Over the Misty Mountains (14 page)

For one moment, Hawk stood there considering what he’d heard and finally said, “I’m not sure I’m an Englishman, Lieutenant. I’ve never been to England in my life. Never saw the king. I guess you might say I’m more of an American than anything else.”

“But the Colonies belong to His Majesty, and you’re a subject just as I am.”

“Somehow, when you cross over these mountains, the king of England seems mighty far away.”

Hawk’s answer infuriated the British soldier. “We fought for years to keep the French out of your country and paid a high price for it—and now all you can say is that you’re not willing to help us keep the land clear for white settlers!”

“I don’t want to be argumentative, Lieutenant, but I don’t reckon King George and Queen Anne and the rest of the English monarchs over there did all this fighting out of the goodness of their hearts. The way I see it, and the way things seem to be shaping up back in Boston and in the rest of the Colonies, King George seems to be ready to bleed us dry with taxes.”

“You’re suggesting that you shouldn’t pay taxes?”

“I’m not a politician. I’m just a long hunter,” Hawk said wearily. “I’ll never go back to Boston or New York or any of those places. I’m headed west, and the farther west I go, the farther I’ll be from crowns and kings, and that’ll suit me fine. Sorry, Lieutenant. You’ll have to find yourself another man.” Hawk turned and walked away rapidly, ignoring the sputtering and the arguments that flew from the officer’s lips.

Later on, when Hawk found Sequatchie, he related the British officer’s offer and laughed aloud. “Can you imagine those English trying to get me to go against my own people?”

Sequatchie’s face underwent some sort of a change that Hawk could not interpret. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You don’t think I did wrong, do you?”

Sequatchie squatted down suddenly and picked up a stick and began to draw designs in the dirt. Knowing that something was on his friend’s mind, Hawk squatted beside him, then waited for some time. It was obvious to him that Sequatchie was troubled. The two of them had been together for years now and knew each other as well as two men could. Sequatchie, he knew, had been torn by his dislike of what the English way of life brought to his people, yet he disliked the French even more.

“The only hope for my people, especially those of us who are Christians, is to make close ties with the English.”

Hawk stared at the coppery face, shock running through him. “I . . . I don’t understand that. You know what the English do. They take your lands and push you farther out into the wilderness. Sooner or later there’s an end to that. There’s only so much wilderness out there.”

“You speak truth, Hawk, but my spirit tells me that something is happening. My fathers lived and hunted on this land for many years. But now the white men come like the locust. More and more arrive every year. And you say there are many thousand more over the great water, more than I can count. They are coming, and nothing can stop them.”

“That’s not the way most Indians think. Dragging Canoe, Little Carpenter’s relative, says he’s stirring the tribes up to fight to the last man to keep the land only for the Indian.”

“He is a fighting man, and all he knows is to kill. But when every Indian is killed, the English will still come. No,” Sequatchie said calmly, “the only way for my people to survive is to change. Whether this can be, I do not know. It is a hard thing. The Good Book says that we are to submit to one another, and for an Indian to submit to those forcing him off the land is the same as death.”

Hawk smiled briefly. “You’re not very good at giving up. I’ve noticed that.” He squatted in the dust, thinking hard, and said, “There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

Sequatchie looked up and nodded. “Somehow my brothers must be won to the knowledge of the Jesus God. They cannot do that if they are involved in a war, killing others. Our way of life must go. I see it clearly. In the Scriptures Jesus said, ‘Take my yoke upon you,’ did He not?”

“That’s what He said,” Hawk admitted grudgingly. “I find that pretty hard to do.”

“And He said, ‘Turn the other cheek.’”

“He said that, too,” Hawk admitted. He could not say more, for he knew himself too well. The fiery temper that lurked deep within his spirit was not suited to follow the teachings of Jesus on submission and turning the other cheek. Finally he said heavily, “I cannot agree with you. I think we should at least take your people and go as far west as we can.”

“And what would we find there?”

“Eventually another big water.”

“And when the white man catches us there, what will happen?”

Hawk could say no more. He had seen long ago that the Indian way of life was doomed, and now Sequatchie himself had agreed. Hawk did not agree with Sequatchie’s ideas on surrender, but he listened quietly as Sequatchie spoke.

“If it takes submission to win eternity for my brothers, then it is worth the cost.”

The two men talked for a long time, and finally Sequatchie said, “I ask you to help my people, Hawk. They are your people, too. We must teach them to work the land like the whites, to become what they are not by nature.”

“You mean farmers? I don’t think they could ever learn that.”

“They can if we help them, but in the meanwhile we must prove to the English that we are worthy of trust.”

Hawk thought of Lieutenant Hurst and gritted his teeth at the prospect of going back and humbling himself before the man. “The last thing I want to do is ask Lieutenant Hurst for his help.”

Sequatchie smiled. “It’ll be good for the pride that is in you. Come, I will go with you. We must help my people.”

****

Hurst, despite his small size, was an excellent soldier, and he knew men better than Hawk had guessed. The small force that he had brought with him was well disciplined and trained to obey at a moment’s notice. They had brought two small cannons, and though they only threw two-pound balls, a steady barrage would eventually break down the walls of the fort.

“That’s the way you destroy forts, Mr. Spencer,” Lieutenant Hurst explained as they approached Fort Loudoun. “One cannon is all you need. The walls are what keep the invaders out. One cannon, no matter how small, if you have enough ammunition, can blow an entranceway. Once that’s breached, the fort is doomed.”

“I suppose that’s so, Lieutenant,” Hawk said as they rode side by side.

The defenders inside the fort had known, of course, that the enemy was coming. No small military force of soldiers could cross that territory with red coats flashing and cannons being dragged by heavy draft horses without attracting attention. At Hawk’s suggestion, Lieutenant Hurst sent out scouts on wide-ranging forays so that those Indians who might have crept in close and picked the soldiers off—as they had with General Braddock’s troops—would be unable to do so. The main force reached Fort Loudoun without losing a man, and instantly they began battering the walls down with the small cannons.

After one day’s bombardment, Lieutenant Hurst said, “Look. Two or three more shots and we can enter. You’re not obliged to make the charge, Mr. Spencer. You’re only a scout, not a soldier.”

“I wish you’d call me Hawk, Lieutenant.”

“Why, very well. But what I say is true enough.”

“I think I’ll go in with your men, if you don’t mind, sir.”

Hurst gave a shrug, and there was relief in his gray eyes. “We need every man we can get, of course. Every gun will count.”

“If you’ll take my advice,” Hawk said, “you’ll keep blasting with that cannon and wait until tomorrow to make the attack.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if you do, most of the enemy on the inside will sneak away during the night. They’re afraid of the cannon, you see. Give them a chance and they’ll run.”

“I thought you believed Indians were courageous.”

“They’re courageous, but they’re not stupid. They know they can’t stand up against cannon—especially when you load it with shrapnel. No body of men can stand against that. An Indian will fight as long as he sees a reason, but they know their cause is lost. If you just give them a little time, it would save lives, yours and the Indians.”

Lieutenant Hurst smiled. It made him look much younger. “I’ll take your advice, and I wish we had more officers like you in the service. There’s a thought for you. Think it over. I believe we could get you a commission.”

“No thanks, Lieutenant. I’d make a poor soldier. I don’t follow orders too well.”

Hurst gave Hawk an odd look. “I’ve never asked you why you changed your mind, but I’m curious to know, sir.”

“It was Sequatchie who convinced me. He says that the Indian way of life is doomed, and he wants to unite his people and bring them under the British authority as obedient citizens.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, although I didn’t expect it.”

“The French have always treated the Indians better than the English,” Hawk said evenly. “We’ll see if there’s any honor in His Majesty’s forces.”

Hurst drew his shoulders back and looked squarely at Hawk. There was anger in his tone. “I assure you we will treat our captives with honor and dignity!”

“I’m taking your word for that, Lieutenant,” Hawk said. “As a gentleman and an officer!”

****

“All right, men! Let’s go! Keep together now! Pull the cannons in line, and we’ll have them!”

Sequatchie and Hawk were at the end of the line of red-clad troopers as Lieutenant Hurst gave the cry.

“I don’t think we’ll find many Indians in there,” Sequatchie grinned. “Most of them had sense enough to sneak away last night. If the lieutenant had wanted, he could’ve captured most of them.”

“I don’t think he’s really interested in that. All he wants is the fort,” Hawk said. “You know, he’s not a bad fellow. Well, here we go.”

The two men charged forward, muskets loaded, but neither of them had a heart for killing any Cherokee. When they crashed through the broken-down barricade, they saw that the Indians who were left were, for the most part, Chickasaws.

“They’ve been hired by the French for this,” Hawk murmured to Sequatchie.

“Look!” Sequatchie said. “There’s Carter!”

Instantly a whistling sound buzzed past Hawk’s ear. He flinched and saw Jack Carter drop his rifle and hurriedly begin reloading it. Hawk could have killed him right then, because his rifle was loaded. Instead he ran forward, and before the trapper could get his rifle reloaded, Hawk was upon him. Holding his musket right in front of Carter’s face, he said, “Go ahead, Carter, lift that rifle and I’ll send you on the longest trip you’ve ever had!”

Carter’s face twisted with anger, but he could not face the steadiness of Hawk’s gaze. “I will kill you someday, Spencer! You can be sure of that! It is only luck that has kept you alive since you left Williamsburg!”

“It was you who tried to kill me in the wilderness!”

“Yes! I thought you were dead then! I wish I’d put another bullet in your head! I knew you would be trouble for the French.” At the shocked look on Hawk’s face, Carter grinned smugly. “Yes, I am French. My real name is Jacques Cartier. This land belongs to us, not to you Englishmen. I have been working for my country these past years to drive all of the English back across the mountains. We were close to succeeding, but you have interfered.” Cartier paused, then quietly continued, “We will still defeat you, and this land will once again be the sole property of France.”

Even as Cartier stood there looking down the muzzle of Hawk’s gun, a group of Chickasaws surged around the corner of a cabin. They all had tomahawks and threw themselves in a suicidal charge toward the British. One of them was almost even with Sequatchie, who was reloading his rifle. Instantly Hawk saw that his friend had no chance. Throwing his musket up, he fired, and the Indian who had raised his hatchet to strike Sequatchie fell backward. At the same instant Jacques Cartier pulled a wicked-looking knife out of his belt. With the poise of a practiced knife fighter, he whipped it in a motion that practically whistled. It was aimed at Hawk’s throat, and only the lightninglike reaction of the hunter saved him. Hawk threw his head back, and the knife missed him by a hairsbreadth. Instantly, Hawk grabbed the wrist of the Frenchman, and the two of them stumbled across the parade ground, fighting for possession of the knife.

Other Chickasaws, apparently hidden, had come screaming out of the long house, where the stores were kept, and a savage fray began to develop. For once British discipline paid off in fighting the Indians. The calm voice of Lieutenant Hurst saying, “Prepare! Load! Fire!” sounded across the parade ground with regularity. His men fired in volleys, so that when the front line fired, they stepped back and another line was ready. Some of the soldiers fell victim to the thrown tomahawks. A few of the Chickasaws had rifles, but after the first volley, many of the Indians fell under the British fire.

During all of this, Hawk was struggling with the giant Frenchman, who fought like a madman. The two of them stumbled over bodies, slipped on bloody ground, and yet neither could gain the advantage. Suddenly, Hawk felt Cartier jerk his knife hand free. In that moment Hawk knew he had lost. The knife went back and started to descend—but a shot rang out, and Cartier stiffened, his mouth opening, and he fell backward to the ground, dropping the knife.

Whirling around, Hawk saw Lieutenant Hurst standing there with a smoking pistol.

“I owe you one for that, Lieutenant.”

“My pleasure, sir. Now we need to finish off the rest of them.”

Recovering his musket, Hawk joined Sequatchie and the lieutenant. Soon the Chickasaws were surrounded, and most of them threw down their tomahawks. There were fewer than twenty of them left.

“That’s it! Hold your fire!” Lieutenant Hurst called out. “Sergeant, put these men in irons! Doctor, see to your wounded!”

Sequatchie and Hawk came together, and Sequatchie nodded. “The lieutenant saved your life.”

Hawk managed a smile. “I suppose you’re going to claim he came along just like that hawk that helped you find me and the deer that saved my life from that Chickasaw. The lieutenant was sent by God to save me.”