33 A Great Trust

The general pushed the preparations for our march, and there were a few days so crowded with the details of work that my duel with Lawless was perforce compelled to linger. I met the lieutenant two or three times in the interval, and I speak truth when I say that I pitied him. The heat of wine was gone from his head, and he saw the affair that he had forced upon me in all its cruel reality. My skill with firearms—and I mention it here not to boast, but to explain the case—was known to all the frontier posts; indeed, I had given an exhibition of it in Cincinnati, as you know; and a half-dozen of the old Revolutionary officers now with Wayne’s army were spinning marvellous tales of the way I used to handle the sword in the old days. They would say, as I heard from Winchester, that I might have lost a little of my skill through lack of practice, but it could not make much difference, and then some one would take the report to Lawless.

How much the youth suffered in those days it is impossible for me to estimate, but I think that he never forgot it. Jasper, who had drawn him into the trouble, gave no sign, confining himself to his military duties, and abandoning for the time his plan to make me trouble. In truth, Hoyoquim had given him much to think about, and I heard that he was making further efforts to escape the march into the wilderness, but without success.

The duel was arranged at last, and late of a bright afternoon we met in a fine open space on the Kentucky shore near the confluence of the Licking and the Ohio, swords being the weapons. Winchester was my second, and Myers acted for Lawless. Lawless was quite pale, but on the whole his bearing was creditable to him—I was sure that he had prepared himself for death. There were four or five spectators, including Jasper and Captain Hardy, and they stood in a group, talking in low voices and waiting for us to begin. I was somewhat apart, and Jasper, approaching me, said in a tone that could not be heard by the others:

“John, if you kill this boy it will be murder.”

“Quite true,” I replied, “but it is you, not I, who will be the murderer.”

He was silent, and I added:

“I know well, Jasper, that he was egged on to this by you. It was part of your plan to make the camp so hot for me that I must leave it, but I propose to show that those who do not respect me shall at least fear to pick a quarrel with me.”

He turned on his heel and joined the group of spectators. Winchester produced the swords, a fine pair of weapons, with edges like razors, and he ran his fingers along the shining blades in a manner most appreciative.

“You shall not be able to say that you lacked the use of a good weapon for your maiden duel, lieutenant,” he said to Lawless with a smile.

The boy’s lips quivered, but he did not answer. In truth, the world about him, if he chose to look at it, seemed fair. The surface of the two rivers shone in alternate play of silver and gold as the sunlight fell upon the water. Hills and valleys were clothed in forest green, and the air was balmy. One would not wish to leave it all.

The seconds handed us our swords, and we stood on guard. Now, in my youth I had learned the use of the weapon from three masters—an Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Prussian—to which was joined a natural aptitude; so I knew the tricks of all the schools, and I waited, looking straight into Lawless’s eyes. He lifted his sword and thrust at me, but I caught his blade on mine, gave a quick and powerful turn of my wrist, and his weapon fell on the turf a dozen feet away. He became paler than ever, and his lips quivered again. But the boy was brave. He stood erect and motionless and said:

“It is my chief regret to die at the hand of a traitor.”

“Lieutenant Lawless,” I said, “when you are older you will learn manners as well as knowledge of the sword. Until then good-day.”

I bowed to him, replaced my sword in its scabbard, and hooking my arm in my friend’s said:

“Come, Winchester, we will cross to the other side of the Ohio; my work awaits me there.”

We bowed politely to all the officers, and proceeded toward the river. As we approached our skiff I heard the sound of hasty footsteps behind me, and turning, beheld the flushed face of Lawless.

“Captain Lee,” he cried, “I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful. I value my life, and I take it from you with thanks. Besides, you are a braver man morally than I am, and what they say about you must be a lie! Will you shake my hand?”

Our hands met in a hearty grip. We have been the best of friends to this day.

The affair never came to the ears of General Wayne, or if it did he said naught upon the matter. It grieved me much to go against his orders on the subject of duelling, in particular since I owed him such a great debt, but I felt the necessity of making an example. Those who are of doubtful character must speak with great emphasis if they would be believed. I may add also that a slanderer grows cautions in the presence of a sharp sword, and I noticed after the duel that the air about me had become perceptibly more pleasant. Winchester said that the number of my defenders showed a sudden increase.

On the morning following the duel I met Rose Carew.

“I have fought with Lieutenant Lawless,” I said.

“You spared him?” she asked.

“He called me a traitor on the duelling ground in the presence of all the others,” I replied.

“Did you kill him?” she exclaimed, and there was a sudden flash in her eyes.

“I promised you that I would not do so,” I replied.

“And of course you kept your word, because you are a man of honour,” she said. But the expression had gone from her face, and she seemed cold and indifferent.

“I kept it,” I replied, “and Lieutenant Lawless has since withdrawn his words. We are friends now.”

“It was well of him,” she said.

We departed four days later for Fort Greeneville, about fifteen hundred strong, carrying with us several cannon, much baggage, many camp followers, and about twenty ladies, mostly officers’ wives, though there were two or three exceptions, like Rose Carew, who seemed to have forgotten the danger, and who was full of interest in the wilderness.

We had scarce left out of sight the log houses of Cincinnati before we saw on every side of us the Indian sign.

“The warriors expect to make another great slaughter,” said Osseo, “and they will wait until we are far in the woods.”

“But ’tis not the General-who-never-walks who commands us now,” I said.

“No,” replied Osseo, casting an approving eye upon the well-drilled troops, “and it is not the same army that follows. Manito does not will that the same thing shall be done twice in the same way.”

But the Indian portent was invisible to the majority of the soldiers; they saw only the deep-green foliage, now in all the royal flush of early summer, and the birds of brilliant hue that chattered and sang around them; they admired the brooks of clear water sparkling over the pebbles, and the gigantic oaks and hickories that grew so thickly in the forest. It was a beautiful land—a land of temperate climate and deep, rich soil, for which opposing races might well fight. The wilderness showed only its peaceful and beautiful side to them, and the new explorers could scarce believe that dangers lay hidden in it.

“It is so interesting and yet so strange,” said Mrs. Winchester to me, “and how unlike England!”

“They have been building houses and making roads there for two thousand years, and they haven’t begun here,” I replied.

“And do you really tell me that there are hostile Indians all around us?” she asked, a look of incredulity on her blonde countenance.

“I told you so, and I repeat it,” I replied. “There hovers about us continually a foe more dangerous, so far as forest fighting is concerned, than any other in the world.”

“How do you know this?”

“The leaves tell it, the turf tells it, and the birds sing it.”

“The birds sing it? You are becoming poetical, Mr. Lee.”

“Not at all; I am speaking most commonplace prose when I say that the birds sing it; they usually sing it about nightfall, and it is not the song of a bird at all, but the imitation of it—Indian signalling to Indian.”

“Then the voice of the wilderness is not always a voice to be trusted?”

“It is full of treachery.”

“I can scarce believe it; it looks so beautiful!”

I could see the beauty as well as she, but I saw, too, what a lure it was. This same beauty had drawn many thousands of the ignorant to torture and death. The wilderness is only for those who know it.

Old Joe Grimes beheld but the other side. The beauty and the peace were nothing to him. Old Joe may have had the spirit of the picturesque and the romantic concealed somewhere in his soul, but “concealed” was certainly the word.

“’Tis well that our general has some brains in his head,” he said, “though where on earth a soldier got ’em I don’t know. The forest is full of savages, John, an’ they are countin’ our scalps already.”

“Let ’em count,” I said, “if they find any pleasure in it; but I tell you, Joe Grimes, Mad Anthony Wayne knows the work that he has to do.”

But Joe shook his head doubtfully and would not be consoled.

Nevertheless, we reached Fort Recovery, built on St. Clair’s battlefield, a good log stronghold, without incident save the loss of three or four stragglers, the fate of whom was concealed from the ladies. The latter rejoiced greatly over the safe journey, and maintained that we had exaggerated the dangers. But I was glad to notice how thick and solid were the walls of Fort Recovery, and I was quite able to endure the taunts they levelled at me as a prophet of disaster proved false.

“Where are your savages?” said Mrs. Winchester to me. “Still hidden in the woods?”

“Still hidden in the woods,” I replied, “and none the less dangerous because of it.”

Rose Carew was not so incredulous. She needed no proof now that the wilderness was full of snares, yet she seemed to fear none.

The stay of the main column at Fort Recovery was but brief. Two nights after our arrival General Wayne called me to his cabin, where I found him alone and thoughtful.

“Sit down, Jack,” he said, “I have much to tell you, lad, and a great trust to confide to you, too.”

I would have given my thanks for this new proof of faith, but he would not listen. “Tush, Jack! do not bore me with such words,” he said; “I select you for the work that I am going to name because you are the most fit. My purpose is wholly selfish. I can not afford to fail in this campaign, and, as you know, the fate of every general is in the hands of his subordinates; therefore it behooves me to choose the best.”

I was silent, while he waited, deep in reflection.

“You know that I must concentrate my men toward the Maumee,” he resumed presently, “in order that we may strike there at the heart of the Indian power. Therefore I advance day after to-morrow with the main part of the army now here. But Fort Recovery is one of our most important way stations, and it must be held by an adequate garrison. You are soldier enough to know that a garrison needs a commander”—here he smiled—“and you are to be that commander. I promise you that you shall be released in time for the final campaign, but you are to be in charge at Fort Recovery until I send for you.”

I was a hardened man, but tears rose in my eyes at this new and great proof of confidence, while at the same time I felt a sense of awkwardness.

“General,” I said, “there will be officers here who are my seniors. They would rebel against this even under ordinary circumstances, but consider what I am.”

“I have considered everything,” he replied shortly, “and I don’t make any request; I give an order. If you do not obey it I shall have you locked up in your own guardhouse. Now go back to your quarters and begin to think about what you will have to do. I fancy that yours will be no easy task, but if you do not perform it, then I, as well as you, shall suffer from the disgrace, and I imagine that John Lee does not wish that.”

In addition to his verbal dismissal he turned his back upon me and began to read some documents. Then I went to my quarters, overwhelmed and embarrassed, but feeling, too, a secret pride. Presently confidence also began to rise. I would show my critics, whatsoever they might be, that I knew how to command.

The knowledge that the commander-in-chief would advance again was general at the fort the next day, and when I met Rose Carew just inside the stockade wall she spoke to me about it.

“All the women are to be left here, so I hear,” she said.

I answered in the affirmative.

“Why?”

“The general thinks they would be in the way,” I replied, quite plainly. “It is certain they would be of no use in fighting the Indians.”

“You have the merit of brusqueness sometimes, Mr. Lee,” she said.

“’Tis often a merit,” I replied.

“It depends upon the man,” she said. “But do you know who is to be commander here in the absence of General Wayne?”

I fancy that she knew even when she asked, although I did not think so then.

“Yes,” I replied, “the general has selected a man in whom he has the most implicit confidence.”

“It is a difficult post.”

“That is true, because in addition to the soldiers there are at least a dozen women whom this man will have to reduce to obedience.”

“And do you know this paragon?”

“I do. It is myself, John Lee, the man who stands before you.”

She looked thoughtful.

“It is a long time since you have been a soldier—that is, a regular soldier,” she said. “Don’t you think the responsibilities are very heavy?”

I flushed at this expressed doubt of my ability.

“At any rate,” I replied, “I shall see that my orders are obeyed.”

“By all?”

“By all—men and women alike,” and I looked straight into her eyes.

Her gaze fell, and the red in her cheeks deepened. I fancy that she was not often spoken to as I spoke to her then. Yet sternness with a woman is not always misplaced.

“You shall find me obedient,” she said, as she walked toward the women’s quarters, but before disappearing she turned and added, “if you are a reasonable commander.”

I ascertained before the close of the day that Major Carew and Jasper would remain at the fort under my command, an embarrassing fact in its way, but not without a grim satisfaction for me. I resolved that both should obey me. But for the present, in order to avoid any awkward situation, I remained rather closely at my quarters. There, shortly after sundown, Major Carew came, and I knew at once what he would be about.

“I hear, Captain Lee, that you are to command here in the general’s absence,” he said.

“The report is correct.”

“It is a great honour.”

“Quite true, but no greater for me, I trust, than for anybody else.”

I spoke coolly, determined that he should make his meaning plain. The only respect that I felt for him was due to the fact that he was Rose Carew’s father—a circumstance that she could not help. He flushed a little, and spoke evasively. He did not mean to refer to anything unpleasant, he said—anything that ought to be forgotten—but there was already much comment among the officers who had to remain; there might be trouble, and perhaps if I were to speak to General Wayne he might change his mind. But I cut him short.

“General Wayne chose me for this place because I have had much experience in Indian warfare,” I said with intentional brusqueness, “and to tell you the exact truth, I think that he has made a good choice. Let those officers who are murmuring be assured that I shall find means to enforce my authority. I shall have the power of life and death here.”

He flushed again, this time a deeper red than before, and then hastened to make apologies; he disliked extremely to be the bearer of disagreeable messages, he said, but he was older than the others, and he thought that perhaps he might relieve an awkward situation,

“There is no awkward situation at all,” I replied. “I shall be commander here and I will be obeyed.”

Then he went out, and I was sure that his coming had been instigated by the crafty Jasper. I began now to take a joy in the situation. These fine gentlemen from the East should know that here in the woods I was their master.

Following Major Carew came a more welcome visitor. It was Osseo. He sat for a long time in silence, seemingly buried in meditation after his fashion. Then he said:

“Lee is to be the great chief here. My heart is glad. The Black Snake knows a wise warrior. He is a warrior himself.”

“It is your partiality, Osseo,” I replied. “We have long been good comrades, and therefore you credit me with more virtues than I possess.”

“Not so,” replied Osseo, the twinkle coming into his eyes. “Does Lee take Osseo for a white man who says one thing with his lips and has another in his heart? No, Osseo is a red man, and his tongue is not crooked; if he thought Lee was a fool he would call him a fool; since he is not a fool, but a wise man, Osseo calls him a wise man.”

Thus he dismissed the subject in the most airy manner, and I knew that he was not speaking wholly in jest, although Osseo loved to tease me about the weak points of my race, and point out the many particulars in which, according to his view, the red man was our superior.

But the joy of old Joe Grimes was undisguised.

“I’m tarnation glad that no soldier is left to be big chief here,” he said with his customary contempt of all organized authority.

“But I’m a soldier.”

“You’re not soldier enough to hurt,” he replied, which did not sound like a compliment, although he meant it for one.

General Wayne left the next day, and I came into my command.

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