and trail finders as
well as forest spies to scout out the French forts and report news back to Ft.
Edward of any changes in French activities.
Many of the rangers
were enticed to join up with the group for another 12 months with the promise
of additional land and a pay increase of $3.00 a month and a new kit. Many were persuaded to reenlist and Matty was
one of them. It would be only one more
year and he and Hanna would have their life’s table set and their worries would
be over. He would journey to the Green’s
cabin in Dearborn in three months to join Hanna and would explain then to her
of this new bargain he had made with Rogers.
His leave would allow him to be with Hanna for 60 days before he would
have to return to duty At Ft. Edward.
She would understand.
The Huron’s were
active toward the end of February 1758 committing murders and atrocities up and
down the Hudson as well as farther west at the Ohio River. All land west of the Ohio was considered
frontier and no white men ventured in that dark land. Then on February 27th Rogers was
ordered to meet with one Colonial Havilland commander of His Majesties 33rd of
Foot. Havilland was placed in command of
ranger and spying operations conducted out of Ft. Edward and he had some
interesting rumors for Rogers and a mission to either prove the rumors as true
or false.
Rogers was escorted
to Havilland’s plush office late afternoon by a sergeant at arms who knocked
twice on the huge solid oak door.
Instantly a disrespectful, “enter damn it” could be heard from the other
side. The Major entered the room and
saluted a tall, lanky officer who wore a white powdered wig signifying his high
rank. Havilland stood with a droop to
his shoulders his slender arms, wrists, and long fingers indicating a rather
effeminate character. “Sit down Rogers
and let’s talk.”
“I’d rather stand
Colonial if you don’t mind.” “But I do
mind Rogers. Sit down that’s an order.”
Rogers instantly
disliked the man and wanted this meeting to be over very quickly before he said
something he shouldn’t.
“Rogers, the Crown
had laid careful plans to attack the French forts Carillon and Crown Point in
March of this year but cancelled the plan due to rumors that a thousand French
regulars arrived up the Hudson and disembarked to move overland to Crown Point
north of New York and 500 regulars were to move on to Ft. Carillon to reinforce
that fortification on Lake Champlain. We
could not afford to confront such a force with the regiments and battalions
available here at Edward and at Fort William Henry. Additional resources from the coast would be
needed to bolster our numbers in order to make a respectable showing on the
battle fields.”
“I understand Colonel
Havilland and it seems a wise decision to show prudence in the venture as well
as good judgement, but what need of my men and I do you have? I’m sure you didn’t require my presence here
today to make an explanation to me why a war was temporarily halted.”
“Patience Major I’m
getting to the current issue. There is
still time this season to move an army against Carillon and Crown Point and if
not immediately destroy them, lay siege to each. Our Mohawk spies have said that Crown Point
is supplied from the water and Carillon must receive its supplies from Crown
Point overland by wagon because we British have Lake Champlain practically
circled and no ships can reach the French fort.
Our Indian allies, however, cannot verify the number of combatants at
each fort and furthermore cannot even say if the thousand man reinforcements
even arrived at the Hudson from the coast. Major Rogers, I’d like you to take 400 rangers
and reconnoiter Fort Carillon to verify the strength of that fort and to map
out the supply lines taken by wagons and canoe to supply it and fort Crown
Point. Furthermore, we need prisoners to
interrogate and would appreciate any you could bring back with you. What say you sir? Are you and your men up to the task?”
“We’ll need boats to
get to the end of Lake George where we can hide them for the return trip. The snow lays deep north of the lake as well
as along the Hudson and the water close to shore is frozen solid. We’ll need snowshoes as well as spikes to
traverse the ice and make good time on the snow. I’ll meet with my sergeants tonight and lay a
plan sir. When would you expect us to
start off?
“Havilland lay his
finger aside his nose and bowed to stare at the floor for a brief moment and
said, “I should like you and your men to depart no later than the first of
March. Can you leave by then Major?”
Rogers replied with a
smile on his face, “We’ll leave at night on the last day of February and row
toward the north west shore of Lake George to Halfway Brook where we’ll day
camp on March 1st. The boats will be
hidden and on that night, under the cover of darkness we’ll set off due north
for Carillon on snow shoes and the Huron’s won’t be the wiser.”
The Colonial then said,
“see to it then Rogers and don’t fail in this mission as the information you
bring back will determine if we push the army on to Montreal to deal with
Montcalm this year or wait until more favorable conditions when our strength is
increased by the king's regulars and colonials for your ranger companies. Now, that will be all”, and Havilland turned
and picked up a glass of brandy.” Rogers
was developing a strong dislike for this puffed up wimpy red coat that showed
disrespect for his colonial militia members.
He would accept any mission and apply himself and the forces available
to him to conduct that mission with vigor.
He would need every ounce of courage he could
muster for himself and his rangers because the valley of the shadow of death
was never more real for Rogers and his men than it was in March 1758.
Wilderness Conflict Chapter 12
BATTLE ON SNOWSHOES
March 1758
The end of February 1758 was a bitter cold time at Roger’s
Island on Lake George. Matty was
carrying his fourth armful of wood for the camp fire that he and James Adison
made in front of their tent at day break this morning. Limbs were breaking off the hardwood trees
along the shoreline of the island resulting in a very loud crack from time to
time, often sounding like rifle fire.
Matty stopped frequently at the loud cracking sound and would glance
over his shoulder at the woods just to be sure all was well.
James said to Matty, “yer getting jumpy in yer old age
boy. No French or Huron would dare try
to take us on while we sit here on this island.”
Matty smirked and replied, “Can’t be too careful James.”
James tossed a small log over onto the fire and wiped the
runs from his nose and said, “the Major is workin on some mission fer us with
that wolf Havilland. I saw him leave
that slimy red coat’s quarter’s yest-day bout sundown. I’m bettin we’ll find something out this
morning.”
Matty got a serious look on his face and replied, “anythins
better than sitting around here freezing to death. I’m ready for sumpin ta do.”
James chuckled and said, “careful what cha wish fer Matty
cuz ya jist might git it.”
William Kerr was steppin fast as he passed Matty and
James. He never slowed down as he looked
at them in passing and stating, “the major wants us all over at the dock side
of the island in ten minutes. Sergeant
Brewer says we got a mission ahead of us.”
Matty and James locked eyes and both their faces became
serious as each stopped moving simultaneously for a second as if suddenly
becoming aware of the importance of the moment, then continued to pick up their
possibles and rifles before starting out to join their fellow rangers at the
island boat dock. There were 410
rangers lingering here and there among small piles of leather bags with shoulder
straps and linen jackets that lay on the ground at their feet. They were in six poorly aligned rows and
were milling about and mumbling to each other in low tones that lacked any
laughter or light hearted sentiment. An
air of seriousness hung over the company. Their uniforms were deerskin dyed
green with thick leggings that incorporated moccasins made of two thicknesses
of deerskin sewn together with the hair inside to keep feet and ankles warm. They were two hours into sunup and the
temperatures were still near zero, yet the cold was ignored as everyone
anticipated what the news from Rogers would be.
"Attention!"
announced that an officer was approaching and the men instantly fell into perfect lines with right arms instantly
extended to the side until finger tips touched the shoulder of the man to the
right. "Arms down – and
rest." The men stood with a relaxed
posture with right hands behind their backs while the left hand held a rifle,
stock planted on the ground at the edge of the left moccasin.
Matty and James were in the second row close to the middle
and could see Major Rogers very clearly.
Then Rogers began, "we have orders men. We are to travel north to the French fort
Carillon and try to determine if that post has been strengthened with
additional French regulars, Canadians or French marines. Bushways and their Huron and Abenaki
miscreants will be camped on the grounds outside the fort and an accurate count
of them should be no problem. It is also
vital that we secure prisoners to bring back for interrogation and that means
we will have to either get close to the fort or get real lucky and intercept
French runners carrying correspondence back and forth through the forest between
Montreal and Carillon. The plan is to
take 40 boats, 10 men and supplies per boat, and row up to Halfway Brook by
night on March 10, tomorrow, and camp there through the next day. We'll then hide the boats in the woods and
set off on foot on the evening of March 11th.
Each man will carry enough powder and shot for 50 loads, ice spikes and
snowshoes with rations enough for ten days and warm clothes and blanket in your
packs. If the worse happens and we all
become separated and set off in different directions, head back to the boats at
Halfway Brook and stand vigil for a respectable period of time and if no
rangers show up then head on back to the island as best you can. That is all." Rogers turned to his right and walked away as
the words, "Attention!" was proclaimed behind him. "Stand down" was ordered and the
men broke up in twos, threes and small groups talking excitedly. At last they would have a chance at the
French and those damn Abenaki and Huron butchers.
Matty was impressed with the way Rogers carried himself and
how he seemed so knowledgeable and sure of the mission's success and came
across as an officer ya could trust.
James said, "well, this isn't exactly the kind of
mission we all hoped it would be but its somethin I guess. Most all of us here on this island was a
hoping we was gonna clobber them Huron and Abenaki snakes but I guess it will
have to wait for another time.
Matty replied, "never know what will happen. We might just get to give some come-uppance
to those devils yet. We'll see."
A tall, lanky, buckskin clothed scout jogged up to Rogers as
he was walking away from the dismissed rangers. The two talked with Rogers doing most of the
listening. All of a sudden Major Rogers
raised his face to the sky, clenched
both hands into fists and shook them at the heavens as he exclaimed something
that couldn't be heard clearly by the men, but his voice was loud enough that
it caught their attention and they all hesitated and looked toward him. The scout turned away and quick timed it
toward a small skiff that would row him from Rogers Island back to Fort Edward,
no doubt to deliver a message to Havilland from Rogers. The major then instructed his Quartermaster
to make ready 18 boats with supplies and have them ready to launch by dusk the
next day. John Kerns, the Quartermaster
stopped short and looked up at the Manor and said, Sir, you mean 40 boats don't
cha Sir?"
"You heard what
I said John. Just do it." A quick reply of, "Yes Sir Major, Yes
sir", was uttered by Kerns.
Rogers was noticeably
irritated and his commands were unusually sharp. Snow started falling and the Major stopped
off at his tent to grab his heavy elk skin winter coat and as he pulled it over
his shoulders he yelled to a corporal to fix him a small skiff and get one
other man plus himself to row him to the fort.
He needed to see Havilland.
"Enter", a shrill male voice exclaimed
sharply. The heavy double oak plank
doors were pushed inward from the other side by a red coat with a tall bear
skin cover on his head and a silver chin strap.
These were the royal guards used primarily for protection of members of
parliament and state officials. There
were two companies of them here at Ft. Edward at the orders of Colonel Havilland. Rogers wondered if General Webb knew of Havilland's
extravagance with the king's purse. It
was a passing thought and was of no importance to Rogers at the moment but
might be used in some way as leverage for a favor from Webb for some unforeseen
unfortunate circumstance that might materialize in the future.
"Rogers, I know why you're here. Its about the downsizing of manpower for your
upcoming mission, isn't it?"
"Colonel, we had agreed upon a 400 man contingent
leaving to reconnoiter Forts Carillon and Crown Point and even 400 is not
really sufficient numbers considering there is said to be 1500 French regulars,
and Canadians at Carillon and probably as many as 500 Abenaki and Huron
heathens. Montreal definitely has a
force of 800 French and a 200 man contingent of Bushway raiders and they range
the forest far and wide to protect the French interest along Erie. 400 rangers is a bit light handed for this
mission but, 180 rangers is suicide if we should wander into a large force of
French or Indians."
"Well then Rogers, I would suggest you take care not to
wander, as you say, into the French.
Look sir – we do not want confrontation.
You and your men have been selected for this mission because you know
how to fight like the enemy and therefore you know how to hide and make
yourselves invisible to the enemy better than any British company possibly
could. Actually, the fewer of you there
are, the less chance of detection there will be. Besides, General Webb and I are heading
toward Albany day after tomorrow with the greater part of the army at Fort
Edward and he will need your rangers to scout the sides, front and rear of the
march. Now sir, will you be ready to go
or do we have a problem?"
Rogers mumbled to himself, "why would they need over
200 rangers to scout for a handful of Redcoats from Fort Edward."
"You say something Rogers," Havilland asked?.
"No sir. Just
thinking out loud Sir."
"We'll do your scouting for you Colonel and everything
will be just fine as long as we don't run into any French on the way into their
territory and during our stay. But, we
need to get the prisoners and therefore will have to confront the enemy in some
way or tuther. This mission will be more
than chancy at that point and the command will not have the numbers to make a
proper stand against a large determined hostile force, not with only 180
rangers."
"I know you'll do well Rogers. Best see to your men and the crown extends
its grateful sentiments to you and your men.
That will be all."
Rogers felt his temples pulse with the pressure and his eyes
bored into the back of the head of this twit Havilland but he held himself,
turned and stomped to the double doors, grabbed the handles and pulled with all
his weight and the huge, tall doors opened inward toward him. He rushed through the opening in a huff and
left them open. He was in a rush to get
back to Rogers Island and meet with his officers to lay out a plan for 180 men
to sneak into a hostile land where over 3000 French were fortified behind the
walls of Carillon and Crown Point while their Indian dogs of hell partners
lurked behind every shadow in the forest.
If anyone could pull off this mission it was Major Robert Rogers and his
rangers. Perhaps the Red Coat officers
placed too much credence in the heroic stories told of the Rangers and their
fearless, creative leader and assumed the rangers were invincible. They would soon find out.
WILDERNESS CONFLICT
CHAPTER 13
INTO THE FACE OF
DANGER
Ten light skiffs rowed up the west shoreline of Lake George,
the night silence broken by the creaking of wooden ores rotating in their
gunnel locks. The rangers cushioned the
ores in their ore locks with deer skin but the measure proved sadly lacking in
keeping the creaking sound at bay.
Rogers directed the boats to move further from shore and out toward the
center of the lake in order to eliminate the detection of the wood on wood
sound by enemy ears. They pulled into a
the small cove surrounded by heavy timber at Halfway Brook. They would camp and remain here during the
day and set off again at nightfall. The
air was frigid and open camp fires were forbidden. The only fires permitted were the tiny
personal fires that were lighted only after squatting down to the ground and
pulling a blanket or coat over one's self in such a fashion where no opening to
the fire could be seen from the outside.
In this way the warmth from a tiny fire would be confined under the
covering. The boats were pulled from the
water and dragged into the woods where they would be secreted away from prying
eyes paddling downstream. The men spread
pine boughs on the ground and overturned the boats to create a wind break and
shelter from the outside. A comfy space
existed where a tiny fire could be started and the heat contained under the
boat provided warmth enough for comfortable sleep. The wind was howling next morning and the
rangers stayed under the protection of their overturned boats for most of the
day only exposing themselves to the elements for guard duty and calls of
nature. The temperature was below zero
and during early morning ice formed along the shoreline of Lake George which
would make boat handling difficult. No
matter because the rangers would be travelling on snowshoes from this point
forward.
Dusk on March 10, 1758 was bitter cold as the men slowly
slid out from under the overturned boats that served so well as protection from
this damned frigid weather. Rogers
quickly strolled back and forth among the boats coaxing the men out and saying
the quicker we get under way, the faster we'll get warm. He ordered the men to attach ice spikes to
their moccasins and see to the prime of their rifles. They marched off toward the north end of the
lake in two single file columns at a brisk pace. After seven miles of constantly bearing
inland away from the shoreline of Lake George the snow became very deep and
Rogers called a halt and ordered the men to dawn their snowshoes. They marched north again and moved closer to
the edge of the lake to assure the absence of French or Indian presence. Sabbath Day Point was reached late afternoon
that day and Rogers called a rest halt till dark after which they travelled to
within 8 miles of the French Listeners outpost which was located on Bald
Mountain. They waited on a ridge on the
side of the mountain to see if French supply sleds would appear. None did.
They then marched to and took up positions on Trout Brook, a known
detour that saved French courier's miles on their journey to Ft Carillon. Rogers gave orders that all the men keep
their snowshoes on .
Unknown to Rogers was that a scouting party of Nipissing and
Huron Indians crossed their trail only ten miles back and raced to Carillon to
convey the information that they crossed the track of approximately 200 men on
snowshoes at a point just South of Bald Mountain. A patrol consisting of 150 French regulars
and 100 Huron and Nipissing Indians was dispatched from Carillon to confront
and destroy the interlopers. Late on the
same day the rangers took positions above Trout Brook, one of the ranger rear
guards trotted up to Rogers and said he saw twenty French and Huron's moving
around the East side of Bald Mountain.
Roger's eyes became bright and wide and he instantly called his lieutenants
and sergeants in around him and explained that they would be making contact
with the French shortly. He designed a
plan to attack, capture his prisoners and annihilate the remaining survivors of
the party. They moved off in the
direction of the French force and blended into the foliage at the base of Bald
Mountain on both sides of the narrow ravine that the enemy would have to pass
through.
A scout ran up to Rogers to inform him that a supply sled
was moving across the ice and only had four guards riding on it. Rogers thought momentarily and directed
Elisha Bennett to select ten rangers and ambush the sled, grab two prisoners,
kill the horses and make all haste up the mountain and join the company. Rogers didn't know it at the time but a
scouting party consisting of 20 Huron's was dogging their west flank keeping
tabs on the rangers until the main body of French and Indians from Fort Carillon
could make contact. The rangers would be
caught between the two French contingents and eliminated in short order. Corporal Bennett took his ten rangers down
the mountain keeping to a deep ravine that ended at the edge of the frozen
lake. They crouched at the mouth of this
ravine and waited until the French supply sled approached at which time they
all moved as one toward the sled. A shot
from one of the men dropped the right hand horse and it fell in harness
thrashing on the ice. The French exited
the sled and ran toward the mountain.
Four of Bennett's men overtook two Frenchmen and the prisoners were in
hand. The fleeing Frenchmen ran straight
into Roger's perimeter guard and they were dispatched with knife and hatchet.
The men down on the ice heard the Huron's screams and turned
to see twenty of the miscreants racing toward them across the ice. The rangers still had their snowshoes
attached which gave them a slight edge as long as there was snow on the
ice. They couldn't outdistance the
pursuing Indians but they were holding their own as they raced to the bottom of
the mountain where their brother rangers waited. A dozen shots rang out and gray smoke arose
from close to the ground where Roger's Rangers lay prone waiting until the
heathen's were in range where their shots would count. At least ten Huron's fell dead or
wounded. Some cried out in misery and
pain but their agony went unheard. The
rangers shuffled the two French prisoners up the hillside as fast as possible
to where Rogers watched the action from a bluff. Rogers ordered their hands tied behind their
backs and one ranger was assigned to guard them.
James held his cupped hands to his mouth and blew into them
repeatedly and watched the steam rise from his warm breath. He looked to his right at Matty and said,
"You alright Matty?"
Matty replied, "Reckon so. I want ya to know James that I got yer
back."
James smiled and replied, "I know Matty and I got
yorn."
The French, as did the English, marched two abreast in long
straight columns making them perfect targets and presenting the possibility of
a ball passing through more than one man.
Abenaki scouts moved along the column's flanks constantly ever watching
the woods for ambush. Rangers marched in a staggered formation where
no one followed directly behind another thereby eliminating the possibility of
a rifle ball passing through more than one man.
The plan was to fire on all the French and to try to grab up
to four prisoners if possible. These
were to be taken to Colonel Havilland at Fort Edward. The French and Indians moved closer and
closer into the ravine when a tall, lean Huron out in front raised his left
hand and halted the group. He gazed all
about him. Rogers knew the Indian was
aware of something unusual and also that he couldn't see the trap. It was time to put the fat into the fire.
Rogers stood and yelled, "fire!"
At the command the kneeling line of ranger at the forest's
edge let loose a salvo that cut down over half of the French force. A line of rangers behind those who just
fired stood and stepped in front of those, kneeled, aimed and fired. The first line was reloaded and stepped
forward and fired. The French and Indian
patrol was decimated. The last four
French regulars in the formation threw their rifles and packs to the ground and
ran toward the open meadow. Ten rangers
were dispatched to run the French down and take them prisoners. The French were slowed by the two and three
foot snow drifts while the pursuing rangers moved quickly on their heels while
running across the top of the snow in snowshoes and they were closing the
distance between them very quickly. The
rest of the company set about scalping the fallen enemy, taking their hatchets,
rifles, ammunition and searching the bodies for valuables and loot.
The chase headed toward an outcrop of rocks and boulders
where the mountain turned to the north and it was impossible to see around this
outcrop. The French headed directly
toward this rocky point with the rangers closing in fast. In the blink of an eye a cloud of gray smoke
followed by the sound of 200 rifles sounded and all ten rangers fell instantly
in death on the meadow. The loud rifle
reports caught the attention of every ranger at the base of the mountain and
they knew that something was terribly wrong.
Rogers directed them to the high ground but before they could get up the
mountain the French were on them. The
rangers were forced to take cover behind poor protection for there was scant
brush and boulder on the mountain side and the Huron and Nipissing outnumbered
the rangers two to one and soon the French Bush ways would be on the scene and
the rangers would be wiped out by a force of over 250 French and Indian allies.
The rangers pushed up the mountain side. Already they lost 50 men to the first
attack. The French Marines were coming
onto the scene and would be joining the Huron and Nipissing Indians to finally
put an end to the famous Roger's Rangers.
Their backs to the hill sides, they fought hand to hand valiantly
against the overwhelming odds and were felled in groups. Rogers gathered the remaining men along the
edge of a ridge at the top of the mountain and told them to sell their lives
dearly and also that they weren't done yet.
He told his Sergeants that they could extricate themselves from this
misery if they could hold out till night fall when they could slip away. Rogers told every man to go his own way at
night fall and to meet up at the boats on Halfway Brook. Every man was on his
own and Rogers ordered that no ranger would stop to assist victims. It would serve no purpose to lose two men
instead of one. . If they stayed in a group they would all be caught? If they split up, the Indians would have to
split their forces in order to chase down the many rather than simply follow
the few in a cluster. And so the rangers
gathered together behind a rock wall and fought on until nightfall when they
disbursed through the woods at night.
Screams were heard throughout the night retreat as men fell to the
torturous ways of the Huron's. The
rangers were hated by the Indians and leniency was unknown to ranger captives
and any unfortunate ranger who fell into the hands of a band of Huron's was
destined to know the face of hell.
The rangers split up in small groups and disappeared into
the forest in all points of the compass.
Many were captured and put to death by the most despicable means. Over the course of days some rangers tried to
surrender to the French due to starvation.
Some succeeded but most were taken from the French by Huron, Abenaki or
Nipissing Indians and killed in the most inhumane fashion. British patrols conducted in later months and
years revealed the dismembered bodies of the rangers lying about on the cliffs of
Bald Mountain.
Rogers made it to the boats and waited for three days for
his men to find their way back. Only 60
rangers returned to the boats. Only 60
of the 180 man force survived the ordeal.
Matty was starving and dead tired as he floundered through the frigid
cold and waded through waist deep snow as he headed south to meet up with the
rangers at the boats. He was half frozen
and his fingers couldn't feel the rifle they held. He remembered James lying against a tree
trunk and the tiny hole in his deerskin frock with his life's blood slowly
oozing through the hole. Matty tried to
lift his friend from the ground but the pain was too great for him to endure
and James told him, "go on Matty and git.
I'm dead and thars no use worrying over me. I can't feel my legs and I'd jis git you kilt
for nothing."
Matty saw his friend drifting off to sleep due to blood loss
and he knew that James was right. This
was the end for him. Matty stayed until
he could hear the Huron war screams getting closer and closer and finally he stood,
looked down at his friend James, turned and loped on up the side of the
mountain and over the top.
The French were
overjoyed by the news of the ruination of Roger's Rangers and they sent runners
far and wide to every friendly Indian town to spread the news that the green
devils as well as Rogers were no more.
The French and their Indian allies boasted of how easily
they eliminated the rangers that scouted for the English and dared the English
to send more blood and flesh to nourish the Indian fighting spirit.
The battle on snowshoes was almost the end of Roger's
Rangers as an formidable fighting force on the frontier but the British saw the
importance of such a company of specialty fighters and gave Rogers permission
to regroup and reform his companies of rangers to twice their original
numbers. Perhaps the outcome would have
been different had Havilland allowed Rogers his full complement of 400 rangers
for the mission.
The rangers were being reborn and soon the French and
heathen would feel the wrath of hell descending upon them and the righteous demons
of retaliation would be dressed in green deer skin..
WILDERNESS CONFLICT
Chapter 14
Plans for Retribution
Matty had just returned to Roger's Island after a three
month leave to see Hanna. He had missed
her badly but after a while home he found a strange desire to be back with his
brothers in arms at Fort Edward. At any
rate this would be the last portion of his enlistment and it would make him and
Hanna wealthy as they would be deeded almost 250 acres of bottom land on the
shoreline of the Ohio River frontier which in the past summer alone saw two
farms spring up. Matty made the comment
to Hanna that it wouldn't be long before a proper church would be needed
there.
Hanna cried and made
issue with Matty returning to the rangers but she backed off her position and
Matty once again explained to her that with the gift of land their future
together was guaranteed and that he would return for good in eight more months
and never leave her arms again…
Mid-September 1759 on Roger's Island was warmer than usual
and even the mosquitos were active in the heat of late afternoon. Small
two room cabins had been erected over the past year replacing the uncomfortable
tents that were previously used and Matty shared one of these structures with
three other rangers.
The ranger force had swelled to 800 men that were divided
into two companies. They were primarily
used to spy on the French Forts located on the upper Hudson, St. Lawrence and
even the bastions of Montreal itself.
The island was currently populated with three hundred rangers that came
and went day to day depending upon orders.
Matty was splashing water onto his face Thursday morning
when Benjamin Bridge came into the cabin all out of breath. He cleared his throat and addressed Matty.
"There's sompin in the wind and word is that its gonna
be big. The Major has been over to
Edward ever since 10 AM and he wants us in formation down at the docks in an
hour."
"What da ya think it is Ben? Ya don't suppose we're marchin on Montreal do
ya."
Ben replied, "Na, that kind of fighten is fer the
lobster backs. That ain't woodsmen kind
of fighten and besides, I ain't a standin in no line an letting some Frenchie
shoot at me. Thars sompin else brewin
and its big if they got the Major over ta the fort all this time."
Matty said, "well, lets ease on over to the dock and
see what's up then Ben. No sense guessen
and frettin over sumpin that ain't is."
Ben and Matty had just arrived at the dock area and found a
seat on a couple tree stumps and listened to the grumble coming from their
peers. There was a suggestion of moving
on Montcalm in Montreal with the red coats and an armada of war ships up the St.
Lawrence as well as an overland assault on the plains that surround that great
French city. But, the rangers wouldn't
fit into that kind of battle. They
weren't created for a war that treated the combatants as cannon fodder. No, there was another purpose behind Roger's
call to formation. They'd find out
shortly because Major Roger's skiff was approaching across the waterway from
Ft. Edward and would land at the island within minutes.
The Major briskly jumped out of the skiff and onto the dock
and started to jog up the hill toward the men.
Everyone started to align themselves with the man to each side of him
when the Major arrived at the front of the loose formation. Rogers then said, "stand easy men, stand
easy. I've got a mission for us and I
think you will be anxious to get a start on it.
First off, no man will be permitted to leave Fort Edward or Rogers
Island until the mission gets underway.
We can't risk someone talking about the little hike we're going to take
shortly. The French have spies among us
and this mission is of the utmost importance."
Someone yelled, "where we goin Major?"
Matty was sitting on the edge of a stump and kept inching
his bottom closer and closer to the edge , all the while his right foot moved
up and down in a nervous fashion. His attention hung on every word Major Rogers
said.
"Men, we're moving out in three days for Crown
Point. We'll leave Rogers Island with a
hunert fifty men and pick up Captain Ogden and his 50 rangers at Crown Point
along with supplies for our mission. We
are going to row across Lake Champlain to Missisquai Bay where we will hide
them and set off on foot across the swamps to St Francis where we will
eliminate the Abenaki heathens who have plagued our settlements and families
these past 5 years."
A loud yell arose
from the men in the ranks as the excitement of striking a blow to the Abenaki
miscreants caused their blood to run hot.
Rogers then said, "you will draw enough powder and lead
for 80 shots per man and two weeks rations of corn and jerky before we leave
for Crown Point. Our boats already
await us. This is what you wanted. This is what you have waited for. The time is now upon us. Fill your hearts with hate and show no mercy
to the enemy. That is all."
The men shouted their agreement with the mission and Rogers
walked away with a smile on his face because he knew he not only had their
allegiance but he also had their hearts.
Ben walked over to Matty and said, "well, the fat's in
the fire now and there's no turnin back.
I only wished St. Francis wasn't so durned far away cause it’s a fair
walk and I ain't as young as I used to be."
Matty smiled and slapped Ben on the back and said,
"come on old timer lets git ready.
I'm half your age and you can walk me into the ground with a 60 pound
pack on your back and you know it. Come
on lets git our stuff lined up."
None of them knew it at the time but the best of plans go
awry and these plans weren't exempt from fault or bad luck. And, bad luck is a gentle way of putting
it. The rangers would walk through the
valley of the shadow of death before this mission would be over.
CHAPTER 15
TO ST. FRANCIS
They pulled hard on the oars as the whale boats plowed
across the surface of Lake Champlain on the night of September 13, 1759. Not a man even whispered for fear of alerting
the French war ships they passed. The
huge sailing vessels sat still as if they were great dark cliffs in the center
of the lake. Occasionally a muffled
cough could be heard in the dark, or a wooden bucket falling to the deck and
rolling about until feet could be heard shuffling across deck wood to silence
it by picking it up. Like ghosts in the
night, 190 Rangers in 17 whale boats pulled hard on the oars yet no sound could
be heard except the parting of the water at the bow. They kept as far away as possible from the
anchored French ships which put their boats dangerously close to the shoreline
where they could be discovered by Indian scouts but luck was with them and
Rogers Rangers cruised past the French and continued up the shoreline to
Missisquoi Bay where the boats were withdrawn from the water and hidden in the
forest. Morning was approaching and the
rangers would camp with the boats until sun up when they would set out for St.
Francis where they would hopefully crush the Abenaki devils who butchered their
countrymen and families from the Hudson to the western frontier.
"See to your truck", Rogers said to his men as he
walked past them in their make shift camp.
He told them, "see to yer rifles and renew the prime
cause we'll be movin deep into French territory pretty quick. Ogden, set out yer flank guards. We move in 20 minutes."
Lieutenant Ogden replied, "Yes sir Major and gave a
command to ten rangers to move out into the forest both left and right side of
the column to keep look-out.
Matty lifted his pack to his shoulders and said to Ben,
"wish I'd not brought so much truck along on this trip cause this pack is
a bit on the weighty side."
Ben smiled and replied with a serious tone to his voice,
"if its too heavy then leave whatever ya can here with the boats cause ya
can't dump it on the march or the heathen will find it and that'll be the end
of us."
Matty took the pack down off his back, opened it and removed
his bullet mold, tongs and a small block of lead. The pack felt lighter as he hefted it to his
shoulders and slung it to his back. It
felt a lot better and he felt ready for the march.
Rogers instructed two Iroquois Indian scouts to stay with
the boats as guard with instructions to run ahead and inform him if the boats
were discovered.
The men were arranged into a very wide group in such a way
that no man followed directly behind another.
They weren't scattered about but moved as a spread out unit which would
prevent a ball from passing through a man and hitting another walking directly
behind him. One of Roger's rules of
rangering.
The order to move out was given and Rogers Rangers were finally
off overland toward the center of terrorism of the day which would give Roger's
Rangers hero status to British and Colonists alike and at the same time be
written to history books as one of the most harrowing human ordeals ever
recorded.
They had been
travelling for two days when the Iroquois guards caught up to them and notified
Rogers that the boats had been discovered. Rogers suspected that a French contingent of
Marines and/or Indians would be following on his heels. He had originally thought to return to the
boats on the same path but that course would be impossible now. He decided to return on a route East by South
to Lake Memphremagog. Furthermore,
Rogers sent a Lieutenant and six rangers back to Crown Point to arrange for
food and provisions to be transported to the old Wells River fort and in
response to Roger's request, Amherst dispatched
a detachment to Wells River with the provisions requested.
Rogers decided to continue on with the mission of
eliminating the Abenaki Indians at St Francis because whether they returned
home now or completed the mission and returned home was all in the same. But, they didn't realize the future turn of
events that would surround them.
Rogers suspected but wasn't sure that he was being pursued
when in reality, he was being chased by one Oliver de la Durante Drescord with
a hundred Abenaki's and French Marines, a seasoned Bush Way fighter whom Rogers
fought against during the Battle on Snowshoes.
Rogers figured he was being chased and chased hard so
decided to take his ranger command into the Missisquoi Swamp where it would be
impossible for any man, Indian or Frenchman, to track them. The cold rain fell incessantly chilling the
body to the bone and raising the water level in the swamp to chest deep at
times. The rangers pulled saplings down
to the surface of the water and tied them in place in order to have a dry spot
to sleep on. The trail was impossible to
read and the going was so difficult that
the French and Indians alike gave up the chase for Rogers and calculated the
rangers swung south of them to return to the St Lawrence River whence they
started but that was not the case.
Rogers and his rangers pressed on through the swamp for 9 days,
constantly walking in waist deep water and sleeping on tree logs and sapling
boughs until they finally reached the St Francis River where they moved north
along the shoreline in search of a place to cross. They had been on this adventure for 22 days
and their food was nearly exhausted.
Rogers hoped to replenish his supplies at the Abenaki village.
All Matty could think about was Hanna. He wanted the best for her and this sojourn
with the Rangers was the fastest way to gain the security of land that would
promise Hanna and him a home of their own without beholdin to anyone. There was something about this mission that
didn't sit right with him. When he
brought his feelings up to Ben he was told to just trust the Major. Major Rogers was worshiped by his men and
each of them was ready to put his life in harm's way for him.
Matty and Ben cut limbs off the trees as they were felled
until enough logs were acquired to build rafts that would carry the rangers and
supplies across the St Francis where the village would be sought out and a plan
devised for its destruction.
Matty said, "If I'd a known this soldierin was gonna be
this hard I'd probably not signed up agin.
That second hunert acres of land made me greedy I guess. Sure wish I was back home right now."
Ben replied, "it'll be over for ya know it. Just trust the Major. He never let us down yit and I doubt he ever
will. We best stick together if we can
when we git across this here water and I'll watch your back and you watch mine,
agreed?"
Matty smiled and said, "agreed!"
Late that day they ferried themselves and all their gear
across the water to the opposite shore where they hid the rafts in the brush
and tall grass. Two scouts were sent to
discover the location of the village and they returned in a little more than
one hour.
Rogers, with a concerned look on his face, said to Sgt
Brewer, "why are ye back so soon."
Brewer replied, "we are almost on top the village right
now. They're but a mile west of where we
stand and it’s a wonder they didn't hear us cutting down trees for the
rafts."
Rogers instantly moved all the men back into the trees out
of sight and removed his green deerskin frock to replace it with a doeskin over
shirt. His green deerskin pants were
replaced with a pair of greasy buckskins that had seen better days. They sat tight until almost dark when Rogers
told Lieutenant Ogden that he was going to scout the village to determine its
strength. He then disappeared into the
dark. Roger's countenance was such that
he moved through the Abenaki village with impunity. He not only looked like an Indian but he
moved like one too all the while taking stock in the number of fighting age men
and the kinds of weapons they would be using to repel the attack. He exited the dangerous place as easily and
quietly as he entered and he formed a plan on his way back to the ranger camp.
Captain Ogdan would work his way to the river with 30
rangers who's task would be to prevent any fleeing Indians from escaping the
attack by canoe or water. They were
instructed to fire two controlled volleys at the oncoming Abenaki's and then to
fire as fast as they could reload.
Rogers would split the remaining rangers into two forces and strike the
village from two sides simultaneously all the while setting fire to anything
that would burn using torches made with ash bark and wound with long, dry river
grass – the entire head of the torch saturated with pitch. They would have a go of it at 5:00 AM. The men lay where they could behind cover on
their blankets after placing their back packs and possibles at their feet. Those items would be picked up later after
the skirmish.
Matty lay on his back with his head against a moss covered
tree root that was of a height and perfectly formed to create a comfortable
cradle for his head. He thought,
"what am I doin here?" His
mind focused on the image of Hannah and he suddenly regained the determination
that got him this far with the rangers.
He kept telling himself that this raid would be the last. How long could his luck hold out tempting
fate as he had been doing? At times
Matty could not believe how these wilderness adventurers survived the
impossible situations they often times found themselves in and it was really
difficult to believe that he was a part of them. He never let on to Hannah but Matty was proud
to be part of Roger's Rangers. He
traipsed off into the unknown with good frontiersmen who could be counted upon if
things went awry and when it was all said and done, he liked the adventure of
it – the unknown danger and life on the edge made his blood run hot. He felt alive, but he had placed his heart in
Hanna's hands the day he saved her life back at her families' cabin. He arrived in time to save Hanna's life and
while doing so felt strange warmth in his chest he had not ever felt before.
Yes, this would be his last outing with the Rangers. It was time he collect his Ranger pay, his
deed for two hundred acres and return to loving arms that awaited him. Then he could return to Hanna and put down
roots on their land where they could build a house and a barn, buy livestock
and start a family - that is if he could survive this campaign he was on. Soon fate would guide the Rangers down into
the darkest valley where nothing lives but death's shadow and where they all to
a man would ask God's help.
CHAPTER 16
THE ATTACK
A hoot owl's call awakened Matty and his eyes opened instantly to the
disturbance and his hand fell onto the barrel of the rifle that lay at his
side.
He rolled over onto his right side and saw Ben down on one knee, his rifle
held at the ready, staring into the forest.
"I heard it Matty. I jist
wanted to be sarten it was really an owl.
There have been two of em talking back and forth to each other for the
past half hour and it made me nervous."
Matty said, "well I guess I'll be getten up cause the Major said we'd
be movin out at 4 AM. I reckon them are
real owls you're herin out there or we'd a been in the fire afore this."
Ben stood up straight and lowered his rifle, turned and walked back to his
blanket. Before he could sit back
down, Rogers walked up to them, stopped
briefly and said to be ready to move out in 15 minutes. He remained only long enough to hear Ben and
Matty acknowledge his order with a "yes sir" and then continued on to
notify the rest of the Rangers.
"Well, here we go I guess", Ben said.
Matty replied, "I just want to get this over with and leave this
place. There is evil here. I kin feel it.
The men were gathering around Rogers at the edge of the forest and the
thirty Rangers were sent around the encamped Indians to take up positions at
the river's edge below the town. Rogers
then separated the rest of the Rangers into two groups. Lieutenant Ogden's Rangers would prevent the
fleeing Indians from escaping by canoe down the river while the rest of the command
pushed into the town of St. Francis and burned it to the ground. The Rangers took up positions left and right
of St Francis and waited for the signal that Rogers himself would make which
was a lighted torch held high. At that
signal all would slowly move toward the town and torch any buildings in their
path as well as food stores and anything else that would burn. Once discovered by the inhabitants, the
rangers were free to reign down death to all occupants in the town, and they
did so with a vengeance. The Abenaki
lived in cabins much like the whites built. They were probably taught how to
construct such dwellings by the French.
The roofs were covered with grass and thatch and the fire took hold
quickly and caused great panic with the sleeping Indians within. Old and young alike tried to flee and escape
the wrath of the white demons known as Roger's Rangers for they knew that only the Rangers could
possibly reach them in this wilderness unobserved and that Roger's Rangers were
a force that neither the French nor the Indians could reckon with, and they
were afraid.
The rangers cut down as many as they could all the while remembering the
sight of their wives and children butchered and left laying on cabin floors or
scalped and hanging from cabin porch roofs with entrails hanging to the
ground. It was time for vengeance and
the rangers dealt out death in an exacting fashion. They ran through the town in groups of four
and five two or three would protect the others as they reloaded their pieces. Rangers ran through the cabins and tents with
torch and hatchet dealing which ever medicine was necessary at the moment. Women and children were to be spared but the
Rangers remembered their sons and
daughters as they lay in the dirt scalped with skulls bludgeoned in and they
showed little mercy on the miscreants they hunted this day.
The Indians were routed and they ran toward the river where the canoes
were beached and the forest lay just beyond the water on the other side. A hundred of them approached the canoes at a
run at which point Lieutenant Ogden gave the order, "first rank –
fire!"
Fifteen Rangers fired their weapons into the oncoming crowd. Ogden again ordered, "Second rank –
fire!", and another line of Rangers fired into the panicked Indians.
And finally, "fire at will!"
The Abenaki could not turn and run in the direction they came from as the
Rangers were sweeping in close behind them.
The only choice they had was to charge Ogden's men and chance getting
across the river and into the forests beyond, and so they did. They fell like sheaves of wheat to the
Rangers deadly fire from the front and rear simultaneously.
Finally Rogers called a halt to the killing and called his men to
regroup. The rangers used hatchets to
dispatch any wounded Abenaki they came across.
None would be spared.
Two white women were brought before Rogers and they were reluctant to
return to Fort Edward with him. They had
been in captivity by the Indians since childhood and had been adopted into the
tribe and eventually married young Abenaki men.
One carried a child and spat upon Rogers for killing her man. The Major told the woman with the child to
leave in safety because he knew the child would slow down their retreat and in
reality was too young to endure the rigors of a rapid, sustained march to Fort
number 4.
Every Ranger was told to retrieve their back packs, empty them of all
contents and to fill them with as much food as they could find. Rogers knew that a large force of nearly 200
French and Indians was on his back trail from the discovered whale boats and
that probably another contingent of French or Indians would soon be after them
from Ft. Carillon. The French Captain
Dumas with 200 Huron, Abenaki and French Marines was only one day behind Rogers
and it was imperative that the Rangers leave St Francis immediately which they
hastily did. Rogers was made aware that
the Abenaki's had little food within St Francis. The most prominent food that could be found
was corn and soy beans, and very little of it which the Rangers loaded into
their packs. A small quantity of jerked
meat was found but most was burned to a crisp in the fires set by the rangers.
And so Roger's Rangers set off into the forest with very little food in
their packs on a direct march for Fort #4 on the Memphremagog River where the
British would have provisions waiting for them.
Little did they realize that their journey home would go down in history
as one of the most incredible survival stories ever documented in American
history.
THE RETREAT
CHAPTER 17
Matty could only find a
couple hands full of parched corn and some dried apples to put in his pack. There wasn't much left after the fires they
had set. Any pemmican or meat was burned
to a crisp and unidentifiable for all intents and purposes. The
Major wanted to be off as soon as possible and off they went toward Lake
Memphremagog which was only 8 days away and they surely could make it on the
food they had collected. Major Rogers
knew that Jean-Daniel Dumas with his 100 Huron's was only a day behind and
would intensify their pursuit when they saw the remains of the Abenaki town of
St Francis.
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