Part 41 (1/2)
”You're nervous, Morris. It can't be more than a large scouting-party, or they'd have chased you in.”
”They came over on seventy-eight rafts!” I replied, turning to race after Colonel Charles Lewis' column.
The Augusta men were now swinging in close to Crooked Creek where it skirts the foot of the low hills. As I drew abreast of the head of the column we were fired upon by a large force of Indians, now snugly ensconced behind trees and fallen timber along the creek. We were then not more than a quarter of a mile from camp. The first fire was tremendously heavy and was quickly followed by a second and third volley. The Augusta men reeled, but quickly began returning the fire, the behavior of the men being all that a commander could desire. They were forced to give ground, however, as the odds were heavy.
On our left crashed a volley as the Botetourt men were fired on. Colonel Lewis ordered his men to take cover, then turned to Captain Benjamin Harrison and cried:
”This is no scouting-party! But my brother will soon be sending reinforcements.”
He had hardly spoken before he spun half-way around, a surprised expression on his face.
”I'm wounded,” he quietly said.
Then handing his rifle to a soldier, he called out to his men:
”Go on and be brave!”
With that he began walking to the camp. I ran to help him, but he motioned me back, saying:
”Your place is there. I'm all right.”
So I left him, a very brave soldier and a Christian gentleman, to make his way alone while his very minutes were numbered.
Half a dozen of our men were down and the rest were slowly giving ground.
Up to the time Colonel Lewis left us I had seen very few Indians, and only mere glimpses at that. Now they began showing themselves as they crowded forward through the timber, confident they were to slaughter us. Above the noise of the guns, the yells and shouts of red and white combatants, rose a deep booming voice, that of Cornstalk, and he was shouting:
”Be strong! Be strong! Push them into the river!”
We dragged back our dead and wounded as with a reckless rush the Indians advanced over logs and rocks up to the very muzzles of our guns. But although the Augusta line gave ground the men were not suffering from panic, and the smas.h.i.+ng volley poured into the enemy did great damage and checked their mad onslaught.
Never before did red men make such a determined charge. In an instant there were a score of individual combats, backwoodsman and savage being clinched in a death-struggle with ax and knife. Now our line stiffened, and the very shock of their attack seemed to hurl the Indians back. Still we would have been forced back to the camp and must have suffered cruel losses if not for the timely reinforcements brought up on the run by Colonel John Field, veteran of Braddock's and Pontiac's Wars.
He led Augusta and Botetourt men, for it was no longer possible to keep the two lines under their respective commanders, nor did any captain for the rest of the day command his own company as a unit. With the coming up of Colonel Field the Indians immediately gave ground, then charged most viciously as our men pursued. This maneuver was one of Cornstalk's cunning tactics, the alternate advance and retreat somewhat confusing our men.
The second attack was repulsed and the riflemen slowly gained more ground.
The firing on our left was now very heavy and Colonel Field directed me to learn how the fight there was progressing. Some of our fellows were screaming that Fleming's column was being driven in, and our colonel had no intention of being cut off.
As I started toward the river I could hear Cornstalk exhorting: ”Shoot straight! Lie close! Fight and be strong!”
As I withdrew from the right column I had a chance to get a better idea of the battle. The Indians lined the base of the hills bordered by Crooked Creek, and were posted on all the heights to shoot any whites trying to swim either the Ohio or the Kanawha. On the opposite side of the Ohio and, as I later learned on the south bank of the Kanawha, red forces had been stationed in antic.i.p.ation of our army being routed.
As I neared the Botetourt men I could hear between volleys the Indians shouting in unison:
”Drive the white dogs over!” meaning across the river.
The Botetourt men were well posted and considerably in advance of the right column, as they had given but little ground while the right was retiring after Lewis was shot. At no time did either column fight at a range of more than twenty yards, and when I crawled among Fleming's men the range was not more than six yards, while here and there in the deeper growth were hand-to-hand struggles.
”A big chunk of a fight!” screamed a shrill voice, and Cousin was beside me, wearing a brilliant scarlet jacket. As he was crawling by me I caught him by the heel and dragged him back.
”You fool! Take that coat off!” I yelled. For the vivid splotch of color made him a tempting target for every Indian gun. And the Shawnees were skilful marksmen even if less rapid than the whites because of their inability to clean their fouled weapons.