Chapter 16: The River Fight

Henry shook hands with them all in turn and they sat down under the shade of an oak. Mr. Pennypacker looked him over slowly and rather quizzically.

“Henry,” he said, “I scarcely realize that you were a pupil of mine. Here in the wilderness I see that you are the teacher and that I am a pretty poor and limping sort of pupil.”

“You can teach us all many and useful things,” said Henry modestly.

“What did you learn, Henry?” asked Paul.

Henry told the tale in brief, concise words, and the others expressed pleasure at his news.

“And so Clark is coming,” said the schoolmaster thoughtfully. “It is wonderful what the energy and directing mind of one man can do. That name alone is enough to change the nature of a whole campaign. ‘Tis lucky that we have this Cæsar of the backwoods to defend us. What is your plan now, Henry?”

Mr. Pennypacker, like the others, instinctively looked upon Henry as the leader.

“We’ll go straight to the Falls of the Ohio,” replied Henry. “It will take us two or three weeks to get there, and we’ll have to live mostly on our rifles, but that’s where we’re needed. Clark will want all the men he can get.”

“I am old,” said the schoolmaster, “and it has not been my business hitherto to fight, but in this great crisis of Kentucky I shall try to do my part. I too shall offer my services to George Rogers Clark.”

“He’ll be glad to get you,” said Tom Ross.

After the brief rest they began the long journey from what is now the middle part of the state of Ohio to the Falls of the Ohio and the new settlement of Louisville there. It was an arduous undertaking, particularly for the schoolmaster, as it led all the way through woods frequented by alert Indians, and, besides deep rivers there were innumerable creeks, which they could cross only by swimming. Bearing this in mind Henry’s thoughts returned to the first boat which they had hidden in the bushes lining the banks of one of the Ohio’s tributaries. As the whole country was now swarming with the warriors the passage down the Ohio would undoubtedly be more dangerous than the path through the woods, but the boat and the river would save a vast expenditure of strength. Henry laid the two plans before the others.

“What do you say, Sol?” he asked.

“I’m fur the boat an’ the river,” replied the shiftless one. “I’d rather be rowed by Jim Hart than walk five hundred miles.”

“And you, Paul?”

“I say take to the boat. We may have to fight. We’ve held them off on the water before and I’m sure we can do it again.”

“And you, Tom?”

“The boat.”

“And you, Jim?”

“The boat, an’ make Sol thar do his share uv the work.”

“What do you say, Mr. Pennypacker?”

“I’m not a forester, and as all of you are for the boat, so am I.”

“That seems to make it unanimous, and in an hour we’ll start for our hidden navy. It’s at the edge of the next big river east of the Scioto and we ought to steer a pretty straight course for it.”

They traveled at a good pace. Mr. Pennypacker, while not a woodsman, was a good walker, and, despite his age, proved himself tough and enduring. They crossed Indian trails several times, but did not come into contact with any of the warriors. They swam three or four deep creeks, but in four days they came to the river not many miles above the place at which they had hidden the boat. Then they descended the stream and approached the point with some anxiety.

“Suppose the boat isn’t there,” said Paul; “suppose the Indians have found it.”

“We ain’t supposing’,” said Shif’less Sol. “We’re shore it’s thar.”

They waded among the bushes growing at the water’s edge and the shiftless one, who was in advance, uttered a suppressed cry of pleasure.

“Here it is, jest ez we left it,” he said.

The boat had been untouched, but Henry knew all the time the chances were in favor of their finding it so. With the keenest delight, they pulled it out into the stream and looked it over. They had made of it a cache and they had left in it many valuable articles which they would need. Among these were four extra rifles, two fine fowling pieces, a large supply of powder and lead, axes and hatchets, and extra clothing and blankets. They had stocked the boat well on leaving Pittsburgh, and now it was like retaking a great treasure. Shif’less Sol climbed aboard and with a deep sigh of pleasure reclined against the side.

“Now, Saplin’,” he said, “I’ll go to sleep while you row me down to Louisville.”

“We’ll do most of our traveling by night,” said Henry, “and as we’ll have the current with us I don’t think that you or Jim, Sol, will have to work yourselves to death.”

After their examination of the boat to see that everything was all right, they pulled it back into the bushes, not intending to start until the dark set in. There was a considerable supply of salted food, coffee and tea on board, but Henry and Sol killed two deer farther up the river bank which they quickly cleaned and dressed. They now thought themselves provisioned for the trip to the Falls of the Ohio, and they carried, in addition, fishing tackle which they could use at any time.

They pulled clear of the bushes about 8 o’clock in the evening and rowed down the river. But as the stream was bank full and running fast, they did not have to make any great effort. Toward midnight when they reached some of the wider parts of the river they set the sail and went ahead at a swifter pace. Henry calculated that they could reach the Ohio slightly after dawn, but as the night was uncommonly clear, with the promise of a very brilliant day to follow, they furled their sails at least two hours before sunrise, and, finding another shallow cove, drew their boat into it among the bushes.

“Now for a sleep,” said Henry. “Tom and I will keep watch until noon and then Sol and Paul will take our places. At night we will start again.”

“And where does my watch come, pray?” asked Mr. Pennypacker.

“We want you to help us to-night,” replied Henry. “We’ll need your knowledge of the sail and the oars.”

“Very well,” replied the unsuspicious schoolmaster. “It is understood that I do extra work to-night, because I do not watch to-day.”

Henry, when he turned his face away, smiled a little. It was understood among them all that they were to spare the schoolmaster as much as possible, and to do so, they used various little devices. Theirs was a good roomy boat and those who were to sleep first disposed themselves comfortably, while Henry sat in the prow and Tom in the stern, both silent and apparently listless, but watching with eyes and ears alike. The dawn came, and, as they had foreseen, it was a bright, hot day. It was so close among the bushes that the sleepers stirred restlessly and beads of perspiration stood on the faces of the watchers. Not a breath of air stirred either in the woods or on the river. Henry was glad when it was their turn to sleep, and when he awoke, night had come with its cool shadows and a wind also that dispelled the breathless heat.

Then they pulled out of the bushes and floated again with the stream, but they did not hoist their sail. The air after the close heat of the day was charged with electricity, and they looked for a storm. It came about 11 o’clock, chiefly as a display of thunder and lightning. The flashes of electricity dazzled them and continued without a break for almost an hour. The roar of the thunder was like the unbroken discharges of great batteries, but both wind and rain were light. Several times the lightning struck with a tremendous crash in the woods about them, but the boat glided on untouched. About midnight they came out into the flood of the Ohio, and, setting their sail, they steered down the center of the stream.

All of them felt great relief, now that they were on the wide Ohio. On the narrower tributary they might have been fired upon from either shore, but the Ohio was a half mile and sometimes a full mile from bank to bank. As long as they kept in the middle of the stream they were practically safe from the bullets of ambushed Indians.

They took turns at sleeping, but it was not necessary now to use the oars. The wind was still strong, and the sail carried them at great speed down the river. They felt safe and comfortable, but it was a wild and weird scene upon which they looked. The banks of the Ohio here were high and clothed in dense forest which, in the glare of the lightning, looked like gigantic black walls on either shore. The surface of the river itself was tinted under the blaze as if with fire, and often it ran in red waves before the wind. The darkness was intense, but the flashes of lightning were so vivid that they easily saw their way.

“We’re going back on our old path now, Paul,” said Henry. “You remember how we came up the river with Adam Colfax, fought the fleet of Timmendiquas, and helped save the fort?”

“I couldn’t well forget it,” replied Paul. “Why, I can see it all again, just as if it happened only yesterday, but I’m mighty glad that Timmendiquas is not here now with a fleet.”

“Will we tie up to the bank by day as we did on the other river?” asked Mr. Pennypacker.

“Not on the Ohio,” replied Henry. “As white immigrants are now coming down it, Indians infest both shores, so we’ll keep straight ahead in the middle of the stream. We may be attacked there, but perhaps we can either whip or get away from anything that the Indians now have on the river.”

While they talked Shif’less Sol looked carefully to their armament. He saw that all the extra rifles and pistols were loaded and that they lay handy. But he had little to say and the others, after the plan had been arranged, were silent. The wind became irregular. Now and then gusts of it lashed the surface of the giant stream, but toward morning it settled into a fair breeze. The thunder and lightning ceased by that time, and there was promise of a good day.

The promise was fulfilled and they floated peacefully on until afternoon. Then shots were fired at them from the northern bank, but the bullets spattered the water a full fifty yards short. Henry and Sol, who had the keenest eyes, could make out the outlines of Indians on the shore, but they were not troubled.

“I’m sure it’s just a small hunting party,” said Henry, “and they can do us no harm. Their bullets can’t reach us, and you can’t run along the banks of a great river and keep up with a boat in the stream.”

“That’s true,” said Shif’less Sol, “an’ I think I’ll tell ‘em so. I always like to hurt the feelin’s of a bloodthirsty savage that’s lookin’ fur my scalp.”

He opened his mouth to its widest extent and gave utterance to a most extraordinary cry, the like of which had perhaps never before been heard in those woods. It rose in a series of curves and undulations. It had in it something of the howl of the wolf and also the human note. It was essentially challenging and contemptuous. Anybody who heard it was bound to take it as a personal insult, and it became most effective when it died away in a growling, spitting noise, like the defiance of an angry cat. Henry fairly jumped in his seat when he heard it.

“Sol,” he exclaimed, “what under the sun do you mean?”

The mouth of the shiftless one opened again, but this time in a wide grin of delight.

“I wuz jest tellin’ them Injuns that I didn’t like ‘em,” he replied. “Do you reckon they understood?”

“I think they did,” replied Henry with emphasis.

“That bein’ so, I’ll tell ‘em ag’in. Look out, here she comes!”

Again the mouth of Shif’less Sol swung wide, and again he uttered that fearful yell of defiance, abuse, contempt and loathing, a yell so powerful that it came back in repeated echoes without any loss of character. The Indians on the bank, stung by it, uttered a fierce shout and fired another volley, but the bullets fell further short than ever. Shif’less Sol smiled in deep content.

“See how I’m makin’ ‘em waste good ammunition,” he said. “I learned that trick from Paul’s tales o’ them old Greeks an’ Trojans. As fur ez I could make out when a Greek an’ Trojan come out to fight one another, each feller would try to talk the other into throwin’ his spear fust, an’ afore he wuz close enough to take good aim. All them old heroes done a heap o’ talkin’ an’ gen’ally they expected to get somethin’ out o’ it.”

“Undoubtedly the Greeks and Trojans had thrilling war cries,” said Mr. Pennypacker, “but I doubt, Mr. Hyde, whether they ever had any as weird as yours.”

“Which shows that I’m jest a leetle ahead o’ any o’ them old fellers,” said Shif’less Sol in tones of deep satisfaction.

The boat, moving swiftly before the wind, soon left the Indians on the northern bank far behind, and once more they were at peace with the wilderness. The river was now very beautiful. It had not yet taken on the muddy tint characteristic of its lower reaches, the high and sloping banks were covered with beautiful forest, and coming from north and south they saw the mouths of creeks and rivers pouring the waters of great regions into the vast main stream. Henry, as captain of the boat, regarded these mouths with a particularly wary and suspicious eye. Such as they formed the best ambush for Indian canoes watching to pounce upon the immigrant boats coming down the Ohio. Whenever he saw the entrance of a tributary he always had the boat steered in toward the opposite shore, while all except the steersman sat with their rifles across their knees until the dangerous locality was passed safely.