Beyond the Quiet Hills (40 page)

“Not quite that far.” A wry expression touched Stevens' face, and he ran a hand through his graying hair, his voice filled with disgust. “The Redcoats say that everyone who complies with the Crown will receive free land—in Florida Territory.”

“Florida? That's way down south past Georgia somewhere. What did Carter say?”

“He asked for time to think it over.”

“I don't see what there is to think about. I'm not moving that far away and out of the Appalachians. None of us will.”

“Of course not. John knew that. He was just stalling until we could figure out what to do.”

The two men talked quietly about the tense political situation. The danger was real, for they were surrounded by angry and powerful Indian tribes, and there were no trained troops to call upon in case of an attack, which was almost sure to come. Finally Hawk said, “I think it might be time for us to talk to Virginia. Maybe they'd accept us as part of their colony.”

“Maybe,” George said doubtfully. He pulled a piece of dried deer meat from his pocket, bit off a small portion, and began to chew it thoughtfully. “I'm worried about the division here. The new clerk of Watauga, Felix Walker, took some of our militia to serve in a South Carolina regiment against the British forces. I don't see why he had to do that. We need every man we can get.”

“Yes, we do, but God will be with us.”

George suddenly looked embarrassed and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt in a rather strange fashion. “How's Jacob doing, Hawk?”

Looking up quickly, Hawk met Stevens' eyes and shrugged. “About the same. He goes through the motions of living, but he doesn't have anything to say. It's like he's withdrawn, George.”

“I'm rightly sorry about the way it turned out, Hawk. Abigail was brokenhearted about it, but there was nothing else she could do.”

“Well, if Abigail felt that way, it was best they didn't marry.” He paused, then added quickly, “Elizabeth and I hold no ill will toward you or the family. You know that, I hope.”

“I appreciate hearing it. Abigail's been afraid to come to your place. Afraid she wouldn't be welcome.”

“I wish she would. Sarah misses her, George. She needs all the friends she can get.”

The men were putting another log into place, and as he moved toward one end and Stevens took the other end, Hawk said, “All we can do is pray for Jacob, which Elizabeth and I have been doing for a long time.” He leaned over and put his weight behind the log as it was hoisted into place by men on top pulling with ropes, then he said just loudly enough for Stevens to hear him, “I know God will send an answer if we will just wait on Him.”

****

Abigail had spent considerable time at the building site, helping her mother cook for the men who came in from the outer settlements. Now that the fort was finished, her father said one morning, “I think you ought to go over and visit the Spencers, Abby. They might think you don't feel right toward them, staying away like you have.”

Abigail agreed at once and began to make her way toward the Spencer homestead, wondering how she would be able to behave acceptably toward Jacob. She had slept badly ever since the breakup, and Sarah had told her how Jacob was refusing to say more than a few words to anybody.

Now as she entered the clearing she found herself apprehensive, and when she saw Jacob plowing in the garden patch, she forced herself to go to him.

“Hello, Jacob,” she called out and stood waiting to see what he would say.

Jacob pulled the horse to a stop with a curt word and turned to face Abigail. His face was expressionless, and he said merely, “Andrew's in the barn.”

“I came over to see Sarah.”

“She's with him, and Amanda, too. Get up, Flossie!”

Abigail was hurt by Jacob's abrupt manner, but there was no way she could make things any better. She turned and walked quickly to the barn, where she found Sarah, Amanda, and Andrew admiring the newborn calf. “Hello,” she said.

At once Sarah came over and gave her a hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Amanda said. “Come and look at the new calf. Sarah wants to name her Jezebel.”

“You can't do that, Sarah. She was an awful woman,” Andrew protested. He was smiling at Abigail, leaning back on one of the beams that held the roof in place. At nineteen he was in the prime of manhood, strong and fit. He seemed pleased to see Abigail and asked, “How are your folks?”

“They're fine. It's good to see you all.”

The four stood there admiring the new calf, with Sarah doing most of the talking. She was now sixteen and already a beauty. Her red hair was fixed neatly for a change, plaited behind her back, and her pale green eyes were flashing with excitement as she spoke.

They talked about the fort and other things of interest in the community, but all the time Abigail was thinking primarily of Jacob. She was unaware that he had halted his horse and had come to stand outside the barn, listening to their conversation.

Even as he stood there, Jacob had an impulse to move inside, for he missed the camaraderie that he had had with all of the young people. He was twenty years old now and realized that he was acting like a small child. If he had been more honest with himself, he might have realized that he was at times reverting to the days of his childhood—striving to become again the small boy who desperately missed the father who had abandoned him. For a while he listened, then tore himself away and went silently back to the horse and began plowing again.

****

The coppery faces around the campfire were sullen, and dark eyes were bright with bitter anger. Most white men saw all Cherokee as being more or less alike, but the members of the tribes who had gathered to plan their strategy were similar and yet vastly different. From the north there were the Mohawk, the Delaware, the Ottawa, the Nancuta, the Mingo, and the Shawnee. Others of the Iroquois Federation sat around the circle. The meeting had been long, and all of these tribes were determined to enlist the aid of the Cherokee, the strongest tribe of the south. Now it was Dragging Canoe who stood before the representatives of all the tribes and made an eloquent plea. His pockmarked face was alive with excitement as he said, “We must support the British. We must drive the long knives back across the mountains, then we will have our land back.”

The old chief Attacullaculla had reluctantly agreed to support the British. Now, however, he drew himself up and stared across the fire at his son. He studied him carefully and said, “You cannot trust the British. They claim that they will let us keep our lands, but they will not keep their treaty.”

“We do not know that, Father,” Dragging Canoe spoke up at once. “We do know that the long knives from across the mountains will take all that we have. We must fight for what is ours.”

A rumble of agreement went around the circle, and Attacullaculla knew a moment of deep despondency. For years he had been the friend of the white men, and now that the white men themselves had divided into two groups, he knew he could not support both. He sat silently while the debate went on, and finally, when he was forced to speak again, he rose and made his decision.

“I will support the king's cause, but I do not want the Cherokee to fight in this war.”

“We must fight,” Dragging Canoe said instantly. He made a passionate plea, and finally the battle cries broke out from the throats of all of the warriors.

Attacullaculla knew that he had lost. He sat down and stared at the dirt floor before him and said no more.

Henry Stewart, the king's representative, knew a surge of joy, for he had accomplished his aim to enlist the Indians to kill every settler in the area. But now he stood up and said quickly, “My brothers, you have done well to come to support the king, and you will be well rewarded, but I must ask you not to kill those white people who are still loyal to the king.” He knew, in effect, that this was a useless plea, for when Indians went blind with battle rage, a scalp was a scalp. None of the Indians had the slightest notion of British politics, but he was constrained to say so. He knew now what would happen. He would go back to Mobile to the south in Alabama Territory and the northern tribes would leave, and the Cherokee women would begin to prepare their men for the war that was certain to come.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Washington, Lincoln, and Nancy Ward

By the spring of 1776 the flames of revolution were burning higher and higher. Across the sea King George III made his final mistake. The Colonies had made a peace overture called the Olive Branch Petition, which the monarch rejected out of hand. He pressured Parliament to send an army of fifty-five thousand men in order to crush the revolution. He soon discovered, however, that his subjects were not in sympathy with the British cause. Indeed, there was much more sympathy for the Americans!

The British soldiers and sailors who had always been ready to answer the call to battle turned a deaf ear to the king's invitation to crush their fellow Englishmen. Faced with such a lack of response, King George III went looking for hirelings.

Germany was a fruitful ground for those seeking hirelings, and eventually some thirty thousand German mercenaries served under the English colors in the American war. Since most of them came from Hesse-Cassel, they were all simply called Hessians. The German sovereign paid thirty-five dollars for each soldier killed, twelve dollars for each one wounded, and over five hundred thousand in cold cash.

This was King George's final indignity, which convinced most Americans that there was nothing left to do but declare their independence.

The thirteen Colonies then drew themselves together and eloquently drafted their statement of independence from British tyranny forever. Thomas Jefferson was selected as the chairman for the committees to vote for independence. At thirty-three he was the youngest of the delegates at Philadelphia and not nearly so universally known as Adams or Franklin.

The pathway to the Declaration was not simple, for although nine of the thirteen Colonies could be counted on to vote for independence, both New York and Pennsylvania had been instructed to oppose it, while South Carolina and Maryland were not firm in their decisions.

Finally, however, Thomas Jefferson was commissioned to write the Declaration, and he did so, thus making himself immortal. On July 1, John Adams declared publicly that the Colonies were free and independent, but still only nine Colonies would support the measure. On July 2, Congress convened after a tremendous battle between the Colonies. It was a toss-up as to whether the Declaration of Independence would take place—indeed, whether independence itself would come. Tension rose among the delegates. A driving rain came up, and those in favor of independence searched the rain-soaked streets. The decision might lie in the hands of a Delaware delegate named Caesar Rodney, who was known to be a friend of independence, but who was at the bedside of his ailing wife. Finally Rodney arrived and flung himself off his horse. He was splashed with mud and soaked to the skin. His small, round face, hardly bigger than a large grapefruit, was livid from the ordeal. He was rushed into the chambers and put Delaware into the affirmative column, after which Pennsylvania came into line, and South Carolina then followed.

On July 4, all the delegates to the Congress were present, except John Dickinson, and approved the Declaration of Independence. John Hancock, President of the Congress, signed first with the great strokes of his pen, which would make his name synonymous with flamboyant signatures, and declared, “There, I guess King George will be able to read that!”

They all signed then, the Lees of Virginia, Charles Carroll of Carrolltown, a Catholic in the midst of a Protestant sea, and finally it was Ben Franklin who wryly said, “We must all hang together or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

The Declaration of Independence was printed and sent all over the Colonies with tremendous effect. Savannah burned King George in effigy, New York pulled down his statue, and Connecticut melted it down for bullets, while Boston tore George's coat of arms from the State House and burned it in an exultant and defiant manner. Thus it was that America was born, and the independence that burned in the hearts of the colonists was put into the immortal words of the Declaration of Independence.

****

Isaac Lincoln had not been an outspoken member among the Watauga leaders. A small man with a full gray beard, he was faithful to the court and to the settlement but had taken almost no part of the leadership. He was a distant relative of Daniel Boone and had come to the area on his recommendation in November 1775.

Isaac Lincoln now sat quietly listening while the leaders discussed what to do. James Robertson had brought the news that Virginia had refused to accept them as part of their state, and William Bean had spoken up, saying, “I think it might be best to send a petition to North Carolina. I have reason to believe that they will be glad to accept us as part of their colony.”

“I'm for that,” Hawk spoke up quickly. “Now that the Declaration of Independence has been made, we've got to make our position clear. I'm for petitioning to join North Carolina as Washington County.”

It was then that Isaac Lincoln spoke up, saying, “We must make one thing clear, gentlemen.” He looked around at their surprised faces, for he had never spoken so firmly before, but it was clear in his mind what he wanted to do. “Whatever else, they
must
accept the fact that the purchase of our lands from the Cherokee is legal.”

A murmur of agreement went around the room, and immediately the messenger left with the petition, the ink almost wet upon it. Hawk came over to stand beside Lincoln and said, “That was a good point, Isaac. It wouldn't do much good to fight for liberty if we had no lands of our own in the end.”

Isaac smiled slightly, then grew sober. “I wonder what the Cherokee are doing,” he mused.