Chapter 20: The Counter-Stroke

Colonel Benjamin Logan was standing in a small opening near the banks of the Licking about five miles south of its junction with the Ohio. Dawn had just come but it had been a troubled night. The country around him was beautiful, a primeval wilderness with deep fertile soil and splendid forest. His company, too, was good--several hundred stalwart men from Lexington, Boonesborough, Harrod’s Station and several other settlements in the country, destined to become so famous as the Bluegrass region of Kentucky. Yet, as has been said, the night was uneasy and he saw no decrease of worry.

Colonel Logan was a man of stout nerves, seldom troubled by insomnia, but he had not slept. His scouts had told him that there were Indians in the forest ahead. One or two incautious explorers had been wounded by bullets fired from hidden places. He and the best men with him had felt that they were surrounded by an invisible enemy, and just at the time that he needed knowledge, it was hardest to achieve it. It was important for him to move on, highly important because he wanted to effect a junction for a great purpose with George Rogers Clark, a very famous border leader. Yet he could learn nothing of Clark. He did not receive any news from him, nor could he send any to him. Every scout who tried it was driven back, and after suffering agonies of doubt through that long and ominous night, the brave leader and skillful borderer had concluded that the most powerful Indian force ever sent to Kentucky was in front of him. His men had brought rumors that it was led by the renowned Wyandot chief, Timmendiquas, with Red Eagle, Black Panther, Moluntha, Captain Pipe and the renegade Girty as his lieutenants.

Colonel Logan, brave man that he was, was justified when he felt many fears. His force was not great, and, surrounded, it might be overwhelmed and cut off. For the border to lose three or four hundred of its best men would be fatal. Either he must retreat or he must effect a junction with Clark of whose location he knew nothing. A more terrible choice has seldom been presented to a man. Harrod, Kenton and other famous scouts stood with him and shared his perplexity.

“What shall we do, gentlemen?” he asked.

There was no answer save the sound of a rifle shot from the woods in front of them.

“I don’t blame you for not answering,” said the Colonel moodily, “because I don’t know of anything you can say. Listen to those shots! We may be fighting for our lives before noon, but, by all the powers, I won’t go back. We can’t do it! Now in the name of all that’s wonderful what is that?”

Every pair of eyes was turned toward the muddy surface of the Licking, where a white body floated easily. As they looked the body came to the bank, raised itself up in the shape of a human being and stepped ashore, leaving a trail of water on the turf. It was the figure of a youth, tall and powerful beyond his kind and bare to the waist. He came straight toward Logan.

“Now, who under the sun are you and what do you want!” exclaimed the startled Colonel.

“My name is Henry Ware,” replied the youth in a pleasant voice, “and what I want is first a blanket and after that some clothes, but meanwhile I tell you that I am a messenger from Colonel Clark whom you wish to join.”

“A messenger from Colonel Clark?” exclaimed Logan. “How do we know this?”

“Simon Kenton there knows me well and he can vouch for me; can’t you Simon?” continued the youth in the same pleasant voice.

“And so I can!” exclaimed Kenton, springing forward and warmly grasping the outstretched hand. “I didn’t know you at first, Henry, which is natural, because it ain’t your habit to wander around in the daytime with nothing on but a waist band.”

“But how is it that you came up the Licking,” persisted Colonel Logan, still suspicious. “Is Colonel Clark in the habit of sending unclothed messengers up rivers?”

“I came that way,” replied Henry, “because all the others are closed. I’ve been swimming nearly all night or rather floating, because I had a little raft to help me. I came up the Ohio and then up the Licking. I ran the Indian gauntlet on both rivers. At the gauntlet on the Licking I lost my raft which carried my rifle, clothes and ammunition. However here I am pretty wet and somewhat tired, but as far as I know, sound.”

“You can rely on every word he says, Colonel,” exclaimed Simon Kenton.

“I do believe him absolutely,” said Colonel Logan, “and here, Mr. Ware, is my blanket. Wear it until we get your clothes. And now what of Clark?”

“He is only about six miles away with seven hundred veterans. He was attacked night before last by Timmendiquas, Girty and all the power of the allied tribes, but we drove them off. Colonel Clark and his men are in an impregnable position, and they await only your coming to beat the whole Indian force. He has sent me to tell you so.”

Colonel Logan fairly sprang up in his joy.

“Only six miles away!” he exclaimed. “Then we’ll soon be with him. Young sir, you shall have the best clothes and the best rifle the camp can furnish, for yours has been a daring mission and a successful one. How on earth did you ever do it?”

“I think luck helped me,” replied Henry modestly.

“Luck? Nonsense! Luck can’t carry a man through such an ordeal as that. No, sir; it was skill and courage and strength. Now here is breakfast, and while you eat, your new clothes and your new rifle shall be brought to you.”

Colonel Logan was as good as his word. When Henry finished his breakfast and discarded the blanket he arrayed himself in a beautifully tanned and fringed suit of deerskin, and ran his hand lovingly along the long slender barrel of a silver-mounted rifle, the handsomest weapon he had ever seen.

“It is yours,” said Colonel Logan, “in place of the one that you have lost, and you shall have also double-barreled pistols. And now as we are about to advance, we shall have to call upon you to be our guide.”

Henry responded willingly. He was fully rested, and at such a moment he had not thought of sleep. Preceded by scouts, Logan’s force advanced cautiously through the woods near the Licking. About a score of shots were fired at them, but, after the shots, the Indian skirmishers fell back on their main force. When they had gone about two miles Logan stopped his men, and ordered a twelve-pound cannon of which they were very proud to be brought forward.

It was rolled into a little open space, loaded only with blank cartridges and fired. Doubtless many of the men wondered why it was discharged seemingly at random into the forest, because Colonel Logan had talked only with Henry Ware, Simon Kenton and a few others. But the sound of the shot rolled in a deep boom through the woods.

“Will he hear?” asked Colonel Logan.

“He’ll hear,” replied Simon Kenton with confidence. “The sound will travel far through this still air. It will reach him.”

They waited with the most intense anxiety one minute, two minutes, and out of the woods in the north came the rolling report in reply. A half minute more and then came the second sound just like the first.

“The signal! They answer! They answer!” exclaimed Colonel Logan joyously. “Now to make it complete.”

When the last echo of the second shot in the north had died, the twelve-pounder was fired again. Then it was reloaded, but not with blank cartridges, and the word to advance was given. Now the men pressed forward with increased eagerness, but they still took wilderness precaution. Trees and hillocks were used for shelter, and from the trees and hillocks in front of them the Indian skirmishers poured a heavy fire. Logan’s men replied and the forest was alive with the sounds of battle. Bullets cut twigs and bushes, and the white man’s shout replied to the red man’s war whoop. The cannon was brought up, and fired cartridges and then grape shot at the point where the enemy’s force seemed to be thickest. The Indians gave way before this terrifying fire, and Logan’s men followed them. But the Colonel always kept a heavy force on either flank to guard against ambush, and Henry was continually by his side to guide. They went a full mile and then Henry, who was listening, exclaimed joyfully:

“They’re coming to meet us! Don’t you hear their fire?”

Above the crash of his own combat Colonel Logan heard the distant thudding of cannon, and, as he listened, that thudding came nearer. These were certainly the guns of Clark, and he was as joyous as Henry. Their coöperation was now complete, and the courage and daring of one youth had made it possible. His own force pushed forward faster, and soon they could hear the rifles of the heavier battle in the north.

“We’ve got ‘em! We’ve got ‘em!” shouted Simon Kenton. “They are caught between the two jaws of a vice, and the bravest Indians that ever lived can never stand that.”

Logan ordered his men to spread out in a longer and thinner line, although he kept at least fifty of his best about the cannon to prevent any attempt at capture. The twelve-pounder may not have done much execution upon an enemy who fought chiefly from shelter, but he knew that its effect was terrifying, and he did not mean to lose the gun. His precaution was taken well, as a picked band of Wyandots, Shawnees and Miamis, springing suddenly from the undergrowth, made a determined charge to the very muzzle of the cannon. There was close fighting, hand to hand, the shock of white bodies against red, the flash of exploding powder and the glitter of steel, but the red band was at last driven back, although not without loss to the defenders. The struggle had been so desperate that Colonel Logan drew more men about the cannon, and then pressed on again. The firing to the north was growing louder, indicating that Clark, too, was pushing his way through the forest. The two forces were now not much more than a mile apart, and Simon Kenton shouted that the battle would cease inside of five minutes.

Kenton was a prophet. Almost at the very moment predicted by him the Indian fire stopped with a suddenness that seemed miraculous. Every dusky flitting form vanished. No more jets of flame arose, the smoke floated idly about as if it had been made by bush fires, and Logan’s men found that nobody was before them. There was something weird and uncanny about it. The sudden disappearance of so strong and numerous an enemy seemed to partake of magic. But Henry understood well. Always a shrewd general, Timmendiquas, seeing that the battle was lost, and that he might soon be caught in an unescapable trap, had ordered the warriors to give up the fight, and slip away through the woods.

Pressing forward with fiery zeal and energy, Clark and Logan met in the forest and grasped hands. The two forces fused at the same time and raised a tremendous cheer. They had beaten the allied tribes once more, and had formed the union which they believed would make them invincible. A thousand foresters, skilled in every wile and strategy of Indian war were indeed a formidable force, and they had a thorough right to rejoice, as they stood there in the wilderness greeting one another after a signal triumph. Save for the fallen, there was no longer a sign of the warriors. All their wounded had been taken away with them.

“I heard your cannon shot, just when I was beginning to give up hope,” said Colonel Clark to Colonel Logan.

“And you don’t know how welcome your reply was,” replied Logan, “but it was all due to a great boy named Henry Ware.”

“So he got through?”

“Yes, he did. He arrived clothed only in a waist band, and the first we saw of him was his head emerging from the muddy waters of the Licking. He swam, floated and dived all night long until he got to us. He was chased by canoes, and shot at by warriors, but nothing could stop him, and without him we couldn’t have done anything, because there was no other way for us to hear a word from you.”

“Ah, there he is now. But I see that he is clothed and armed.”

Henry had appeared just then with his comrades, looking among the bushes to see if any savage yet lay there in ambush, and the two Colonels seized upon him. They could not call him by complimentary names enough, and they told him that he alone had made the victory possible. Henry, blushing, got away from them as quickly as he could, and rejoined his friends.

“That shorely was a great swim of yours, Henry,” said Shif’less Sol, “an’ you’re pow’ful lucky that the water was warm.”

“My little raft helped me a lot,” rejoined Henry, “and I’m mighty sorry I lost it, although Colonel Logan has given me the best rifle I ever saw. I wonder what will be our next movement.”

Colonel Clark, who was now in command of the whole force, the other officers coöperating with him and obeying him loyally, deemed it wise to spend the day in rest. The men had gone through long hours of waiting, watching and fighting and their strength must be restored. Scouts reported that the Indians had crossed the Licking and then the Ohio, and were retreating apparently toward Chillicothe, their greatest town. Some wanted Colonel Clark to follow them at once and strike another blow, but he was too wise. The Indian facility for retreat was always great. They could scatter in the forest in such a way that it was impossible to find them, but if rashly followed they could unite as readily and draw their foe into a deadly ambush. Clark, a master of border warfare, who was never tricked by them, let them go and bided his time. He ordered many fires to be lighted and food in abundance to be served. The spirits of the men rose to the highest pitch. Even the wounded rejoiced.

After eating, Henry found that he needed sleep. He did not feel the strain and anxiety of the long night and of the morning battle, until it was all over. Then his whole system relaxed, and, throwing himself down on the turf, he went sound asleep. When he awoke the twilight was coming and Paul and Shif’less Sol sat near him.

“We had to guard you most of the time, Henry,” said Shif’less Sol, “‘cause you’re a sort of curiosity. Fellers hev kep’ comin’ here to see the lad what swam the hull len’th o’ the Ohio an’ then the hull len’th o’ the Lickin’, most o’ the time with his head under water, an’ we had to keep ‘em from wakin’ you. We’d let ‘em look at you, but we wouldn’t let ‘em speak or breathe loud. You wuz sleepin’ so purty that we could not bear to hev you waked up.”

Henry laughed.

“Quit making fun of me, Sol,” he said, “and tell me what’s happened since I’ve been asleep.”

“Nothin’ much. The Indians are still retreatin’ through the woods across the Ohio an’ Colonel Clark shows his good hoss sense by not follerin’ ‘em, ez some o’ our hot heads want him to do. Wouldn’t Timmendiquas like to draw us into an ambush, --say in some valley in the thick o’ the forest with a couple o’ thousand warriors behind the trees an’ on the ridges all aroun’ us. Oh, wouldn’t he? An’ what would be left of us after it wuz all over? I ask you that, Henry.”

“Mighty little, I’m afraid.”

“Next to nothin’, I know. I tell you Henry our Colonel Clark is a real gin’ral. He’s the kind I like to foller, an’ we ain’t goin’ to see no sich sight ez the one we saw at Wyomin’.”

“I’m sure we won’t,” said Henry. “Now have any of you slept to-day?”

“All o’ us hev took naps, not long but mighty deep an’ comfortin’. So we’re ready fur anythin’ from a fight to a foot race, whichever ‘pears to be the better fur us.”

“Where are Paul and Tom and Jim?”

“Cruisin’ about in their restless, foolish way. I told ‘em to sit right down on the groun’ and keep still an’ enjoy theirselves while they could, but my wise words wuz wasted. Henry, sometimes I think that only lazy men like me hev good sense.”

The missing three appeared a minute or two later and were received by the shiftless one with the objurgations due to what he considered misspent energy.

“I’m for a scout to-night,” said Henry. “Are all of you with me?”

Three answered at once:

“Of course.”

But Shif’less Sol groaned.

“Think o’ going out after dark when you might lay here an’ snooze comf’ably,” he said; “but sence you fellers are so foolish an’ headstrong you’ll need some good sens’ble man to take keer o’ you.”

“Thank you, Sol,” said Henry, with much gravity. “Now that we have your reluctant consent we need only to ask Colonel Clark.”

Colonel Clark had no objection. In fact, he would not question any act of the five, whom he knew to be free lances of incomparable skill and knowledge in the wilderness.

“You know better than I what to do,” he said, smiling, “and as for you, Mr. Ware, you have already done more than your share in this campaign.”

They left shortly after dark. The united camp was pitched at the junction of the Ohio and Licking, but along the bank of the larger river. Most of the boats were tied to the shore, and they had a heavy guard. There was also a strong patrol across the mouth of the Licking, and all the way to the northern bank of the Ohio.