Beyond the Quiet Hills (42 page)

Amanda and Iris, the Stevenses, the Andersons, the Fosters, and the Baxters were all close friends, so the young people often got together and talked of the excitement that had come into their rather undramatic lives. Jacob mostly stayed away, keeping to himself. He went out each day with the hunters to bring in game for those confined to the safety of the fort.

Sarah was happy, for she was a girl who liked the bustle of activity. Sometimes life out on the homestead grew tiresome for her, but now she rose early and talked almost constantly with someone, usually Philip Baxter. Young Baxter was obviously taken with her and told her so. They often went outside the walls of the stockade, never going far, for Hawk and others had put out pickets so that by day, at least, the fort was safe from attack.

Rhoda Anderson soon grew fond of Ann Robertson, the sister of James, and Catherine Sherill, a single woman who was more outgoing than most.

Elizabeth, missing Lydia Bean, asked William when his wife was coming in, and she received a rather strange answer.

“Oh, she'll be in when she sees the Indians coming. Our house is so close that we wouldn't have any trouble getting into the stockade.”

Hawk, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes. “I don't much care for that, William. Those Indians can sneak up on a man before he knows they're even in the country.”

Bean grinned. “I been dodgin' 'em for some years now, Hawk. I reckon I can do it for a while longer.”

Later that day Hawk spoke to Elizabeth of Lydia Bean. “I don't like it. I'm going to talk to William again.”

“She just doesn't like living in the stockade.”

“Neither do you. None of us do, but it's a thing that has to be done. I'll speak to William about it later. It's too dangerous out there for a woman.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

On the Warpath

John Sevier looked up from his work on the stockade at Fort Lee on Limestone Creek. He had been instrumental in having the fort built on the Nolichucky River and had hurried the construction as quickly as possible. However, there were not enough hands for the work, and the fort was far from ready for any sort of defense.

“Who's that?” the man asked Charlie Denvers, who had also stopped. Denvers had the sharpest eyes of any man at Fort Lee, and now he peered carefully at the approaching rider.

“Don't know, but he's shore to kill that horse. Must be Indians on his trail or somethin'.”

The two men moved out, picking up their muskets as they went and calling a warning to the men down the line. They all waited while the horse staggered into camp and a man fell off.

“Hello, stranger. Your horse is about gone.”

“I'm looking for Sevier.”

“I'm John Sevier.”

“My name's Catlin. Josh Catlin. I've got bad news.” Catlin's face was strained and his lips were chapped with the heat of the sun. “You got some water for a man?” He waited until one of the men brought a bucket of water, drank from it noisily, then shook his head. “You better pull out of here. Them Cherokees is on the move.”

“How do you know that?” Sevier asked quickly. He had been fearing such news, and now he was almost certain that it had come.

“Nancy Ward. She was at the Cherokee council. She managed to slip away unnoticed and got word to Isaac Thomas, and he broke away and brought the news. You gotta get out of here right now. I 'spect there'll be around five hundred of them red devils comin'!”

The messenger was exhausted and was surrounded at once by men and women who were startled by his news. Sevier took one look around and knew there was no hope. A near panic broke out as the people of Nolichucky fled in a mass exodus. Sevier was left with fifteen men and shook his head. “We'd better get over to the fort at Watauga. I expect they'll need all the help they can get.”

****

The day after Sevier and the inhabitants of Fort Lee fled, the Cherokee arrived with Dragging Canoe and Old Abram leading the combined tribes of warriors. Finding the fort deserted, they did not even bother to destroy the crops or the animals. They burned the fort, and here the main force divided. Dragging Canoe led his forces toward Long Island, and Old Abram continued his march toward Watauga.

Dragging Canoe was burning with a fierce anger and assumed that he would have an easy time with the helpless settlers. But he did not know that five companies of militia, warned by the message brought by Isaac Thomas, had assembled at Eaton's Station near Long Island.

The militia, led by Colonel William Preston, prepared to meet the attack. Instead of staying inside the fort, they chose rather to fight on open ground. The two forces were about equal in number and met in a fierce battle on Island Flats. The hand-to-hand combat lasted only an hour, but the Indians were defeated. Many warriors were killed or wounded, among them Chief Dragging Canoe, suffering a broken thigh. The Indians fled the field, carrying their wounded with them—thus the first battle of the American Revolution west of the mountains was over. The defeat of the Indians gave the white leaders confidence that they could meet the Indians on equal terms. To the Cherokee the battle meant loss of faith in their strength. Dragging Canoe's forces moved back in a retreat, but Old Abram moved steadily toward Fort Watauga.

****

John Sevier looked around the inside of the fort and nodded grimly. He was a tall, dark-haired man with piercing gray eyes and now said, “Well, Hawk, it looks like we're as ready as we'll ever be.”

Hawk was molding bullets and looked up long enough from his chore to nod. “I'm glad you came, Sevier. It sounds like we're going to need all of you.”

“What's the date?” Sevier asked idly. He was watching a tall young woman who was laughing and playing with several of the younger children. They were playing some kind of a game that involved running, and he noticed that she ran like a deer. The sun caught her dark hair, and he was intrigued by her.

“July twenty-first,” Hawk answered. He looked up to see Sevier watching the young woman and smiled. “You know that young woman?”

“No, but I'd like to. What's her name?”

“Catherine Sherill. They call her Bonnie Kate.” Hawk was amused at Sevier's open admiration. “Sometimes I think she can outrun, outshoot, and outride any man in the settlement.”

“Wouldn't be a bad woman to have on your side,” Sevier said.

Sevier left Hawk and moved over to stand closer to where the game was taking place. The young woman noticed him and stopped and smiled at him. She had eyes the color of a blue cornflower, and they were striking in her tanned face. “Maybe you'd like to join the game,” she smiled.

“Not likely. I don't think any man could catch you—in a race, that is.”

“No man ever has.”

“That doesn't mean no man ever will,” John Sevier said. He stood there speaking to the young woman, pleased by her openness and frankness, then said, “Maybe we'll have a dance here after we get these Indians taken care of. I dance a little better than I run, I think.”

Catherine Sherill laughed and said cheerfully, “I wouldn't mind that.”

“Maybe we could go for a walk early tomorrow sometime outside the stockade. A man gets crowded in here.”

Catherine only smiled at him and went back to the game.

That night there was an uneasiness in the air, and Hawk crowded into the small cabin with his whole family and was holding Joshua, entertaining him, by the light of the single lamp. Elizabeth was holding Hannah, humming a little song to put her to sleep. “You look worried, Hawk.”

“I think we're in for a hard time.”

“You think they'll come soon?”

“Yes. They have to do it quick. Indians don't stay together like white men. They'll come together for a while, but they don't seem to have the ability to fit together in a federation of any kind.”

“Be careful when the fighting starts.”

Hawk smiled and shrugged. “The Lord will have to keep us all safe.”

The next morning at daybreak Hawk strolled along the inside of the fort, speaking again to Sevier. He had learned to know the man and liked him considerably. “I saw you speaking to Bonnie Kate yesterday. You got something on your mind, John?”

“I might. I never saw a woman like her. I wish—” He broke off suddenly and turned his head, and Hawk also did. “That's a musket shot,” he said. “Come on.” The two men climbed on top of the cabin roofs where they could fire over the walls of the stockade, and at once both men saw the red bodies of Indians gleaming in the early-morning sunlight.

“There's women out there!” Sevier exclaimed, and his eyes caught the athletic form of Catherine Sherill. She was running hard for the stockade, but the door was shut.

“Here, you're a better shot! Take my rifle, Hawk!”

“What are you going to do?”

“She can't get up these walls and the door's shut. Make every shot count!”

Hawk watched as the young woman raced across the open space. Some fleet Indians were chasing her not far behind. He chose one in front, drew a bead on him, and squeezed the trigger. The shot drove the brave backward, and Hawk instantly picked up Sevier's musket. He turned to see Sevier leaning down over the top of the palisades trying to dodge the sharp edges of the logs. He was holding on with his left hand and had stooped down so far that he had appeared to fall.

Hawk said, “Hang on, John! When you get her I'll help!” He waited until the young woman was almost to the wall, then shot another Indian in the chest. He had no time to reload, so he grabbed Sevier's legs and lowered him an extra foot. “Can you get her, John?”

Sevier leaned over the wall. He heard the striking of musket balls into the solid logs beside him but only cared about Kate. His eyes were fixed on the young woman's face, and he called out, “Here, Kate! Take my hand!” He leaned and stretched as far as he could, and when the young woman reached the wall, she made a tremendous jump, farther than any woman could possibly leap, he thought. It was well that she did, for her hand barely reached his. He grabbed her wrist, squeezed it, and said, “Pull us up, Hawk!”

Hawk gave a tremendous pull at Sevier's legs, and Sevier, using both hands on Kate Sherill's wrists, hauled her up. The two fell together, and she landed directly across Sevier's chest.

Sevier looked up into her eyes and smiled. “This wasn't the kind of dance I thought about.”

Catherine looked directly into Sevier's gray eyes and, despite the danger, smiled. “We'll have time for a better dance another day.”

The fight started in earnest then, and there were many occasions of heroism as they all fought for their lives. Ann Robertson, James' sister, poured boiling water from washpots on a group of braves trying to set fire to the fort walls. She was wounded by one of the arrows but stayed at her post until the scalded Indians gave up and scampered back to safety.

During the heat of battle Hawk kept his two sons beside him, both of them firing and reloading with a furious activity. He looked over at Jacob and said, “That was a good shot, son.”

Jacob flushed with pleasure and then shook his head. “They're brave men.”

“They always were,” Hawk nodded. Then he looked over at Andrew and said, “Keep your head down.”

“Right, Pa, and you, too.”

Finally the action ceased, and as the Indians pulled back beyond musket range, Hawk said as he stood up, “I think we won this time.”

“You think they'll come back, Pa?” Andrew asked eagerly, his eyes alight with the excitement of battle.

“They may, but I doubt it. I think they've had enough. They lost quite a few braves.”

There was rejoicing in the fort but sadness, too, for there had been several killed and many wounded, and Hawk learned from Elizabeth the next day that Lydia Bean had been captured. “I was afraid it would happen,” she said and bit her lip nervously. “Poor Lydia.”

One bit of heroism that the defenders of the fort only learned later was how Lydia Bean's life was saved. After being captured, she was taken to Togue, where she was condemned to be burned. She was tied to the stake and the fire lighted, when Nancy Ward appeared. She kicked the burning embers and stomped out the fire, glaring at the braves who were staring at her. After she untied Lydia Bean, she turned and said with scorn, “It revolts my soul that the Cherokee warriors would stoop so low as to torture a squaw!” She took Lydia away from the angry stares of the braves and kept her safe at her own home, where Lydia taught the Indian squaws how to make butter and cheese before she was returned to the settlement.

Dragging Canoe was defeated. He set up his camp and sent out raiding parties, but he himself was unable to carry on any more of the fighting. He was a bitter man, and as the Cherokee pulled back, he was already plotting other raids on the white settlements.

One of the raiding parties was under the leadership of Akando, who was as violent as Dragging Canoe. Akando led his small band of warriors through the countryside, murdering and butchering every white person found, except for two. Creeping up with three of his warriors early one morning, he captured two white men. They were in a drunken stupor and easy prey for the silent Indians who crept into their camp like ghosts.

Zeke Taylor and William Crabtree had been drinking all night. They had heard of the ravages of the Indians, and Zeke was worried about his family, while Crabtree was simply rejoicing in what might be the deaths of some of his enemies.

Zeke Taylor woke when something sharp touched his throat, and when he opened his eyes and saw the coppery face marked with war paint, he knew he was a dead man. He heard Crabtree, who lay a few feet away, begging for his life and knew it was hopeless.

Akando laughed at the pleas of Crabtree and shook his head. “We will not kill you quickly. We will see how much pain you can stand.”