University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.

When Arthur awoke, he found himself alone.
The sun was high in the heavens, but a deep shadow
hung over the dark glen, into which his rays never
looked, except at noon-day. Arthur now walked
out, and amused himself with gazing around on the
singular spot which his brother had chosen as a place
of refuge. It was, indeed, a place of strength, which
seemed calculated to bid defiance to any thing but
famine.

The glen, at this point, might be some two hundred
feet deep. Above and below, the little stream
filled the whole chasm, pouring furiously along between
overhanging cliffs. The tops of these, except
in the immediate vicinity, were crowned with lofty
trees, which, nodding to each other across the gulph,
in some places nearly intermingled their branches.
The valley, just where Douglas had pitched his camp,
was somewhat wider. Just above, the stream seemed
to gush from the very bowels of the mountain,
dashing, as it tumbled over a fall of twenty or thirty
feet, against the dark evergreens which clustered both
sides of the gulph. From thence, flowing through

a wider space, it still confined itself to a narrow and
deep channel, scooped into an almost cavernous bed,
under the western cliff. Thence, turning abruptly to
the southeast, it swept across the dell to the opposite
hill, from which it again recoiled in like manner.
There was thus, on each side, between the hill and
the receding stream, a spot of dry ground, or rather
rock. It was indeed nothing but a rocky shelf, a
little above inundation, jutting in a half moon from
the base of the cliff. About the middle of its passage
from hill to hill, the stream tumbled over a ledge,
the highest points of which, rising above the water,
served as stepping stones, and afforded a passage
across, practicable indeed, but neither commodious,
nor, to the eye of a stranger, even safe.

The sort of stair which afforded the only approach
to this savage den, hung directly over the stream, at
the point where, having crossed from the western
side of the glen, it again whirled back, leaving, as I
have said, a dry spot on its eastern margin. At the
upper corner of this shelf, where it touched the cliff,
the path reached the bottom; and an hundred yards
below, at the lower extremity of the same platform,
hung the tent-cloth that indicated the quarters of the
chief.

The sort of cave, the mouth of which was concealed
by this, was but a deepening of the recess under
the cliff, which every where afforded a partial shelter
from the weather, and a complete defence against

rocks tumbled from above. Under this were the rude
beds and camp-fires of the men, and in front of them
a breast-work of logs, raised high enough to afford
protection from any shot fired from the opposite hill.
Between the upper log and that next below it, was
a sort of loop-hole, made by cutting corresponding
notches in each; and as the edges of the cliffs had
been shorn of all their growth, a man could not show
himself on either, without being exposed to the fatal
fire of men directing their aim with a rest; and in
all the coolness of perfect safety.

The most curious part of the whole establishment
was a sort of mill. At the point where the stream,
breaking over the rocky ledge of which I have spoken,
swept away around the shoulder of the platform, was
placed a small log pen. The end of a shaft, projecting
from it, overhung the water. Into this were
driven stakes, fitted at one end into large auger-holes,
and, at the other, spread out like a broad oar. These
fan-like extremities dipped in the water, and, yielding
to its force, kept the shaft revolving night and
day. Machinery equally rude connected its movements
with those of a pair of light mill-stones, which
found no rest, and required no attention. Though
grinding less than a bushel in the hour, it still ground
on and on, affording coarse bread for the whole
company, and showing how true the old adage, that
“fair and softly go far in a day.” One man was
seen to replenish the hopper. Others were passing

and repassing, each with his share of meal. The
whole was covered with rude boards. Exposed to the
fire of each cliff, it was, of course, capable of being
made to command both, and some of its features
showed that it was intended to be occupied as a
tower of strength in case of attack.

In short, to the unpracticed eye of Arthur, the
whole presented the appearance of impregnable security
and well arranged preparation. There was
indeed no present danger, but the place had been
chosen and fitted with a view to the last extremity.
The course of the stream, tending to the South, led
in a few miles into the State of North Carolina, and in
that direction there was an outlet practicable, though
difficult. Between the camp and the State line there
was no point at which the glen could be entered;
and Douglas, if driven to retreat in that direction,
had none but natural obstacles to overcome.

Cold weather was now approaching, and there
was no station where the troops of Douglas were so
little exposed to the severity of the season as this.
The soft air from the waterfall, though never warm,
was never intensely cold, and no other wind but that
from the south ever entered the glen. Hence as
many men as were not engaged on active duty were
assembled here. Still the number present was but
small. Some were at the piquet, some on the scout.
Besides, it was now the hunting season, and many

were abroad in the woods, as the carcasses brought
in during the course of the morning plainly showed.

Arthur now looked around for Schwartz; and hearing
his voice behind one of the breast-works, passed
around the end of it, and silently joining the circle,
listened to his discourse, which seemed to be a sort
of military lecture.

“You see, boys,” said he, “as to tictacs, or
whatever they call it, that sort of thing an't made for
the like of us. When a parcel of fellows lists for
soldiers, just because they an't got nothing else to
do, and may be one half of them is cowards, and the
other half not much better, they are obliged to have
rules to go by. Because, if once you can beat it into
a fellow's head that after he has got into danger it
is safer for him to stand still than to run away, why
then the worse scared he is the surer he will be to stay
there. But it an't so with us, because if any of us
was any way scary, he would not be here no how.
The only rule for us is the Indian rule.

“In the first place, it is our business always to
know where the inimy is before he knows where we
are, and then, if we dont want to fight him, keep
out of his way. Now the right way to do that, is
just to squander, like a flock of partridges.

“Then if you are going to fight, the only rule is
to give the word, and let every man kill all he can,
and take care of himself the best he can. Now that
way the riglars fight; if one man in ten kills a man,

they call it desperate bloody work. But I reckon if
there was an inimy now coming up the valley to the
foot of the Devil's Back-bone, and the word was
to kill all we could before he got there, any of us
here would feel mighty cheap if he did not kill somebody.

“And mind, boys, whether we fight or run, whether
we keep together, or squander, `two and two,' is
the word. You must all mate yourselves two and
two, to stand together and run together, to fight
together and die together. One of you must call himself
number one, and the other number two, and then,
if there's a hundred together and the inimy comes,
number two never fires till number one has fired and
loaded again. You see, men, a fellow takes good
aim, when he knows there's another one by, to hit if
he misses; and fifty rifles in that way, will do more
than a hundred when every one knows that's his last
chance. Fifty rifles will stop a troop of horse, and
a hundred cannot do no more. But if the guns are
all empty, then here comes what's left of them slashing
away with the broad-swords like devils. But
let there be a few more guns to pepper away at them
while the first are loading, and they will go to the
right-about mighty quick.

“Now mind what I tell you, boys, and the first
time it comes to the pinch, you'll say old Schwartz
did'nt fight Indians so long for nothing. And as to
running, any man that's afraid to run when he sees

cause, is half a coward, any how. Do you run just
when you please. I God! I'd hate to depend on a
man to fight that I could not trust to run. There is
no harm in running, if you know where you are
running to, and your friends know it too; and the
right way is to fix a place, every morning, to meet
at night, and let every man get there as he can, and
do what mischief he can. But, mind, if it comes to
that, always run two and two, and then one can help
another; and if one comes up missing, the other
can tell what's become of him.

“I'm telling our boys,” continued Schwartz, who
now observed Arthur, “some of the lessons I learned
among the Shawnees. You see, Mr. Arthur, (you
must not think strange of my calling you so, sir, for
all your family seem like my own flesh and blood to
me—for all you don't know how that is;) you see,
sir, the Captain is a regular officer, built plum from
the ground up; but for all that, he knows that all this
is true; and, before now, when he and I have been
setting over the fire, at night, he has told me about
one Gineral Braddock, I think they called him,
that got his men shot all to pieces, and himself too,
just because he would not believe that there was any
other way to fight but just his way. Now, you see,
sir, the reason why he was taken at an onplush was,
that he was fighting agin Indians. Well, suppose
we fight Indian-fashion; will not that be pretty
much the same thing? May be we an't exactly up

to that, but we must do the best we can; for as to
fighting the riglars just in their own way, why
they'll beat us as long as the sun shines.

“Do you mind that night,” continued Schwartz,
laughing, “when the Lieutenant and his men came
there to your uncle's to take him and the Captain?
That was Indian play for you. I God! if I had not
heard that the Colonel was there, I should have
knowed he was at the fixing of that business. You
see, sir, that is what a man learns by living in places
where a body is never safe; and the upshot of it is,
that after a while he gets so that he never can be in
any danger. It's like learning to sleep with one eye
always open.”

Schwartz now rose from the ground, where he
had been sitting, and brushing the ashes from his
leathers, joined Arthur, and they repaired to the tent
where their simple meal awaited them. From him
the youth learned that his brother had repaired to
the piquet at an early hour; and to the piquet,
gentle reader, we will now follow.