CHAPTER X. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE

Daniel was not to be seen when we entered the cave, but Master Bartlett explained his absence by saying that he was out in search of game. That he had been at work industriously we could see, for there were the carcasses of two deer cut up and stacked inside, while near by were a dozen or more pheasants.

Even before making any attempt to tell such a story regarding the events of that fearful day as had been decided upon, Giles March and I gave attention to the wounded.

Samuel Rogers was resting comfortably on a pile of leaves at the farther end of the cave, and declared that he had improved wondrously since we brought him there, while Oscar Stephenson appeared to be suffering rather from exhaustion, caused by rapid travel and loss of blood, than from the bullet, which had ploughed its way through the flesh without breaking bones.

Having seen so much of killing during the day just past, I was actually surprised at learning how many of us had been spared from what was neither more nor less than a massacre. The cave had seemed too large when we first found it; but now, with so many inside, it was all too small for comfortable living.

Lest the reader may have forgotten how many of us were here assembled, let me set down the list:

First, there was Mistress Morley, and the other woman whose name I do not now remember, with the two Morley children. Esther Hinchman made up the list of females.

Master Bartlett and Stephen Morley represented the men of the valley, and in addition we had of the Minute Boys, Daniel Hinchman, for we counted him as among us, Samuel Rogers, Giles March, Oscar Stephenson, Miles Parker, and myself.

I had not supposed so many of our company escaped the tomahawk and the scalping-knife until I saw them here assembled, and it was in my mind that we were more in numbers than all the others who had come out alive from the battle with John Butler’s renegades and red wolves.

That Daniel Hinchman and Master Bartlett had worked like beavers during the absence of Giles March and myself, there could be no question. The cave, if such it could be called, had been cleared of rubbish, and that part of it to be used as sleeping quarters was covered with leaves and fir-tips.

To my great delight, during such house-cleaning a living spring at the farther end of the excavation had been found, and, as showing how we might hold out against a considerable force for many days without fear of bodily suffering, Master Bartlett explained that it was his purpose, now we were all there to aid in the labor, to bring a number of large rocks in order to partially close up the mouth in such fashion that only one person could enter at a time. Therefore did it seem as if we would be more secure, in event of an attack, than if we were holding the best stockade that had ever been built in the valley.

Mistress Morley and Master Bartlett had made further plans for the bettering of this refuge as soon as there was time in which to do the work, and among other things it was decided that it might be possible to drill a hole through the side of the mountain into the cave, using a sharpened sapling as a drill,—in case there were no rocks to interfere,—and thereby an outlet for smoke could be had.

Both Giles March and I said all we could by way of encouraging the others in making the place more habitable, for after what had occurred since those hot-heads at Forty Fort insisted upon doing exactly as John Butler would have them, it was more than reasonable to suppose this place would be their only shelter and refuge until the Tories and savages were minded to leave the valley. In other words, as we who knew the truth believed, many months must elapse before it would be safe for the women and children to venture out from the hiding-place.

Before the new day was an hour old, Daniel Hinchman came in with a goodly supply of game, which had been taken in the snares, and it goes without saying that he was feverishly impatient to learn how the battle had terminated, therefore, acting upon the advice of Stephen Morley that the truth should not be told in the presence of the women, Giles March and I led him a short distance up the mountainside, where we related the terrible story.

He was nearly overcome by astonishment and grief, and how could it be otherwise, for we had the same as told him that all his neighbors and friends, those whom he knew and loved, were dead, and yet, at that time we were ignorant of more than half the horrors which had come upon us of Wyoming since we, who had escaped from the retreat, entered the swamp to make our way alone.

“And now what is to be done?” Daniel Hinchman asked, helplessly, when we were come to an end of the dreadful recital. “Are we to stay here?”

“Where else, think you, will your sister be safe, unless peradventure you make the attempt to lead her across the mountains to the Delaware River?” Giles March asked, and I added:

“Even though it were probable she could withstand all the fatigue and hardships of a long, perilous journey, Daniel Hinchman, are you warranted in leaving the other women? Seeing that we are come out, as if led by God, from all the horrors which have descended upon the valley, are we not bound together until such time as the entire party may go forth in peace, if, peradventure, that day shall ever come?”

“I am not minded to leave you, lads, because, save for your company of Minute Boys, Esther would yet be a prisoner among the Mohawks, if they had allowed her to live, and I, most like, be among those who are slain. I was only questioning if we were to make of yonder cave our dwelling?”

When we had come to this point in the conversation, Master Bartlett and Stephen Morley joined us, as if understanding that we were holding a consultation as to the future, and so did it become right speedily, for Master Morley took it upon himself to reply to Daniel’s question.

“If Jonathan Ogden and Giles March have described to you one-half the horrors which we three have witnessed since yesterday’s sun rose, then must you know that, until some great change can be effected, are we bound to remain here, where those whom we love are in reasonable safety, and it seems to me as if we could do no better than settle down with the idea of making this our abiding-place for a time.”

“That is all which can be done,” Master Bartlett added. “With so many hands, the labor of making the cave more habitable will be simple, and it is not likely, unless we ourselves grow careless, that any of the enemy will come to suspect the whereabouts of our refuge.”

“Of course we must know what may be going on in the valley,” Giles March said, quickly, “and there should not be overmuch danger if one of us sets out very soon in gaining the information.”

“I will be that one, and go to-night,” Daniel Hinchman said, before it was possible for me to propose that I myself make the venture. “The canoe in which I came across the river is hidden snugly some distance from the water, and I alone can find it.”

Master Bartlett nodded his head, as if to say that the proposition was one which should be entertained by us, and, therefore, without further words, was it settled that Daniel should go out at nightfall to learn what he might.

Such information as he brought back would determine our future movements, although we were well convinced that there could be no immediate change of location.

The women, together with those of us who were not wounded, spent the remainder of this day in working upon our underground dwelling, and many and great were the improvements we made.

Master Bartlett, with the assistance of Miles Parker, succeeded in drilling a hole for a chimney, as had been proposed, and Stephen Morley made a serviceable fireplace of rocks at the farther end of the cave near the spring. The women, by weaving boughs together, succeeded in setting up something in the shape of a screen which shut off a small portion of the cave for their sleeping quarters, and, without very much disturbance of the foliage, we rolled two large boulders to the mouth of the cavern in such a manner as satisfied me that we could stand a long siege, however many might come against us.

As a matter of course, our food consisted of deer meat or birds, cooked without salt, and nothing more; but people who have been as near death as we had, and come off alive, are not warranted in complaining about the quality or the sameness of their provisions, provided there be sufficient to satisfy hunger.

To my mind God had been very good to us,—better far than our deserts, for He had led us through a Red Sea of blood to this refuge, and verily we had cause for most fervent thanksgiving.

It lacked but an hour of sunset when Daniel Hinchman announced that he was ready to set off on the scout, explaining that it was his purpose to start thus early in order that he might find the canoe before night had fully shut in, and when no one made protest at his going, for we all believed it necessary to learn of the situation of affairs, he said, quietly:

“I beg of you not to feel alarmed concerning me during eight and forty hours, for it is my purpose to be absent that length of time. If I am not returned nearabout sunrise on the third day, then may you know I have come to grief.”

“It is not well that you take overly many chances, lad,” Master Bartlett said quickly. “Make your way to Forty Fort, and if you find there the enemy in possession, as doubtless you will, give it a wide berth. In some of the stockades should those who are yet alive be gathered, and once you have good assurance of coming upon a remnant of our people, don’t make any effort at learning the whereabouts of the enemy, for we know full well they will be roaming up and down the valley, slaying and burning until those exceeding wise men in the Congress come to understand that something should be done for our relief.”

Well, Daniel Hinchman went out as he planned, and during the eight and forty hours which he had set as the time of his absence, we worked at making our underground dwelling more habitable, being able to add to it much which, in the eyes of people not in such sore distress, would have seemed rude and uncouth, but to us were improvements and even luxuries.

Then came the time when Daniel Hinchman should return, and in our anxiety for his safety, those of us who were able to walk ventured a mile or more from the cave toward the river to hear the news which he might bring as speedily as possible; but he came not.

Only at noon did we give up all hope of him, and then, while inside the cave, we spoke cheeringly lest his sister should be overcome with grief, saying that doubtless he had found more of our friends alive than we expected, or was waiting to bring us a bigger budget of good tidings than could be gathered in a short while. Yet even as we spoke our hearts were like lead, and I dared not hold converse with my comrades concerning his fate, for it seemed all too certain he had but added another to the long list of victims which had been sacrificed to satisfy John Butler’s love of cruelty.

That evening the two older men, with Giles March and me, went up the mountainside where we could talk without fear of being overheard, and discussed seriously whether it were well to send out another scout, for it seemed absolutely necessary we should know what was going on in the valley.

The discussion we had there was a long one, owing to the fact that both Giles March and myself were eager to be off, in the poor hope that there was yet time to be of service to Daniel Hinchman, while Master Bartlett and Stephen Morley insisted that we remain within our place of refuge six full days before making a move, the old man saying:

“It is only reasonable to suppose the savages are running riot through the valley, and our people have been slain or driven out to the last man, otherwise I am minded that Daniel Hinchman would not have been taken, for he went with his eyes open, knowing all the dangers, therefore surely could have shunned them.”

“Yet we can’t sit here idle, Master Bartlett!” I cried, passionately. “It may be we are needed there, and it were cowardly to remain in hiding when we are able to lend aid to those who are so sorely pressed.”

“How would you aid them, lad, if you crossed the river only to find yourselves in the hands of the savages? It would be as great an act of wicked folly for us to venture out now, knowing that John Butler’s wolves are sweeping everything before them, as it was for those hot-heads whom you and Stephen Morley strove against at Forty Fort. Content yourself, however hard it may be, with idleness until such time comes as you can be of real service, and I venture to say that, by saving your lives now, you will be of benefit to our neighbors and our friends—if any there be yet alive.”

Well, it is not needed I should say that the counsels of the older men prevailed, for we lads would have been foolish indeed had we set ourselves up as being more wise in such a case, where they had had all too bitter an experience.

Yet when we laid down that night there was in my heart a feeling of shame that I remained there comfortable and apparently content, while there was so much of suffering and agony near at hand which I might relieve.

Esther Hinchman had not spoken above a dozen words during all that long, weary day, and although knowing full well she believed, and with good reason, that her brother was a prisoner in the hands of the savages, or had already been killed by them, we did not venture words of sympathy lest it should be seen by her that we feared the worst.

Then another day came, and we who were despairing and sorrowing became electrified, as it were, by hearing the cheery voice of Daniel Hinchman, as he hailed us from the thicket a short distance from the cave.

“He has come back!” Esther cried, in a fever of joy. “He whom I believed had been killed has come back!”

Then we who were burning to embrace the lad, who had seemingly come from out the jaws of death, held back that she might have the first privilege of greeting her brother whom she had mourned.

Daniel Hinchman’s story was a long one, and when he came to an end of it, we had almost as good an idea of what had occurred in the valley since our flight as if we ourselves had taken part in all that was done.

Because each of us in turn interrupted the lad here or there in his story that we might ask for some unimportant details which he had neglected to mention, thereby prolonging the sad tale, I will make no attempt at setting it down as he related it; but, rather, put in few words that account which is already a matter of history.

As we already knew, many of the fugitives from the field of battle fled to Monocasy Island, believing there to find a safe refuge; but Colonel Zebulon Butler’s men told Daniel that fully an hundred Indians, and nearly as many Tories, hid themselves on the river banks until such of the fugitives as were aiming for the island gained that poor place of refuge, and then did they hunt them down like wild animals.

It was even said, and I have no question as to the truth because the man Pensil himself boasted of it, that he, who was a Tory and had joined John Butler’s force, found his brother on the island and slew him, even while the poor man pleaded to his own flesh and blood for aid.

Daniel’s voice trembled and his cheeks paled as he related the horrors which the savage horde boasted of as having taken place on Monocasy Island that night.

Colonel Zebulon Butler, with perhaps fifteen or twenty men, escaped to reach Wilkesbarre fort, and Colonel Dennison, accompanied by a small number, gained Forty Fort. Both these officers made preparations to defend the stockades so long as life lasted, knowing full well what would be in store if there was a surrender at that time.

When night was come, John Butler’s wolves, red and white alike, assembled to dispose of their prisoners, and one has a feeling near akin to shame at setting down all that was done before the sun rose again. Captain Bidlack, who had led one of our companies in the battle and was wounded, was thrown alive upon the burning timbers of Wintermoot’s Fort, and there held down with sticks and pitchforks until he was dead. Squads of prisoners were ranged in line, bound hand and foot, while their savage captors began with the first, deliberately murdering one after the other until the last had fallen. A half-breed woman, who was called Queen Esther, herself, with maul and tomahawk, butchered sixteen, who were forced to kneel around that boulder which in later days has been called “Queen Esther’s rock.”

I am minded to set down here that which was written afterward, by one who was a witness of the terrible scene in which the half-breed squaw supped on blood:

“The time was midnight, and the scene being lighted up by a large fire burning near, this Queen Esther appeared like a very fury from Hades while performing her bloody work. With the death of each victim her fury increased, and her song rose louder and clearer upon the midnight air. Leddeus Hammond and Joseph Eliot, seeing there was no hope, shook off the Indians who held them, and, with a desperate spring, fled to the thicket amid rifle-bullets and tomahawks that were sent after them, and escaped. This was not the only scene of a similar kind that could have been witnessed between the ruins of Wintermoot’s and the walls of Forty Fort.”

Daniel told us that the only ray of light in this dreadful time to our people of the valley was just after sunset, when Captain John Franklin arrived at Forty Fort with a company of thirty-five men from Hunterdon and Salem, and before the sun had risen again, Colonel Zebulon Butler, with those who had taken refuge in Wilkesbarre Fort, joined the people, who were now beginning to hope.

Therefore it was that in all the valley, the only stockade remaining in the hands of our friends was this same Forty Fort. The stockades at Pittstown had long since been abandoned.

On the following morning, which was the day before Daniel had crossed the river on his scout, John Butler sent a messenger demanding the surrender of Forty Fort, and particularly of Colonel Zebulon Butler, with such of the Continental troops as he had with him, threatening in event of a refusal to comply, that an immediate attack would be made, and every one, including women and children, should be put to torture when taken.

Now it appears that there were only fifteen men belonging to the Continental army left alive, and knowing John Butler would, however many promises he might make, put to death all the soldiers that fell into his hands, Colonel Zebulon proposed that he and his followers should immediately leave the valley before there was time for John Butler to set out in pursuit. Therefore, taking his wife behind him on a horse, the colonel rode through the woods that same day, intending to sleep at Conyngham in the Nescopeck Valley, twenty miles away. The soldiers followed on foot as best they might.

Then there remained only Colonel Dennison with some of the men from Hunterdon, the cripples and old men, the women and children, which had escaped the massacre, to be surrendered. And so he returned word to John Butler, understanding that there was no hope of making a successful resistance, and taking the chances that the Tory, who was more of a savage than the most benighted of his followers, would hold to the word which he should be called upon to give in writing. These terms, which Colonel Dennison himself drew up, were much as follows:

First, that the inhabitants of the valley should lay down their arms, and the garrison be destroyed. Again, that the people be allowed to occupy their farms peaceably, and the lives of all be preserved. Thirdly, that all stores supplied for the Continental army, wherever they might be hidden, should be delivered up as soon as possible, and that John Butler would use all his influence toward saving the private property of the inhabitants.

There was also inserted afterward, at the dictation of Butler, that such property as had been taken from the people who were called Tories, at any time since the beginning of the war, be made good; that they should remain in peaceful possession of their farms, and be allowed to trade throughout the province without molestation.

Not to make too many words of the story, this surrender was effected late that same evening, which explains why Daniel Hinchman did not return as agreed upon, for he had succeeded in gaining entrance to Forty Fort, and was minded to remain until he could tell us all the tale, which would not be until he was able to see whether John Butler held faithfully to the terms of the surrender.

Here is an account as set down by Colonel Dennison himself:

“Everything being arranged, the two gates of the fort were thrown open that evening. The arms of the patriots were piled up in the centre, and the women and children retired within the huts that lined the interior of the stockade. At the appointed time the victors approached with drums beating and colors flying. They came in two columns, whites and Indians. The former were led by John Butler, who entered the north gate, and the latter by Queen Esther, the bloody priestess of the midnight sacrifice. She was followed by Giengwatah, who, with his warriors, entered the south gate. The wily chief, fearing treachery, glanced quickly to the right and left as he entered. The Tories, with their natural instinct for plunder, immediately seized the piled arms. Butler ordered them to desist, and presented the muskets to the Indians. The inhabitants were then marked by the Indians with black paint on their faces, and ordered to carry a white cloth on a stick. These were objects, the savages said, which would ensure their protection.”

Before morning came, so Daniel Hinchman told us, every dwelling in Wilkesbarre, and there were then twenty-three, was given over to the flames; but, so far as he could learn, no more blood had been shed.

Colonel Dennison and those men who had surrendered remained in the fort instead of seeking refuge elsewhere, in order that he might do what he could toward defending the women and children in case the savages proved too unruly for John Butler to control.

That was the story in substance, without going into the details, and it showed us that now indeed was the valley lost to us. John Butler had made arrangements for the Tories to remain in undisturbed possession, not only of such property as they then held, but all which had been taken from them shortly after the war began, and Wyoming was become a nest of loyalists who would do all they could to harrow, if not kill, those of us who had held to the American Cause.

The question which had come to us now in that cave of refuge, with the telling of Daniel Hinchman’s story, was where we should go? Surely not to our homes, for we had none; not again to the Susquehanna River, for of a verity would we be driven out if allowed to live, and until our wounded had recovered we were the same as prisoners in an underground dwelling, unless we were minded to play the part of savages and leave the helpless ones to their fate.