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Letters had come from Margaret giving him the welcome news that LionelClarke had recovered and announcing that her own little revolution hadachieved success. She and her father would be taking ship for Bostonin December. Jack had urged that she try to induce him to start atonce, fearing that December would be too late, and so it fell out.When the news of the Congress reached London, the King made new plans.He began to prepare for war. Sir Benjamin Hare, who was to be thefirst deputy of General Gage, was assigned to a brigade and immediatelyput his regiments in training for service overseas. He had spent sixmonths in America and was supposed, in England, to have learned the artof bush fighting. Such was the easy optimism of the cheerful youngMinister of War, and his confreres, in the House of Lords. After thearrival of the _King William_ at Gravesend on the eighth of December,no English women went down to the sea in ships for a long time.Thereafter the water roads were thought to be only for fighting men.Jack's hope was that armed resistance would convince the British oftheir folly.
"A change of front in the Parliament would quickly end the war," he waswont to say. Not that he quite believed it. But young men in love areapt to say things which they do not quite believe. In February, 1775,he gave up his work on _The Gazette_ to aid in the problem of defense.Solomon, then in Albany, had written that he was going the twentieth ofthat month on a mission to the Six Nations of The Long House.
It was unusual for the northern tribes to hold a council inwinter--especially during the moon of the hard snow, but the growingbitterness of the white men had alarmed them. They had learned thatanother and greater war was at hand and they were restless for fear ofit. The quarrel was of no concern to the red man, but he foresaw thedeadly peril of choosing the wrong side. So the wise men of the tribeswere coming into council.
"If we fight England, we got to have the Injuns on our side er elseTryon County won't be no healthy place fer white folks," Solomon wrote."I wished you could go 'long with me an' show 'em the kind o' shootin'we'll do ag'in' the English an' tell 'em they could count the leaves inthe bush easier than the men in the home o' the south wind, an' allgood shooters. Put on a big, two-story bearskin cap with a red ribbandtied around it an' bring plenty o' gewgaws. I don't care what they beso long as they shine an' rattle. I cocalate you an' me could do goodwork."
Immediately the young man packed his box and set out by stage on hisway to the North. Near West Point, he left the sleigh, which hadstopped for repairs, and put on his skates and with the wind mostly athis back, made Albany early that evening on the river roof. He foundthe family and Solomon eating supper, with the table drawn close to thefireside, it being a cold night.
"I think that St. Nicholas was never more welcome in any home or thecreator of more happiness than I was that night," he wrote in a letterto Margaret, sent through his friend Doctor Franklin. "What a glow wasin the faces of my mother and father and Solomon Binkus--the man whowas so liked in London! What cries of joy came from the children!They clung to me and my little brother, Josiah, sat on my knee while Iate my sausage and flapjacks and maple molasses. I shall never forgetthat supper hour for, belike, I was hungry enough to eat an ox. Youwould never see a homecoming like that in England, I fancy. Here thefamily ties are very strong. We have no opera, no theater, no ballsand only now and then a simple party of neighborhood folk. We workhard and are weary at night. So our pleasures are few and mostly thoseshared in the family circles. A little thing, such as a homecoming, ora new book, brings a joy that we remember as long as we live. I hopethat you will not be appalled by the simplicity of my father's home andneighborhood. There is something very sweet and beautiful in it,which, I am sure, you would not fail to discover.
"Philadelphia and Boston are more like the cities you know. They aregetting ambitious and are beginning to ape the manners of England but,even there, you would, find most people like my own. The attempts atgrandeur are often ludicrous. In Philadelphia, I have seen men sittingat public banquets without coat or collar and drinking out of bottles."
Next day, Jack and Solomon set out with packs and snow-shoes for TheLong House, which was the great highway of the Indians. It cut theprovince from the Hudson to Lake Erie. In summer it was roofed by theleaves of the forest. The chief villages of the Six Tribes were on ornear it. This trail was probably the ancient route of the cloven hoofon its way to the prairies--the thoroughfare of the elk and thebuffalo. How wisely it was chosen time has shown, for now it iscovered with iron rails, the surveyors having tried in vain to find abetter one.
Late in the second day out, they came suddenly on a young moose. Jackpresented his piece and brought the animal down. They skinned him andcut out the loins and a part of each hind quarter. When Solomonwrapped the meat in a part of the hide and slung it over his shoulder,night was falling.
"Cat's blood an' gunpowder! The ol' night has a sly foot," saidSolomon. "We won't see no Crow Hill tavern. We got t' make a snowhouse."
On the south side of a steep hill near them was a deep, hard frozendrift. Solomon cut the crust with his hatchet and began moving bigblocks of snow. Soon he had made a cavern in the great white pile, afathom deep and high, and as long as a full grown man. They put in afloor of balsam boughs and spread their blankets on it. Then they cuta small dead pine and built a fire a few feet in front of their houseand fried some bacon and a steak and made snow water and a pot of tea.The steak and bacon were eaten on slices of bread without knife orfork. Their repast over, Solomon made a rack and began jerking themeat with a slow fire of green hardwood smoldering some three feetbelow it. The "jerk" under way, they reclined on their blankets inthe snow house secure from the touch of a cold wind that swept down thehillside, looking out at the dying firelight while Solomon told of hisadventures in the Ohio country.
Jack was a bit afflicted with "snow-shoe evil," being unaccustomed tothat kind of travel, and he never forgot the sense of relief andcomfort which he found in the snow house, or the droll talk of Solomon.
"You're havin' more trouble to git married than a Mingo brave," Solomonsaid to Jack. "'Mongst them, when a boy an' gal want to git married,both fam'lies have to go an' take a sweat together. They heat a lot o'rocks an' roll 'em into a pen made o' sticks put in crotches an'covered over with skins an' blankets. The hot rocks turn it into akind o' oven. They all crawl in thar an' begin to sweat an' hoot an'holler. You kin hear 'em a mile off. It's a reg'lar hootin' match.I'd call it a kind o' camp meetin'. When they holler it means that thedevil is lettin' go. They're bein' purified. It kind o' seasons 'emso they kin stan' the heat o' a family quarrel. When Injuns have hadthe grease sweat out of 'em, they know suthin' has happened. Thewomen'll talk fer years 'bout the weddin' sweat."
Now and then, as he talked, Solomon arose to put more wood on the fireand keep "the jerk sizzling." Just before he lay down for the night,he took some hard wood coals and stored them in a griddle full of hotashes so as to save tinder in the morning.
They were awakened in the night by the ravening of a pack of wolves atthe carcass of the slain moose, which lay within twenty rods of thesnow camp. They were growling and snapping as they tore the meat fromthe bones. Solomon rose and drew on his boots.
"Cat's blood an' gunpowder! I thought the smell o' the jerk wouldbring 'em," Solomon whispered. "Say, they's quite a passel o' wolvesthar--you hear to me. No, I ain't skeered o' them thar whelps, butit's ag'in' my principles to go to sleep if they's nuthin' but air'twixt me an' them. They might be jest fools 'nough to think I weregood eatin'; which I ain't. I guess it's 'bout time to take keer o'this 'ere jerk an' start up a fire. I won't give them loafers nothin'but hell, if they come 'round here--not a crumb."
Solomon went to work with his ax in the moonlight, while Jack kindledup the fire.
"We don't need to tear off our buttons hurryin'," said the former, ashe flung down a dead spruce by the fireside and began chopping it intosticks. "They won't be lookin' for more fodder till they've picked thebones
o' that 'ere moose. Don't make it a big fire er you'll melt ourroof. We jest need a little belt o' blaze eround our front. Our rearis safe. Chain lightnin' couldn't slide down this 'ere hill withoutputtin' on the brakes."
Soon they had a good stack of wood inside the fire line and in the pilewere some straight young birches. Solomon made stakes of these anddrove them deep in the snow close up to the entrance of their refuge,making a stockade with an opening in the middle large enough for a manto pass through. Then they sat down on their blankets, going out oftento put wood on the fire. While sitting quietly with their rifles inhand, they observed that the growling and yelping had ceased.
"They've got that 'ere moose in their packs," Solomon whispered. "Nowkeep yer eye peeled. They'll be snoopin' eround here to git our share.You see."
In half a moment, Jack's rifle spoke, followed by the loud yelp of awolf well away from the firelight.
"Uh, huh! You warmed the wax in his ear, that's sart'in;" said Solomonas Jack was reloading. "Did ye hear him say 'Don't'?"
The scout's rifle spoke and another wolf yelped.
"Yer welcome," Solomon shouted. "I slammed that 'er hunk o' lead intothe pack leader--a whale of a wolf. The ol' Cap'n stepped right upclus. Seen 'im plain--gray, long legged ol' whelp. He were walkin'towards the fire when he stubbed his toe. It's all over now. They'llsnook erway. The army has lost its Gin'ral."
They saw nothing more of the wolf pack and after an hour or so ofwatching, they put more wood on the fire, filled the opening in theirstockade and lay down to rest. Solomon called it a night of "one-eyedsleep" when they got up at daylight and rekindled the fire and washedtheir hands and faces in the snow. The two dead wolves lay withinfifty feet of the fire and Solomon cut off the tail of the larger onefor a souvenir.
They had more steak and bread, moistened with tea, for breakfast andset out again with a good store of jerked meat in their packs. So theyproceeded on their journey, as sundry faded clippings inform us,spending their nights thereafter at rude inns or in the cabins ofsettlers until they had passed the village of the Mohawks, where theyfound only a few old Indians and their squaws and many dogs and youngchildren. The chief and his sachems and warriors and their wives hadgone on to the great council fire in the land of Kiodote, the ThornyTree.
They spent a night in the little cabin tavern of Bill Scott on theupper waters of the Mohawk. Mrs. Scott, a comely woman of twenty-six,had been a sister of Solomon's wife. She and the scout had a pleasantvisit about old times in Cherry Valley where they had spent a part oftheir childhood, and she was most thoughtful and generous in providingfor their comfort. The Scotts had lost two children and another, ababy, was lying asleep in the cradle. Scott was a hard working, sullensort of a man who made his living chiefly by selling rum to theIndians. Solomon used to say that he had been "hooked by the love o'money an' et up by land hunger."
"You'll have to git away from The Long House," Solomon said to Scott."One reason I come here was to tell ye."
"What makes ye think so?" Scott asked.
"The Injuns'll hug ye when they're drunk but they'll hate ye whenthey're sober," Solomon answered. "They lay all their trouble tofire-water an' they're right. If the cat jumps the wrong way an' theygo on the war-path, ye got to look out."
"I ain't no way skeered," was Scott's answer. He had a hoarse, dampvoice that suggested the sound of rum gurgling out of a jug. His redface indicated that he was himself too fond of the look and taste offire-water.
"Ye got to git erway from here I tell ye," Solomon insisted.
Scott stroked his sandy beard and answered: "I guess I know my business'bout as well as you do."
"Le's go back to Cherry Valley, Bill," the woman urged.
"Oh, keep yer trap shet," Scott said to her.
"He's as selfish as a he-bear," said Solomon as he and Jack wereleaving soon after daylight. "Don't think o' nuthin' but gittin' rich.Keeps swappin' firewater fer land an' no idee o' the danger."
They left the woman in tears.
"It's awful lonesome here. I'll never see ye ag'in," she declared asshe stood wiping her eyes with her apron.
"Here now--you behave!" Solomon exclaimed. "I'll toddle up to yourdoor some time next summer."
"Mirandy is a likely womern--I tell ye," Solomon whispered as they wentaway. "He is a mean devil! Ain't the kind of a man fer her--nary bit.A rum bottle is the only comp'ny he keers fer."
They often spoke of the pathetic loneliness of this good-looking,kindly, mismated woman. Jack and Solomon reached the council on thefifth day of their travel. There, a level plain in the forest wascovered with Indians and the snow trodden smooth. Around it were theirtents and huts and houses. There were males and females, many of thelatter in rich silks and scarlet cloths bordered with gold fringe.Some wore brooches and rings in their noses. Among them were handsomefaces and erect and noble forms.
In the center of the plain stood a great stack of wood and green boughsof spruce and balsam built up in layers for the evening council fire.
Old Kiodote knew Solomon and remembered Jack, whom he had seen in thegreat council at Albany in 1761.
"He says your name was 'Boiling Water,'" Solomon said to Jack after amoment's talk with the chief.
"He has a good memory," the young man answered.
The two white men were invited to take part in the games. All thewarriors had heard of Solomon's skill with a rifle. "Son of theThunder," they called him in the League of the Iroquois. The red mengathered in great numbers to see him shoot. Again, as of old, theywere thrilled by his feats with the rifle, but when Jack began hisquick and deadly firing, crushing butternuts thrown into the air, withrifle and pistol, a kind of awe possessed the crowd. Many came andtouched him and stared into his face and called him "The Brother ofDeath."