Books: On the Trail of Pontiac
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Edward Stratemeyer >> On the Trail of Pontiac
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"They must have gone up to the Lakes after all," said James Morris. "If it
is so, I am thankful for it."
"And so am I thankful," added Dave.
As soon as the weather moderated, the hunters and trappers sallied forth
once more, going up and down the Ohio and many miles to the westward. Some
of the Indians used their guns as skillfully as the white men, but when
powder and ball were scarce they fell back upon their bows and arrows, and
it was astonishing what large game they secured.
Once during the winter Dave went out with White Buffalo, on a hunt which
lasted three days. They took their bags full of provisions, and the Indian
chief led the way across the Ohio and into the depths of the forest, which
was entirely new to the youth.
"White Buffalo knows the deer are plentiful here," said the Indian, and so
it proved, for before noon they struck the trail of some of the animals,
and by nightfall had laid a large buck and his mate low. Then they took up
the trail of some other animals and were equally successful.
The evening of the second day's hunt found the pair in the vicinity of an
Indian village called Shilagum, standing not far from where the Muskingum
River flowed into the Ohio. It was only a small place, but noted among the
Shawanoes as the abode of a great medicine man named Paka-Lokalla, or
Medicine-of-the-Clouds. The medicine man was an old fellow, with but one
ear, and an eye that drooped, but he was looked to as being powerful, and
many of the Indians refused to do much without consulting him.
White Buffalo was known in the village, but being of a different tribe he
received a cold welcome, until he said he was willing to pay for
accommodations for himself and his companion, pointing at the same time to
a small skin hanging over his shoulder. At once the Indians bustled about
and made the squaws get the visitors something to eat, and made them clean
out a small wigwam where the pair might rest for the night.
Dave was suspicious about the wigwam, and especially the old robes offered
for bedding, for he had had one unpleasant experience with red men's
vermin, as already related in this series. But the wigwam and the robes
proved fairly clean after all, and he slept soundly until morning.
When he came forth for his breakfast he was informed by White Buffalo that
a most important visitor had arrived at the village. This was none other
than Pontiac, the great chief of the Ottawas, who was accompanied by
several companions, including Deer Neck, an under-chief of the Wyandots.
Having heard so much about Pontiac, Dave was anxious to see him. He spoke
to White Buffalo about the matter and the latter spoke to one of the head
men of the village, and a little later both were introduced to the man who,
a year and a half later, was to head one of the greatest Indian uprisings
known to our history.
At this time Pontiac was between forty-five and fifty years of age, tall,
well-formed, and with muscles of iron. His hair was long, his eyes black
and penetrating, and his general manner a commanding one. Where he had come
from was rather uncertain, although it was generally believed that his
father had been either an Ottawa, a Miami, or a Sac, and his mother an
Ojibway.
Not only was Pontiac the head of the Ottawas, but he was likewise a chief
of the Metais, a powerful organization in the Lake region, the members of
which were supposed to be master magicians. To the Metais the ignorant
savages humbled themselves as they did to their greatest medicine man.
Of the early history of Pontiac but little can be said. It is doubted if he
was a great hunter, although he could use his bow and arrows and a gun with
considerable skill. It was as a leader that he shone best. He had uncommon
sagacity, good reasoning powers, and a manner of talking that was most
persuasive. More than this, his spirit was such that, once having
undertaken a project, he would do his best to carry it through, no matter
what the cost.
What had brought him to this village Dave did not learn, nor did White
Buffalo, for Pontiac said but little so long as they remained at hand. The
great chief showed plainly that he wished to be alone with those he had
sought out, so White Buffalo and the youth did not prolong their stay
longer than was necessary.
As they were about to leave, Pontiac strode forward and glanced sharply at
Dave.
"They tell me your father has opened a trading-post on the Ohio." he said
in his native tongue.
Dave did not understand, but White Buffalo quickly interpreted the speech.
"He has," answered the youth.
"Does he expect to stay there, or move still further westward?"
"He is going to stay."
At this the great chief gave Dave another close look. Then he turned away
and said no more.
"What do you make of this, White Buffalo?" asked Dave, after they had left
the Indian village a goodly distance behind them.
"Pontiac likes not the fact that Dave's father has settled down on the
Ohio," was the slow answer. "Pontiac wishes the English to keep close to
the shores of the Great Waters."
"I must say he looks like a great chief," said the youth thoughtfully.
"He is a great chief, and his power is as wide-spreading as a great summer
storm," answered White Buffalo. "The red men everywhere listen to him with
all ears."
"Do you suppose he came to see that medicine man?"
"It may be so--he did not tell White Buffalo. But Pontiac is a magician--he
can work wonders when he will, so I have heard."
Dave did not believe this, but said nothing on the point to his companion,
for he knew it would be useless to attempt to uproot so deep--set a
superstition.
"I sincerely hope Pontiac does not try to make trouble for my father," he
went on.
"He will do nothing at present--the time is not ripe. The war hatchet is
not dug up when the snow covers the ground."
"I know that. But we want no trouble in the spring either."
At this, White Buffalo shrugged his shoulders.
"Who can tell what the moons to come will bring forth?" he said. "The sun
comes up and man is alive; it sets, and the last rays fall upon his grave.
The Great Spirit of the happy hunting ground rules, but the face of the
Great Spirit is hidden from the eyes of the red man and the eyes of the
white man as well."
CHAPTER XVII
THE ATTACK ON THE PACK-TRAIN
With the coming of spring, both James Morris and Dave looked eagerly for
the time when Henry and Barringford should return to the trading-post with
many articles which were much needed, and with what was better yet, news
from home.
"I can hardly wait for Henry to get here." said Dave one day. "There is so
much I want to know about."
"You must be patient, Dave," returned his parent. "The trails are by no
means good yet, and it may be that they have not got started on the
journey."
The Indians were now bringing in many beaver skins, to exchange for
blankets and powder, but James Morris had nothing to offer them. Many came
from a great distance and were much disappointed, so it was not long before
the trader looked for the coming pack-train as anxiously as did Dave.
"If they don't come soon, I'll lose what trade I have established," he
said. "They will take their skins and furs where they are sure of making an
exchange."
With the white hunters and trappers it was different. All were willing to
trust James Morris, and simply left their goods at the post, to be paid for
when the pack-train arrived. It may be added here that Barringford and
Henry had been told, in secret, to bring with them one hundred pounds
(about five hundred dollars) in gold and silver money, for not a few wanted
cash for their pelts.
In the meantime came news that Jean Bevoir and Jacques Valette had been
seen among the Indians on the upper Muskingum River. They had done a little
trading with the Indians in that neighborhood, and had become very friendly
with a young chief named Flat Nose, and with some warriors under him who
went by the name of the Wanderers.
"Did you ever hear of this Flat Nose?" asked Dave of the frontiersman who
had brought in the information.
"Not I, but Jadwin has," said the hunter. "He says he is as treacherous as
they make 'em, and so are all the Wanderers under him. They move from place
to place, taking whatever they can lay their hands on."
"Then they will just suit a fellow like Jean Bevoir."
"I don't doubt but that you are right, lad, and they'll suit Jacques
Valette, too."
"What has become of Hector Bergerac, do you know?"
"I think he has cut company with Bevoir and Valette. He was too honest for
them, I reckon."
In the meantime, matters between the English and the Indians all over the
Colonies were going from bad to worse. Those in authority would not listen
to such a man as Sir William Johnson, who knew the red men thoroughly, and
such a wise statesman as Benjamin Franklin, who believed in giving the
Indian his just due. The war had cost a great deal, and now it was decided
to cut down expenses, which meant that in the future the Indians would get
but few of the presents which, in the past, had been presented to them.
More than this, English traders of all sorts were allowed to go among the
red men and barter as they pleased, and some of these literally robbed
those who were too ignorant or simple of heart to trade intelligently.
The coming of so many English traders made the French traders furious, and
as they saw their business slipping away from them they did all they could
to get the English into "hot water" with the red men. They told the Indians
that the English meant to take everything from them, their lands, their
wigwams, and their possessions, including their squaws and children--to
make slaves of the latter--and that the red men must fight or be wiped out.
And they always added that, if the Indians would make war, they, the
French, would help them in every possible manner.
This was but the empty talk of brutal and ignorant traders, who had
everything to gain and nothing to lose. But the Indians listened to them,
and at last concluded that it must be so--that the English meant to
exterminate them. They held long councils of war, and at last determined to
strike a blow at the first favorable opportunity. Pontiac spoke at many of
these secret meetings, in a manner that was truly eloquent of the cause he
espoused.
"The Indian must fight or he must become as a squaw and a slave," said
Pontiac. "The English will press him to the bitter end. They say they are
our friends, but they come as wolves in the night to take away our all. You
ask how are we to fight them, for they are many? We must use our cunning,
we must not let them think we are their enemies. We must treat them as our
best friends. Then, when the time is ripe, shall the blow be struck, and no
English man, woman, or child shall escape. Pontiac has spoken. Who is there
to dispute what he has said?"
The discontent of the Indians was strongest throughout Virginia,
Pennsylvania, and New York. The Delawares--those who would not listen to
such chiefs as White Buffalo--were angered in the extreme, and the
Shawanoes were likewise unsettled. In New York State some simple-minded
Indians petitioned Sir William Johnson to have the English forts "kicked
out of the way," as they expressed it. This, of course, could not be done,
and the red men viewed the strengthening of the strongholds with increased
suspicion. Some threats were made to destroy the fort at Detroit, but the
time was not ripe for a well-planned attack, and nothing came of it.
At last James Morris could bear the waiting no longer, and leaving Dave and
the frontiersman, Sanderson, in charge of the trading-post, he set out with
Jadwin on horseback, to see if he could learn anything about the pack-train
that was expected.
"Be very careful while I am gone," he said to his son, and Dave promised to
do his best.
The route of Mr. Morris and his companion lay through the burn-over, and
along the trail previously followed. Good time was made, for their steeds
were fresh, and by nightfall they had covered at least twenty-five miles.
They went into camp at a convenient spot on the bank of a purling brook,
where nothing came to disturb them while they slept. Hardly had they gone
two miles in the morning, however, when they came upon a sight that filled
them with alarm. Propped up against a tree was Henry, capless, and with the
blood streaming over his face from an ugly cut in the forehead.
"Henry! What does this mean?" demanded James Morris.
"Uncle James!" faltered the youth. "Help--help me!"
"To be sure I'll help you, Henry. But what does it mean? Where are Sam and
the others, and the horses?"
"We were attacked--some Indians and some white men came upon us at
nightfall yesterday. Lampton and Cass, who were with us, were shot down,
and Sam was hit and so was I. Our Indians fled into the forest, for the
enemy were four to one. Sam and I did what we could, but we had to run. In
the darkness we became separated--and here I am."
While Henry was speaking, his uncle was washing his wound, for the youth
had stopped near a brook, and now the hurt was bound up with a bit of cloth
which was always carried by the trader for just such emergencies. Henry was
very weak, and said he had wandered aimlessly about during the night,
trying to find the trail to the trading-post. "It may be that Sam is dead,"
he said sadly. "I know he was struck twice, by a rifle bullet and by an
arrow which went into his shoulder. Lampton and Cass, I know, are dead, for
I examined them. Conoseka, one of the Indians, was hit in the left arm, but
he fled with the other redskins of our party."
"Did you recognize any of those who attacked you?"
"No, for they were in the forest, while we were in a little clearing. The
attack came without warning. We were just building a camp-fire when two
rifle shots rang out, and Lampton and Cass fell. Then came a yell from the
whites and the war cry from the Indians, and shots and arrows flew in all
directions. Sam and I picked up our guns, and I know Sam hit one of the
whites, for I saw him throw up his hands and fall in some brushwood. Then
one of the redskins went down, and after that I was hit and went into a
twist, so I can't exactly tell what followed. I heard Sam yell to me to
run, or we'd be killed, and I picked up my gun and ran for the trees. I
hadn't gone very far when I tripped and fell, and the gun got lost in a
dark hollow. I tried to find the gun, but I couldn't, and then I heard some
Indians coming after me and I ran on again until I found a small place
between the rocks, where I hid until about three hours ago. Then I started
to look for the trail, but I got dizzy and had to sit down where you found
me."
"You haven't seen any of your party since you ran away?"
"Not a soul. The Indians and Sam ought to be somewhere near, and the
pack-train, too, for that matter."
"The rascals must have known the pack-train was coming." said Jadwin, who
had been through many fights on the frontier. "To my mind it looks like a
well-planned attack."
"That is true," answered James Morris. "The question is, shall we go
forward and investigate, or return to the post and give the alarm?"
"Reckon you had better give the alarm. Those rascals may be plannin' to
attack the post, too."
"I was thinking of that. But I would like to know what has become of the
pack-train and all of my belongings."
"Then, supposing you go ahead alone and take a look around, while Henry and
I go to the post?"
This was quickly settled upon, and a few minutes later James Morris moved
onward, on horseback, with his gun ready for use, should the enemy put in
an appearance.
CHAPTER XVIII
AFTER THE ENCOUNTER
Less than an hour after leaving his nephew and Jadwin, James Morris reached
the spot where the fearful encounter of the evening before had occurred.
The spectacle was one to make the heart of any onlooker turn sick, and a
shudder passed through the frame of the trader as he gazed at the scene of
desolation before him.
Close to the burnt-out camp-fire rested the form of Barnaby Cass, a
well-known resident of Winchester, who had followed Barringford to the Ohio
district in an endeavor to better his fortunes, A bullet had passed through
his heart, and he must have died ere his body struck the ground.
A dozen paces away lay the corpse of the other white man, Oliver Lampton,
well known through western Pennsylvania as the Trapper Preacher, because
about half of his time was spent in hunting and trapping, and the remainder
in preaching temperance to the whites and red men who indulged in liquor to
excess. Beside Lampton lay one of the pack-horses, also dead, and another
pack-horse lay a little further off, suffering greatly from two broken
legs. To put this animal out of its misery James Morris fired a shot into
its brain.
Great confusion was on all sides, for many of the packs had been broken
open and rifled of their most valuable contents. About half of the stuff
had been left behind, principally the goods of the greatest weight. Much
that was breakable had been broken, and some valuable blankets that could
not be carried off had been slashed and cut with keen knives, in a hasty
endeavor to ruin them.
"The rascals!" muttered the trader. "If only we can get on their trail they
shall pay dearly for their bloody work here."
Having surveyed the camp, he moved around among the trees and brushwood in
the vicinity. He soon found the body of an Indian who had belonged to the
pack-train party, and then another Indian who looked to be an enemy. The
latter had his face painted in peculiar wavy streaks which the trader had
seen twice before.
"The Wanderers!" he muttered. "I half suspected it might be so. This is the
work of that rascal Flat Nose--and if that is so, he is moving northward
with all speed to get away with his booty. More than likely some French
hunters--ha!" He broke off short, for in the undergrowth he had caught
sight of another form, that of a white man leaning against a fallen tree,
with a gun clutched tightly in his stiffened hands.
"Baptiste Masson!" he muttered, naming a rough French hunter and trapper
who, in years gone by, had worked for Jean Bevoir. "As I thought. It was a
plot between the Wanderers and the French! They mean to drive me from the
Ohio if they possibly can. Masson, eh? Can it be that Jean Bevoir, and
Valette, and Bergerac were in it, too? More than likely."
The Frenchman was dead, and James Morris did not hesitate to take his gun
and ammunition. He also searched the fellow's pockets, but found nothing of
value, nor any clew which might lead to the identity of his companions in
the outrage. A further hunt through the forest revealed where something of
a struggle had taken place between two white men on foot, but both were
gone, and the trail was lost in an adjacent brook, down which one had fled
and the other had likely followed, at least for a distance.
The fact that he did not find the body of Sam Barringford gave James Morris
hope. If the old frontiersman was not seriously wounded it was more than
likely he was on the trail of those who had attacked the pack-train, with a
view to finding out where they were going, or to ascertain exactly who was
responsible for the affair.
"I know Sam will do what he can," he thought, and with this small degree of
comfort he loaded his steed with such things as he could carry and started
on the return to the trading-post.
It was a hard journey, and he did not reach the Ohio until long after
nightfall. He found the post being guarded by five frontiersmen and eight
Indians, who had been hastily called together as soon as Henry and Jadwin
appeared.
"Father!" cried Dave joyfully, as he ran to meet his parent. "I am glad you
are back safe."
"Has Henry come?"
"Yes, and I made him lie down, he was so weak. What an awful fight it must
have been! Did you discover who did it?"
"Partly. One of the dead redskins was a Wanderer, and a dead white man was
that good-for-nothing Baptiste Masson I have often mentioned to you."
"The fellow who traveled with Jean Bevoir?"
"The same. I am inclined to think that the attack was organized by Flat
Nose, of the Wanderers, and Bevoir. If you'll remember, Jadwin said Flat
Nose, Bevoir, and Valette were very friendly."
"What about Sam?"
"I couldn't find any trace of him, although I looked around pretty well."
"Sam carried fifty pounds of the money you sent for. Henry has the rest of
it safe."
"I am glad of that. But I wish I knew about Sam. He may have run himself
into a regular hornet's nest."
Nothing had happened to disturb those at the post itself, and James Morris
lost no time in sending out two white men and two Indians, with horses to
bring in what was left on the trail of his belongings.
It was found that Henry was not seriously wounded, and after a good night's
sleep the youth felt much better. His mind was now clearer, and he related
all the particulars of the attack as far as he knew them.
"I should judge there must have been, at least, six white men and twenty
Indians," he said.
"They ran from tree to tree and had us at a disadvantage from the very
start. I should have been shot dead if I hadn't got behind one of the
horses. The redskins set up a fearful din after the white men shot off
their guns. I was afraid every one of us would be killed and scalped."
"Thank God that you escaped!" murmured James Morris, and Dave breathed a
silent amen. The following day found James Morris more impatient than ever
to learn what had become of Sam Barringford. He wanted to go on a search
for the old frontiersman, yet he did not deem it advisable to leave the
trading-post, fearing that an attack might come during his absence.
"I will go out for you," said Jadwin "I'd do 'most anything fer Sam
Barringford. We have hunted and fit Injuns fer twenty-five years and more."
"And I'll go with Tony," put in Ira Sanderson. "I think we can hit the
trail if any white men can."
The matter was talked over for fully an hour, and Dave took in what was
said with deep interest.
"Father, let them go, and let me go with them," he said. "You know what I
think of Sam. If he is in trouble, I want to aid him if it can possibly be
done."
"You'll be safer here, Dave."
"Perhaps, but let me go, won't you?"
Dave continued to plead, and in the end it was settled that he should
accompany Tony Jadwin and Ira Sanderson on the scouting tour. The three
were to go on horseback, and were to return inside of four or five days,
unless a turn of circumstances made it necessary to stay away longer.
"You take good care of yourself, Dave," said Henry, who was sitting on a
bench with his head bound up. "Those Indians are on the warpath, and they
mean business."
"Well, I'll mean business too, if I get a chance at them," replied the
youth, with a short laugh.
From Henry it was learned that all at the Morris homestead were well. The
twins were now able to walk and were very cute. In spite of all that had
been done to learn something of their parentage, the mystery surrounding
their identity was as thick as ever. A few inquiries had been made
concerning them, but nobody had come forward to claim the pair.
"I reckon they are going to be Sam's twins after all," said Henry. "That
is, unless something has happened to Sam. If he's dead--but no, I can't
think that, can you?"
"I cannot," answered Dave soberly. "He's our best chum, isn't he? Oh, he
must be alive!" He paused a moment. "But if he isn't, I reckon we'll have
to keep the twins for him."
"Of course we'll have to keep the twins. My, but they are funny little
chaps! Nell thinks the world of them, and mother and Rodney are just about
as bad. I think, behind it all, the folks would rather keep them than have
somebody come and take them away," concluded Henry.
Preparations for the departure were soon complete, and the party left the
trading-post in the morning, long before the sun was up. It had been
decided that they should go straight to the spot where the attack had taken
place, and from that point do their best to learn what had become of Sam
Barringford, and of the men who had run away with the goods.
"Remember, my son, to keep out of danger if you can possibly do so," was
James Morris' final warning. "I would rather lose my goods a dozen times
over than have anything serious happen to you."
"I'll do my best," answered Dave; and a moment later he rode away, little
dreaming of the surprises in store for him.
CHAPTER XIX
THE TRAIL THROUGH THE FOREST
It can truthfully be said that at the time of which I write, no hunter on
the trail was more keen-eyed among the whites than Antonio Jadwin, who had
been chosen as leader of the little expedition.
Tony Jadwin, as he was familiarly called, was English by birth, but had
come to America while but a child of four. His folks had settled on the
frontier, and both had been massacred in an uprising when the lad was less
than sixteen. Tony had at once started in as a hunter and trapper on his
own responsibility, and from that day to the present time had managed to
earn for himself a comfortable if not a luxurious living.
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