Solomon's story continues in chapters 13 through 16 of With Sacred Honor. These chapters -- along with chapters 1 through 12 -- are also available for download to Amazon's Kindle. In the coming weeks, look for additional chapters on this site and on Amazon. Later in 2011 we expect to publish a print edition of the entire book. Thanks for reading! Please send any feedback to jbsolomoneditions@yahoo.com.
XIII.
XIII.
Early morning found me encrusted: a late fall frost clung stubbornly to my matchcoat. During the night I had drawn the garment over my head to hold out the chill. I listened, from underneath it, to the early sounds of the day: men with their ever-present coughs, birds flitting and chirping, metal cups clanging against stone, breath being blown harshly to awaken old embers, and the lowing of the fort’s cattle. These great beasts were the source of a humdrum but constant hazard at night; all feared they might roam from their pasture and trample us in our sleep – a minor fear, all things considered to others, but a nonetheless unpleasant way to meet one’s end. I pulled down my cover and saw Patrick, fiddle clutched to his chest, quickly and silently stalking off to return the instrument to the unsuspecting owner. When he returned a short time later he spotted me lying awake on the ground, and he gave me a spry wink and a wide grin.
At that moment Captain Hobbs ducked out of the small hut that we called our home. He rubbed a single rough hand over his face and blinked a few times as he watched the early light burning away the morning fog. He then poked his head into the hut; his voice echoed in the hollow as he urged the other men to fall out for our morning scout. He looked around, apparently searching the area for me, and then he looked over as Patrick pointed out my location.
“All right then, boy, over here with you,” he barked at me.
Captain Hobbs began by recounting the events that had transpired and the signs that we had discovered over the last few days of scouting. He reminded us that there had been an increasing amount of enemy tracks in the hills along the northwest of the fort and that we should be doubly aware of anything out of the ordinary.
“It’s my belief that the river vermin will take one last heavy shot at us before the snow is deep,” the captain asserted.
With the conclusion of our morning’s orders, Captain Hobbs, with Sergeant Timms in tow, walked the length of our ranks inspecting our firelocks, knives, and shot pouches, making sure all was in order. Fehn had forgotten to draw more lead after the hunt he had gone on with several other rangers from another company. For Fehn’s infraction he was given an extra watch for that night and told that any further misconduct would draw stiffer punishment.
The morning scout went without incident; the enemy signs that we came across were the same ones we had encountered before. The moccasin and shoe tracks had begun to fade in the wind and rain; nothing new was found that might alarm us. Thus went Captain Hobbs’ prediction of one final raid before the onset of winter: It faded, unfulfilled, into autumn’s end.
During the winter, the blacksmith’s dog bore several pups, and I adopted the smallest of them. She was skinny and shaking when I brought her to our hut; most of the other men questioned her ability to continue much longer in life. But she lived on and grew. Namoosh was a great comfort in the long winter nights as she huddled close by my side.
Most of our company’s time was spent making musket balls and patching moccasins. And gambling – when, that is, the captain was not around, as he staunchly prohibited the vice. In February, our routine was punctuated when a Huron scout was captured while he was trying to reconnoiter our fort. He knew little, but that little was beaten and prodded from him as best as could be done. He said that the French were gathering at Carillon and at Niagara. It seemed that the French would be making a push to capture and hold all of the Ohio Territory. This put the officers in a great fury; they blazed through a thousand possible battle scenes, attempting to forge plans and contingencies.
This commotion affected us little in our small hut as we weathered out the winter storms, except when we were forced to listen to Captain Hobbs’ complaints about the stupidity of this and that officer. However, as a result of the news brought in by the captured warrior, we were sent on more scouts to try to attempt to gain more knowledge of our enemies’ movements. Many times we came dangerously close to an enemy encampment, and some nights we were forced to remain in the woods. When nights like this befell us, we would all gather beneath a tree and sit with our backs to it, encircling its trunk with our bodies, our muskets pointing out like the spokes of a wagon wheel from Hell. These nights were desperately frigid, and I would often spend a great part of the night simply praying for the sun to rise so that it would warm us a little. I often wondered if the chattering of my teeth would give away our location, but I was fortunate to never draw the attention of any enemy. The variance in how men bore these temperatures and weather was extreme. Whelan, accustomed to life on a ship that could quickly outrun frigid gales, fared the worst; several times I saw him warming his feet on the belly of a fellow ranger willing to share his heat. Captain Hobbs and Fehn did well with the conditions and were quite possibly the only ones who ever caught moments of sleep during those nighttime forays. The sensation of the cold creeping into every part of my body is unexplainable in its desperate totality, except to say that it felt as if death itself was visiting my body while I was still fully lucid and forced to experience every grinding moment of what was occurring.
When we embarked upon these winter scouts, we strapped to our feet the large wooden snowshoes provide to us at the fort. These wooden hoops laced with rawhide helped to prevent us from falling deeply into the drifts. It was only obvious just how well the snowshoes aided our procession when we attempted to do any walking outside of the fort without them. While keeping us from falling through the snow, they were quite cumbersome to run in; not a few times we found ourselves toppling down a hill when the snowshoes’ back stakes crossed and pinned our feet to the ground while the rest of our bodies continued forward. We encountered another disadvantage when entering and leaving steep valleys or gorges; when part of the shoes jutted over the open air, they would nearly splinter under our undistributed weight. Thus, we were forced to crawl on hands and knees in and out of the valleys.
Other times, when we were made to cross large parts of frozen ground, we strapped devices called ice-creepers to the bottoms of our feet. These evil contraptions, with small metal bands that rode under the arches of our feet and two vicious-looking spikes that bit into the frozen ground, were so uncomfortable when wearing moccasins that I soon “forgot” where I had placed my set.
As I have said, despite our occasional forays into enemy territory, nothing of great importance occurred that winter, and we were mainly left alone by the marauders from the North.
XIV.
My attempts in the marksmanship contests were met with varied results. I was not a perfect shot but was assured by Timms that my skill was solid enough. He also stated that when these games are being played, little thought is given to how matters change when the target is shooting back. Fehn was disqualified from competing against the regular soldiers and rangers, who bore muskets, because of his German rifle that could never miss. But Fehn was seen sneaking off to contest some of the hunters who laid about the fort when they were not in the woods at their trade. These matches were known to the officers but were conveniently looked upon with a blind eye, as the hunters had helped to provide desperately needed food stores in the long winter months when the fort had drawn tight the rations.
Sometimes Fehn would return from his impromptu matches with a new bearskin or bundle of beaver pelts that he quickly traded away for coin that went to provide welcome ale to his fellow rangers. Some of the wealth that Fehn accumulated was given over to Captain Hobbs, who procured two short blunderbusses that he and the sergeant assured us would be well-used assets in the coming spring campaign. Both blunderbusses were fitted with hemp straps that Abigail wove. Timms placed one of them under his care; the other went to Fehn, who carried it on his back as a good accompaniment to his deadly rifle. While Abigail was busy creating these straps, I worked at creating a new bow to replace the one that I had lost during the fight in Stockbridge a season before. The fort blacksmith created two dozen finely balanced arrowheads for the willow shafts that I had rendered and soon I, like Timms and Fehn, had an additional weapon to assist in our duties.
The warmer winds brought a small sloop to Fort William Henry. The ship was loaded with fresh recruits to assist the troops already garrisoned at the fort. Included were several men who were brought into our company. Their names included Porter, Lockridge, Lowman, and Wheeler. Wendell, who was older than any other man in our ranks, had become enfeebled from the winter treks; he was released to assist the fort’s gunsmith. His departure was met with sadness, and his quiet demeanor and quick wit were sorely missed by our men. But little could we afford to fixate on this loss, as so much time was needed to assist the newest members of Hobbs’ Company. Outside the palisades of Fort William Henry, Sergeant Timms and Captain Hobbs were busy showing us the finer points of the King’s Service. Our scouts became more intense as spring rose about us. We knew that the French would be sending their own men out to reconnoiter our situation, and we meant to capture or kill them before they could return to their homes.
As morning broke one day in mid-April, we were called to a special duty. We were splayed out inside the fort during morning parade when we heard shots being fired from outside the fort walls. Presently, Captain Hobbs had been administering a tongue lashing to Lockridge for being imbibed at this early hour. Hobbs had given him this same warning before, and now lashings would meet Lockridge’s continued infractions. But the company’s collective attention was drawn from this spectacle as the low thud of musket fire rolled over us. Captain Hobbs looked to Colonel Montgomery, who gave a look of confusion in return.
“Captain Hobbs, have any of the men been sent to the hunt or to game at this hour?” Montgomery inquired.
“None of mine,” Hobbs replied.
“Then you shall send your men out to discover the meaning of this disturbance,” Montgomery ordered.
“At once, your lordship! Hobbs Company – join up and prepare!” Hobbs shouted. “Prime and load, and damn you if you not mind your hammer stall.”
Quickly then we were out the gates of the fort. We could see a large barn burning down near the lake. Warriors rushed about about. I set out hard down the hillside with Crum and Fehn close behind. Timms fell in line twenty yards behind us, with Captain Hobbs not far behind him. To Sergeant Timms’ left was Whelan and to his right was Wheeler. Lowman, Lockridge, and Porter fell in, flanking and covering the area behind Captain Hobbs. The area between us and the small farm was cleared of trees and shrubs. Several of the enemy took up shelter behind a small boulder that sat on the lakeshore and began firing at us as we approached. The sound of balls snapping and whistling past and about us was ever present as we rushed to close the gap. Behind me I heard the distinct roll of drums and the shrill call of fifes as the regular troops were being brought in line inside the fort.
As we continued to run toward the burning farm, I witnessed a scene I shall never forget: A burning man, trying to escape the inferno of his home, was kicked in the chest by a savage the instant he emerged outside. The man continued to struggle even as he was engulfed in flames. He writhed and crawled about on the ground, finally hauling himself to his knees. But the moment he did so, the same savage who had kicked him dispatched him with a swift strike to the head with a large war club. The warrior then stretched to his toes to give out a scream of triumph, but he was cut short when he fell into the sights of Fehn’s rifle. The effect of this warrior’s death was immediate. His companions all flinched as if they themselves had received the fatal shot. That their comrade had been felled at such a great distance disturbed them; they began moving away to the forest with their ransacked items and one small boy in tow. Captain Hobbs called a stop to our pursuit, but I looked to Crum. He had also seen the boy, so he and I carried on in our run. Captain Hobbs again gave out his order.
“Hobbs’ Company, back to me!” he called.
I slid on my heels and yelled back to him, “Captain, they have a boy!”
Hobbs held his hand above his eyes to shield them from the morning sun. He scanned the escaping war party and then locked his gaze on the man struggling with a flailing and kicking little boy. Without hesitation he gave out a new order
“Get up there, Solomon!” he shouted. “Crum and Fehn – go with him! The rest of you with me!”
The war party had pulled ahead of us by quite a bit and was leading its captive into a small ravine that ran from the lakeshore and along the distant edge of the fort’s clearing. Crum, Fehn, and I sped toward a small crest that led parallel to the ravine, and we raced along it as best we could. Patrick and I edged along the ridge, with Fehn watching the back of our trail to reassure that we were not cut off from the fort. So far we had been unseen. We reached a point of the ridge that looked down into the ravine. The warriors must have thought we had broken chase, for they had slowed down to better secure their little prisoner. We watched as three men attempted to tie a cord onto the hands of the small boy. The boy was unrelenting in his struggle; his teeth flashed out like those of a crazed animal, biting and nipping at the hands trying to hold him. Likewise, he kicked his small feet at every part of the men’s bodies that came within range. It was far too dangerous for Crum and I to fire on the warriors for fear that we might strike the child; but suddenly he broke the grip of the most recent man to snatch hold of him and struck up the side of a tree with startling speed. Before long he had made it to a perch fifteen feet in the air above the men’s heads. One warrior started to point his musket up at the boy, but his muzzle was slapped away by the man I supposed was the war captain.
Now that the boy was clear of the war party, Patrick and I worked quickly. We made our plan carefully. We were greatly outnumbered but supposed that, with surprise and speed, we might gather up the boy and get away before too much attention was drawn toward our rescue attempt. Fehn drew up between Crum and me, laying the barrel of his short rifle across my shoulder to steady his aim. His shot brought down the war captain and made the others spin on their heels to see where the attack had come from. They were met by Crum and me rushing shoulder to shoulder down the hill, giving up the most frightening of war screams. As two of the enemy squared themselves to us we fired our muskets and they dropped to the ground, each shot through the chest. Upon firing, Crum and I split apart and the remaining warriors were met by Feh, who had taken the blunderbuss from his shoulder. He let fly with a massive load of lead shot, scattering all those nearby. We could hear more warriors crashing through the woods toward us, and we made quick work with our tomahawks and musket butts of the wounded enemies. A great flood of painted devils was nearly on us when firing from their rear produced more death for them; the rest of Hobbs’ Company had arrived. Looking through the trees to the war party’s rear I could see Hobbs bellowing orders to Sergeant Timms and the others, who were working the King’s Arm as best as they could to put down the warriors. Now, wedged between the two parts of Hobbs’ Company, the enemy warriors had nowhere to hide. They forgot about the boy and their pillaged goods so as to merely save their souls. Soon, those warriors who had not been killed were running hard away from the fight; we kept up our fire until the last of them were dispersed.
When it was clear that they would not return, we all gathered underneath the tree that held the small boy. Captain Hobbs yelled at him to come down, but he would only shake his head. Tears streaked his trembling, soot-covered face, a moving sight to several of us standing below. Patrick handed me his musket and began climbing the tree toward the boy. At first, the boy began to scream, but the soothing words that Crum spoke as he approached him eventually calmed him down. Soon, Crum was up with the boy, holding him in his arms and reassuring him that he was well and that he would be protected.
Slowly, Patrick climbed down the tree with the boy clinging to his back. They reached the ground safely, and Captain Hobbs went over to take a look at the boy. He reached out his hand to pat the child on the head, but the boy bit him ferociously. Hobbs drew back to strike the boy, but was stopped by the look in Crum’s eyes that suggested he would deliver a vicious reprisal if the boy were met with another injury. The captain simply backed away, rubbing his injured hand. Patrick cradled the boy in his arms and carried him back to the fort. At the gates we were met by many of the soldiers and inhabitants, crowding about to witness our return. At the head of the mass was Abigail who, upon seeing that we were unharmed, wiped tears from her eyes and modestly but briskly walked to meet Patrick and me. Namoosh was there as well; she came to me and diligently licked a small wound on the back of my hand, giving up a small whimper of concern. I scratched her behind her ears and soon all were able to take a breath of relief.
In the days following the raid we would be sent out many times to reassure that there were no more rovers about our fort. All had a sense that this was the beginning of a long summer season of raids, defenses, and bitter death.
XV.
If Abigail and Patrick had been close before, the boy’s arrival into their lives sealed their relationship. Abigail still held all sorts of reservations about the work that we did, but she also understood the importance of it if any in the King’s colonies were to ever enjoy a semblance of peace again. The bond between Patrick and Abigail was a true testimony to love surmounting seemingly impossible odds. Soon they decided that they would be wed and Captain Hobbs, who in his small village had served as a deacon, performed the marriage. It was another fine time for all who attended. Upon forming their union, they immediately brought the little boy into their small family. While his Christian name was Abraham, most called him by the Indian name that I had bestowed: Hannick, or Squirrel, after his fateful escape up the tree on the day of his delivery from the devils’ hands. It was astonishing how much like Patrick Hannick appeared, despite not being his true son. The lack of a blood bond seemed to have no effect on the relationship between these two, and Patrick could not be seen without a small following behind.
As my peoples’ tradition prescribed, I was charged with the education of my nephew. I soon found that Hannick possessed a natural ability in the woods. I once took him on a walk through the forest; shortly upon embarking, I snapped a small twig beneath my foot. Hannick, being my “scout,” turned and held a small finger to his lips, indicating I should exercise greater care in my patrolling. It was difficult for me to stifle laughter, but the look of amusement was drawn quickly from my face by Hannick, who saw my smirk and presented me with a look of stern displeasure identical to that often brandished by his father. It mattered not to me that Hannick was not born of Patrick and Abigail’s mingled blood; he was their son as much as any who ever lived. And he had become my nephew without question.
The new spring brought the birth of other relationships. Most notable were the fine ladies that Sergeant Timms and Whelan gained. These ladies were sisters who came to the fort to work as wash maidens. The women who worked in the fort were not of the same dainty stock that was often seen in the East. They worked as hard as any man and, if not for them, I am certain that the fort would not have functioned with any success. Sergeant Timms’lady was named Hannah. She was of a Virginia family that had moved near the Ohio Valley until all – save her and her sister – were killed in a raid by Shawnee warriors. She and Sarah had been captured and lived with the Indians for a great while. They escaped a few years after their capture; having no one else to whom to return, they had slowly made their way to this place, serving as laundresses in many of the British outposts along the way. Both were good-natured and had gained many backwoods skills in the time that they had lived with the Shawnee.
Abigail enjoyed having at hand women with knowledge and skills akin to her own, and the trio spent a good bit of time relating various tales and woodland remedies to one another. Unlike Sarah, who preferred not to dwell on the sisters’ captivity, Hannah had adopted and retained many Indian traits. She displayed these openly, and she often referred to herself by her Indian name – Tamusquis, or Muskrat. The company of these ladies made a fine addition to our group. Whelan and Sarah were an amazing match, as amazing as ever had been seen. It was not long after the sisters’ arrival at the fort that these two found each other and became fast companions. As word passed down that our company’s departure was growing nearer, the two were married following a short courting. Sergeant Timms and Hannah chose not to become wed but were no less close than the other couples. Captain Hobbs made occasional utterances about those “living in sin,” but such views were dismissed by the Sergeant, who chose his own path in matters outside of his military duties. In actuality, it seemed that Hannah pursued Sergeant Timms with greater diligence than what was reciprocated, he seeming to weigh matters of war greater than those of romance. Regardless, the unions that were formed in the early part of that year brought immense joy to all of us brothers and sisters involved.
XVI.
Preparations at the fort accelerated; we had received word that the army would be marching west. Our scouts continued to return with information that the French and their allies were drawing in supplies and otherwise making ready for their summer attacks. The English were no less consumed in our own preparations. War loomed on the horizon.
In anticipation of our army’s march, Captain Hobbs dispatched small parties of our company to range into the wilderness. In one instance, Patrick, Thomas Fehn, and I were ordered to go as far west as we safely could in a week’s time, in order to see to the path upon which we would lead the hat-men in their march against the French. I took advantage of this shared time in the woods to get to know these brothers more deeply. In those few hours in which we were not bent upon stealthy silence, we gathered our few souls together in conversation. As he grew more comfortable with us, Patrick revealed more about his past. In particular, he spoke of one campaign upon which he had been sent – a campaign to attack the Fortress of Louisbourg, located far to the north in the French lands of Nova Scotia. I had never seen such things as he described, and was enthralled as he sketched upon our imaginations the immenseness of this fort. He assured us that it was like nothing constructed in these lower colonies. As they drew near the fort, the soldiers captured a large island in the harbor, an island protected by Louisbourg’s giant bastions. The island battery, he explained, was larger than most forts in the rest of the colonies. The attack went well, as the island battery was lightly defended. Patrick shook his head as he placed the final touch on this tale:
“We would have taken the fort with much less incident if not for some drunken bastard who, upon our capture of the battery, yelled out ‘Hizzah!’and betrayed our secrecy. His cry brought about a hideous volley from the fort’s guns. All was nearly lost, but we were able to press on and capture the fort itself. Some French officers attempted to escape in a small sloop, and our officers were at a loss as to how to impede the vessel until, as usually occurs, a few of us dirty men took the initiative. We grounded our muskets and swam to the sloop with our hatchets. There, we boarded the vessel and took the papist girls as they sipped their wine. Unfortunately for them, there were no officers amongst us to yell quarter for them, and they all fell to our sharp blades. Solomon, you would have been proud of the lovely scalps I took that foggy night. We gathered what was of value to us and burned the damn sloop. Not long after, I was tried for the murder of French officers. I was in need of a quick escape from the North. Those officers think that this whole business should be prettier than it is. And when we few who dare to deal out the most hellish punishment to those who oppose us go about our work, we are branded killers and unjust. Damn them.”
Patrick finished this tale with a note of soft fury, and I, for one, was left with little to say on the matter. I only knew that I was most gracious to Divinity that this devil was gathered together with me and mine.
“You know, Solomon, that story is not unlike the circumstances that presented themselves in Boston, when I joined in with Hobbs’ Company,” Patrick added.
He looked at me with eyes that chilled my bones, and I nodded at him to continue.
“That night a rich man, with heavy pockets, would not spare me a single coin – not one pence so that I could eat. He left me with a curse and turned down an alley, I followed him with the thought of simply persuading him to generosity, but he jerked a pistol from his waistcoat, and I grabbed for it in the dark. Due to all the danger and turmoil in which I have found myself, it was in my nature to turn that muzzle away – and as I did, he fired, killing himself. He was one of the few I have killed that I truly felt was an unnecessary death. Just one damn coin and he would have gone home; damn his lack of generosity and surplus of pride …”
Crum finished his revelations, and Fehn and I allowed his words to fall over and envelop us; truly, Crum was wise beyond his years.
Suddenly, a movement in the trees brought us about, and we laid out in silence to see to the commotion. It was a small deer. As we had been out many days and our food stores were low, I drew and arrow and strung my bow. There I brought down the little doe, and we kindled a small flame to cook and dry the meat. Before I had dressed out the meat, I thanked God for our food and the deer for its sacrifice. The latter part of my blessing was looked upon with curiosity by the others, but also with an ancient understanding that welled up from places they had forgotten lived within them. I placed the head of the deer so that it faced home, knowing this would encourage future deer to give themselves up for our sustenance. We finished drying the meat, then we packed it and struck our camp. The stories of Crum fell over me once again and became part of my spirit.
From then on, if ever I saw a needy hand when I held a shilling, I gave of some.
To be continued ...
To be continued ...
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