The Young Trailers: A Story of Early Kentucky Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  THE FIRST GREAT EXPLOIT

  They found the valley everything in beauty and fertility that Ross hadclaimed for it, and above all it had small "openings," that is, placeswhere the trees did not grow. This was very important to the travelers,as the labor of cutting down the forest was immense, and even Henry knewthat they could not live wholly in the woods, as both children and cropsmust have sunshine to make them grow. The widest of these open spacesabout a half mile from the river, they selected as the site of their newcity to which they gave the name of Wareville in honor of their leader.A fine brook flowed directly through the opening, but Ross said it wouldbe a good place, too, to sink a well.

  It was midsummer now and the period of dry weather had begun. So thetravelers were very comfortable in their wagon camp while they weremaking their new town ready to be lived in. Both for the sake of companyand prudence they built the houses in a close cluster. First the men,and most of them were what would now be called jacks-of-all-trades,felled trees, six or eight inches in diameter, and cut them into logs,some of which were split down the center, making what are calledpuncheons; others were only nicked at the ends, being left in the rough,that is, with the bark on.

  The round logs made the walls of their houses. First, the place wherethe house was to be built was chosen. Next the turf was cut off and theground smoothed away. Then they "raised" the logs, the nicked endsfitting together at the corner, the whole inclosing a square. Everybodyhelped "raise" each house in turn, the men singing "hip-hip-ho!" as theyrolled the heavy logs into position.

  A place was cut out for a window and fastened with a shutter and alarger space was provided in the same manner for a door. They made thefloor out of the puncheons, turned with the smooth side upward, and theroof out of rough boards, sawed from the trees. The chimney was built ofearth and stones, and a great flat stone served as the fireplace. Someof the houses were large enough to have two rooms, one for the grownfolks and one for the children, and Mr. Ware's also had a little lean-toor shed which served as a kitchen.

  It seemed at first to Henry, rejoicing then in the warm, sunny weather,that they were building in a needlessly heavy and solid fashion. Butwhen he thought over it a while he remembered what Ross said about thewinters and deep snows of this new land. Indeed the winters in Kentuckyare often very cold and sometimes for certain periods are quite as coldas those of New York or New England.

  When the little town was finished at last it looked both picturesque andcomfortable, a group of about thirty log houses, covering perhaps anacre of ground. But the building labors of the pioneers did not stophere. Around all these houses they put a triple palisade, that is threerows of stout, sharpened stakes, driven deep into the ground and risingfull six feet above it. At intervals in this palisade were circularholes large enough to admit the muzzle of a rifle.

  They built at each corner of the palisade the largest and strongest oftheir houses,--two-story structures of heavy logs, and Henry noticedthat the second story projected over the first. Moreover, they madeholes in the edge of the floor overhead so that one could look downthrough them upon anybody who stood by the outer wall. Ross went up intothe second story of each of the four buildings, thrust the muzzle of hisrifle into every one of the holes in turn, and then looked satisfied."It is well done," he said. "Nobody can shelter himself against the wallfrom the fire of defenders up here."

  These very strong buildings they called their blockhouses, and afterthey finished them they dug a well in the corner of the inclosed ground,striking water at a depth of twenty feet. Then their main labors werefinished, and each family now began to furnish its house as it would orcould.

  It was not all work for Henry while this was going on, and some of thelabor itself was just as good as play. He was allowed to go considerabledistances with Ross, and these journeys were full of novelty. He was aboy who came to places which no white boy had ever seen before. It washard for him to realize that it was all so new. Behold a splendid groveof oaks! he was its discoverer. Here the little river dropped over acliff of ten feet; his eyes were the first to see the waterfall. Fromthis high hill the view was wonderful; he was the first to enjoy it.Forest, open and canebrake alike were swarming with game, and he sawbuffaloes, deer, wild turkeys, and multitudes of rabbits and squirrels.Unaccustomed yet to man, they allowed the explorers to come near.

  Ross and Henry were accompanied on many of these journeys by Shif'lessSol Hyde. Sol was a young man without kith or kin in the settlement, andso, having nobody but himself to take care of, he chose to roam thecountry a great portion of the time. He was fast acquiring a skill inforest life and knowledge of its ways second only to that of Ross, theguide. Some of the men called Sol lazy, but he defended himself. "Thegood God made different kinds of people and they live different kinds oflives," said he. "Mine suits me and harms nobody." Ross said he wasright, and Sol became a hunter and scout for the settlement.

  There was no lack of food. They yet had a good supply of the provisionsbrought with them from the other side of the mountains, but they savedthem for a possible time of scarcity. Why should they use this storewhen they could kill all the game they needed within a mile of their ownhouse smoke? Now Henry tasted the delights of buffalo tongue and beavertail, venison, wild turkey, fried squirrel, wild goose, wild duck and adozen kinds of fish. Never did a boy have more kinds of meat, morning,noon, and night. The forest was full of game, the fish were juststanding up in the river and crying to be caught, and the air wassometimes dark with wild fowl. Henry enjoyed it. He was always hungry.Working and walking so much, and living in the open air every minute ofhis life, except when he was eating or sleeping, his young and growingframe demanded much nourishment, and it was not denied.

  At last the great day came when he was allowed to kill a deer if hecould. Both Ross and Shif'less Sol had interceded for him. "The boy'sgetting big and strong an' it's time he learned," said Ross. "His hand'ssteady enough an' his eye's good enough already," said Shif'less Sol,and his father agreeing with them told them to take him and teach him.

  Two miles away, near the bank of the river, was a spring to which thegame often came to drink, and for this spring they started a littlewhile before sundown, Henry carrying his rifle on his shoulder, and hisheart fluttering. He felt his years increase suddenly and his figureexpand with equal abruptness. He had become a man and he was going forthto slay big game. Yet despite his new manhood the blood would run to hishead and he felt his nerves trembling. He grasped his precious riflemore firmly and stole a look out of the corner of his eye at its barrelas it lay across his left shoulder. Though a smaller weapon it wasmodeled after the famous Western rifle, which, with the ax, won thewilderness. The stock was of hard maple wood delicately carved, and thebarrel was comparatively long, slender, and of blue steel. The sightswere as fine-drawn as a hair. When Henry stood the gun beside himself,it was just as tall as he. He carried, too, a powderhorn, and the horn,which was as white as snow, was scraped so thin as to be transparent,thus enabling its owner to know just how much powder it contained,without taking the trouble of pouring it out. His bullets and wadding hecarried in a small leather pouch by his side.

  When they reached the spring the sun was still a half hour high andfilled the west with a red glow. The forest there was tinted by it, andseen thus in the coming twilight with those weird crimsons and scarletsshowing through it, the wilderness looked very lonely and desolate. Anordinary boy, at the coming of night would have been awed, if alone, bythe stillness of the great unknown spaces, but it found an answeringchord in Henry.

  "Wind's blowin' from the west," said Sol, and so they went to theeastern side of the spring, where they lay down beside a fallen log at afair distance. There was another log, much closer to the spring, butRoss conferring aside with Sol chose the farther one. "We want to teachthe boy how to shoot an' be of some use to himself, not to slaughter,"said Ross. Then the three remained there, a long time, and noiseless.Henry was learning early one of the first great le
ssons of the forest,which is silence. But he knew that he could have learned this lessonalone. He already felt himself superior in some ways to Ross and Sol,but he liked them too well to tell them so, or to affect even equalityin the lore of the wilderness.

  The sun went down behind the Western forest, and the night came on,heavy and dark. A light wind began to moan among the trees. Henry heardthe faint bubble of the water in the spring, and saw beside him theforms of his two comrades. But they were so still that they might havebeen dead. An hour passed and his eyes growing more used to the dimness,he saw better. There was still nothing at the spring, but by and by Rossput his hand gently upon his arm, and Henry, as if by instinct, lookedin the right direction. There at the far edge of the forest was a deer,a noble stag, glancing warily about him.

  The stag was a fine enough animal to Ross and Sol, but to Henry'sunaccustomed eyes he seemed gigantic, the mightiest of his kind thatever walked the face of the earth.

  The deer gazed cautiously, raising his great head, until his antlerslooked to Henry like the branching boughs of a tree. The wind wasblowing toward his hidden foes, and brought him no omen of comingdanger. He stepped into the open and again glanced around the circle. Itseemed to Henry that he was staring directly into the deer's eyes, andcould see the fire shining there.

  "Aim at that spot there by the shoulder, when he stoops down to drink,"said Ross in the lowest of tones.

  Satisfied now that no enemy was near, the stag walked to the spring.Then he began to lower slowly the great antlers, and his head approachedthe water. Henry slipped the barrel of his rifle across the log andlooked down the sights. He was seized with a tremor, but Ross andShif'less Sol, with a magnanimity that did them credit, pretended not tonotice it. The boy soon mastered the feeling, but then, to his greatsurprise, he was attacked by another emotion. Suddenly he began to havepity, and a fellow-feeling for the stag. It, too, was in the greatwilderness, rejoicing in the woods and the grass and the running streamsand had done no harm. It seemed sad that so fine a life should end,without warning and for so little.

  The feeling was that of a young boy, the instinct of one who had notlearned to kill, and he suppressed it. Men had not yet thought to sparethe wild animals, or to consider them part of a great brotherhood, leastof all on the border, where the killing of game was a necessity. And soHenry, after a moment's hesitation, the cause of which he himselfscarcely knew, picked the spot near the shoulder that Ross hadmentioned, and pulled the trigger.

  The stag stood for a moment or two as if dazed, then leaped into the airand ran to the edge of the woods, where he pitched down head foremost.His body quivered for a little while and then lay still.

  Henry was proud of his marksmanship, but he felt some remorse, too, whenhe looked upon his victim. Yet he was eager to tell his father and hisyoung sister and brother of his success. They took off the pelt and cutup the deer. A part of the haunch Henry ate for dinner and the antlerswere fastened over the fireplace, as the first important hunting trophywon by the eldest son of the house.

  Henry did not boast much of his triumph, although he noticed with secretpride the awe of the children. His best friend, Paul Cotter, openlyexpressed his admiration, but Braxton Wyatt, a boy of his own age, whomhe did not like, sneered and counted it as nothing. He even cast doubtupon the reality of the deed, intimating that perhaps Ross or Sol hadfired the shot, and had allowed Henry to claim the credit.

  Henry now felt incessantly the longing for the wilderness, but, for thepresent, he helped his father furnish their house. It was too late toplant crops that year, nor were the qualities of the soil yet altogetherknown. It was rich beyond a doubt, but they could learn only by trialwhat sort of seed suited it best. So they let that wait a while, andcontinued the work of making themselves tight and warm for the winter.

  The skins of deer and buffalo and beaver, slain by the hunters, weredried in the sun, and they hung some of the finer ones on the walls ofthe rooms to make them look more cozy and picturesque. Mrs. Ware alsoput two or three on the floors, though the border women generallyscorned them for such uses, thinking them in the way. Henry also helpedhis father make stools and chairs, the former a very simple task,consisting of a flat piece of wood, chopped or sawed out, in which threeholes were bored to receive the legs, the latter made of a section ofsapling, an inch or so in diameter. But the baskets required longer andmore tedious work. They cut green withes, split them into strips andthen plaiting them together formed the basket. In this Mrs. Ware andeven the little girl helped. They also made tables and a small stonefurnace or bake-oven for the kitchen.

  Their chief room now looked very cozy. In one corner stood a bedsteadwith low, square posts, the bed covered with a pure white counterpane.At the foot of the bedstead was a large heavy chest, which served asbureau, sofa and dressing case. In the center of the room stood a bigwalnut table, on the top of which rested a nest of wooden trays,flanked, on one side, by a nicely folded tablecloth, and on the other bya butcher knife and a Bible. In a corner was a cupboard consisting of aset of shelves set into the logs, and on these shelves were theblue-edged plates and yellow-figured teacups and blue teapot that Mrs.Ware had received long ago from her mother. The furniture in theremainder of the house followed this pattern.

  The heaviest labor of all was to extend the "clearing"; that is, to cutdown trees and get the ground ready for planting the crops next spring,and in this Henry helped, for he was able to wield an ax blow for blowwith a grown man. When he did not have to work he went often to theriver, which was within sight of Wareville, and caught fish. Nobodyexcept the men, who were always armed, and who knew how to take care ofthemselves, was allowed to go more than a mile from the palisade, butHenry was trusted as far as the river; then the watchman in the lookouton top of the highest blockhouse could see him or any who might come,and there, too, he often lingered.

  He did not hate his work, yet he could not say that he liked it, and,although he did not know it, the love of the wild man's ways wascreeping into his blood. The influence of the great forests, of the vastunknown spaces, was upon him. He could lie peacefully in the shade of atree for an hour at a time, dreaming of rivers and mountains farther onin the depths of the wilderness. He felt a kinship with the wild things,and once as he lay perfectly still with his eyes almost closed, a stag,perhaps the brother to the one that he had killed, came and looked athim out of great soft eyes. It did not seem odd at the time to Henrythat the stag should do so; he took it then as a friendly act, and lesthe should alarm this new comrade of the woods he did not stir or evenraise his eyelids. The stag gazed at him a few moments, and then,tossing his great antlers, turned and walked off in a graceful anddignified way through the woods. Henry wondered where the deer would go,and if it would be far. He wished that he, too, could roam thewilderness so lightly, wandering where he wished, having no cares andbeholding new scenes every day. That would be a life worth living.

  The next morning his mother said to his father:

  "John, the boy is growing wild."

  "Yes," replied the father. "They say it often happens with those who aretaken young into the wilderness. The forest lays a spell upon them whenthey are easy to receive impressions."

  The mother looked troubled, but Mr. Ware laughed.

  "Don't bother about it," he said. "It can be cured. We have merely toteach him the sense of responsibility."

  This they proceeded to do.