Chapter 23: On the Offensive

Boone, Kenton, Henry, Sol, and Ross were returning in the night through the forest. They had stolen near enough to the Indian camp to see something of what had occurred, and now and then a word of the speech of Timmendiquas had reached them. But they did not need to see everything or to hear everything. They were too familiar with all the signs to make any mistake, and they knew that the savage horde was preparing for another great attack.

“I was hopin’,” said Daniel Boone, “that they’d go away, but I didn’t have any faith in my hope. They think they’ve got to hit hard to keep us back, an’ they’re right. I s’pose these are the finest huntin’ grounds in the world, an’ I wouldn’t want to give them up, either.”

“The attack led by Timmendiquas will be most determined,” said Henry. “What do you think we ought to do, Mr. Boone?”

“Hit first, an’ hit with all our might,” said Boone with emphasis. “Mr. Colfax is takin’ ammunition to the east, but he’s got to use some of it here.”

A happy thought occurred to Henry.

“They had cannon, which we sunk,” he said, “and of course they’ve got a lot of ammunition for these guns left. What if we should capture it? It would more than make up for what he will have to expend.”

“And why couldn’t we raise them guns?” said Shif’less Sol. “It ain’t likely that the explosion tore ‘em up much, jest sunk ‘em, an’ even ef they wuz dented about a bit they could be fixed up all right.”

“That is certainly worth thinkin’ about,” said Boone. “We must lay that notion before Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite. If the guns are raised it ought to be done to-night.”

They hurried toward the spot where they had left their canoe, but they did not forget caution. Their message was too important for the messengers to be caught by scouting Indian bands. They trod softly, and stopped at frequent intervals to listen, hearing now and then the hoot of owl or whine of wolf. They knew that the warriors were signaling to one another, but they felt equally sure that these signals had no reference to themselves, and they pressed steadily on until they came to the river.

They found their canoe untouched, and rowed out into the middle of the stream, where they stopped at Daniel Boone’s command.

“You know just where them boats were when you sunk ‘em?” he said to Henry.

Henry pointed to a spot upon the water.

“It was within three feet of that place,” he replied. “I’d stake anything upon it.”

“Then it’ll ‘pear strange to me if they don’t belong to us before mornin’,” said Boone. “The fleet has all kinds of men, an’ some of ‘em will know about raisin’ things out of water. What do you say, Simon?”

“Why, that them cannon are just as good as ours already,” replied Kenton with energy.

Boone laughed softly.

“Always the same Simon,” he said. “You see a thing that ought to be done, an’ to you it’s as good as done. I don’t know but that it’s well for a man to feel that way. It helps him over a heap of rough places.”

The boat resumed the passage, and without interruption reached the further shore, where they hid it again, and then entered the woods on their way to the fort.

“All of us must talk mighty strong about this attack,” said Boone. “We must hit while we’re all together, an’ we must make Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite feel the truth of what we’re sayin’. If the Indians have the biggest force that was ever gathered here, so have we, an’ that mustn’t be forgot.”

Daniel Boone spoke with great emphasis. His usually mild voice rose a little, and his words came forth sharp and strong. Henry felt that he told the truth, a truth most important, and he resolved, boy though he was, to second the famous woodsman’s words, with all his power.

They reached the fort without incident, noticing with pleasure that communication between fort and fleet was still sustained by a strong double line of sentinels. Daniel Boone asked at once for a conference with Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite, and it was held in the chief room of a great, double log house, the largest in the place. Besides the two commanders, the five, Drouillard, Thrale, Lyon, Cole, Wilmot, and several others of importance were present. Boone, as became his experience and fame, was the first spokesman, and he laid before the commanders and their lieutenants all that the party had seen and heard. He urged with great vigor the necessity of attack. He believed that they would have a much greater chance of victory if they struck first instead of standing on the defensive, and he spoke, also, of the cannon in the river, and the ammunition for them in the Indian camp. If they were successful, the ammunition taken from the Indians would more than fill the place of that used by the fleet in the battle. The eyes of Adam Colfax glowed appreciatively at the mention of the cannon.

“It would be a great thing for us,” he said, “if we could arrive at Pittsburgh with more cannon than we started with at New Orleans. We’ve got divers and the best of boatmen in our fleet, and I’m in favor of going out at once to salvage those guns.”

“An’ do we attack?” asked Boone persistently. “Remember there is a great treasure in the Indian camp, the ammunition they brought for the guns, which you can take with you to Pittsburgh. The harder we strike now the better it will be for us hereafter.”

The stern face of Adam Colfax began to work. The battle light came into his eyes.

“I’m a good member of the church,” he said, “and I’m a man of peace, that is, I want to be, though it seems to me that Providence has often set my feet in other ways, and I believe that what you tell us, Mr. Boone, is true. If we don’t strike hard at this chief Timmendiquas and his men, they will strike hard at us. I shall put it to the men in my fleet; if they favor it we will go. What do you say about yours, Major?”

Major George Augustus Braithwaite looked at the men about him, and the battle light came into his eyes, also.

“It shan’t be said, Mr. Colfax, that my men stayed behind when yours were willing to go. I shall take the vote, and if they say fight--and they certainly will say it--we go with you.”

Messengers hurried forth and polled the two camps. An overwhelming majority were in favor of making the attack. In the fleet the men, used to danger and loving it as the breath of their nostrils, were practically unanimous. But Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite agreed to drag first for the cannon.

At three in the morning a dozen boats went forth upon the river. They contained the two commanders, Boone, Kenton, Henry, and others, besides the divers and the men with grappling hooks. It was a dark night, and, in addition, Simon Kenton and a dozen good men went upon the northern shore to search the woods for a watching enemy.

Henry and Seth Cole were in the boat with Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite, and the two sought to mark the exact spot upon the water at which the cannon had been sunk. This might seem a most difficult task, but the last detail of that eventful night had been photographed upon Henry’s mind. It seemed to him that he could remember, within a foot, the exact spot at which the guns had gone beneath the current of the Ohio.

“It is here,” he said to Adam Colfax, and the scout nodded. All the boats anchored, and the divers dropped silently into the muddy stream. Henry watched eagerly, and in a minute or so they came up sputtering. Their hands had touched nothing but the bottom. Adam Colfax and Major Braithwaite looked disappointed, but both Henry and the scout insisted that it was the right place.

“Try again,” said Adam Colfax, and the divers went down a second time. The last of them to come up looked over the side of their boat, and when he wiped the water from his eyes, triumph showed there.

“They are here,” he said. “I touched one of them. It is sunk in the mud, but we can raise it.”

They uttered a little suppressed cry of triumph, and presently the divers touched the other, also. The grappling hooks were sent down, and those in the boats watched eagerly to see if the cannon could be raised. Every big gun was precious in those early days of war, and if Adam Colfax could add two such prizes to those he already had on the fleet he would be repaid for much that they had suffered on their great voyage.

The hooks at last took hold. The gun was lifted two or three feet, but it slipped from their grasp and buried itself deeper than ever in the mud. A second trial was made with a like result, but the third was more successful, and the gun was lifted from the water. It came, muzzle first, presenting a grinning mouth like some sea monster, but the suppressed little cry of triumph broke forth again as the cannon was loaded, with toil and perspiration, upon one of the larger boats. Their joy increased when they saw that it was practically unharmed, and that it would be indeed a valuable addition to their armament.