Escalation

The Abduction of Boone's Daughter by the Indians
Carl Ferdinand Wimar

Molly's wrists were being chafed badly by her bonds. All she could do was bear the pain, her captors showed no signs of slowing down. Little did she realize that the men were not what they seemed. Though she knew little of the native inhabitants, she did note that while their were similarities in their languages and the way they dressed, there were differences.

She was beginning to suspect that the men who captured her and the others were not Abenaki. Especially as the party continued to head west, not north, nor to the south. After crossing the Great River the men had harried the captives along, almost as if they feared pursuit. She knew the Abenaki lived on both sides of the Great River, though they were being pressured in the west by the powerful Iroquois Confederation. Her mother would, no doubt, be shocked by her knowledge of such things. Had she still been alive.

Molly listened when the men discussed such things, so she knew something of the affairs of the region. Now she wished she knew more, like how to speak the language of these men. As she thought of these things, the band continued to move at a fast pace.

One of the boys, Joshua Hawkins, a boy of thirteen, tripped over a tree root and fell, crying out as he did so. One of the warriors reached for his tomahawk and cut the boy's bonds, the boy, thinking they were letting him go almost smiled. Then his look turned to one of horror as he saw the painted man raise his tomahawk again.

Molly gasped when the tomahawk fell, ending Joshua's life. However, she had no time to mourn the boy as her own captor growled at her and tugged sharply on the rawhide encircling her wrists. She nearly stumbled but managed to keep her feet. The warband moved on, sparing no time for the dead boy in their wake.

Short Bear couldn't believe the stupidity of the oafish White Turtle. He had killed the English boy without a second's hesitation, wasting a valuable captive. These people were worth something, either in trade to other tribes, or in working around the village, doing the disagreeable jobs no one else wanted. Rarely, a captive might become a valued member of the tribe. He shook his head and growled at the yellow haired girl, giving a sharp tug on the rawhide tying her to him. Short Bear's legs were beginning to burn, was Spotted Wolf going to make them run forever?

Though the warband were indeed Abenaki, from the Goasiak, this particular band was not happy with the decisions of their sachem. They wanted war, the sachem held out for peace while the English continued to take their land. So they had acted, against the wishes of their tribe, in truth they were now renegades. Men of no people.

Black Deer's plan, which he explained to Spotted Wolf before his death, was to wipe out the settlement, then head west, leaving a trail to confuse any pursuers into thinking the attackers had been Mohawk, and not Abenaki. As they moved west, Spotted Wolf began to realize that Black Deer's plan wasn't very well thought out.

"Hold!" Spotted Wolf raised a hand, it was getting late in the day, it was time to camp. He also needed to think of his next move. Perhaps they should head north and trade their captives to the Wyandot, he could not think of what else to do. He also realized that returning to their own village was out of the question.

He was beginning to wish he had talked this out with Black Deer in more depth, he now realized that what they had now was no plan at all. He would talk with the other men, get their thoughts. Spotted Wolf realized that he was in over his head.

Ensign Charles Mayberry surveyed the carnage his small company had caused. Most of the natives had fled into the forest, his men had managed to kill some of them, the ones who had stayed and fought to buy time for the others to flee. Three of his own men were down, one dead and two wounded. Neither wounded man would live to see another sunrise, their wounds were too grievous and the nearest doctor was five miles to the south at Number 4. Carrying them that distance would surely kill them.

As he walked towards the native houses, his sergeant came up to him. "Sir, what do we do with the village? All the natives have fled into the forest, do we pursue?"

Mayberry turned to look incredulously at Sgt. Adams, "Are you mad Sergeant? Pursue the savages into the forest, their natural element, we would be cut to pieces. Torch the village, we must get back to the fort."

"And the wounded Sir?"

"Arrange to have them carried, along with the dead man, who was it did you say?"

"Perkins, Sir, Private Perkins."

"Very well, now see to the village Sergeant."

"Sir!"

Blue Otter could feel his spirit beginning to drift away. He watched as the soldiers began to burn the homes of his people. At least many of them had managed to escape into the woods. Perhaps they would go to his brother's village, he didn't know. As he watched, he saw the soldier with the fancy coat draw a very long knife from his sash. He wondered what it was, never having seen a sword before.

Blue Otter thanked the Grandmother for accepting his blood into her, soon he would be in the spirit world, perhaps he would see his father again. He hoped so.

"Not dead yet, are you? Ye bloody rascal." Mayberry drew his sword as the badly wounded man grimaced at him from the ground. With a sharp thrust, he finished him. He had never used the sword before and had been surprised when the man had hissed as the blade went into him.

"Deuced odd that." Mayberry began to return the sword to its scabbard, then realized it was bloody, so he wiped the blade clean on the leggings of the man he had just killed.

Sgt. Josiah Adams had watched as the ensign had killed the wounded man with his sword, then cleaned it on the dead man's clothing. Though he had seen such things on battlefields in Europe, it still made him queasy.

While Adams was fairly sure that he had probably killed men in battle, he couldn't be sure. Standing in the ranks and firing volleys into the rapidly thickening powder smoke one could never be sure.

After becoming a sergeant, his job had become making sure that the men did what the officers wanted. In Europe he had carried a spontoon, not a firelock. Here they needed every man to carry a firelock, other than the officers of course. But this Mayberry fellow scared him a bit. The man seemed rather bloodthirsty.

Private James Moore walked past his sergeant, carrying a torch with which to set another of the Indian huts on fire. "Bit of a bloody-minded lad isn't he Sarn't?" He said as he nodded towards the officer.

Adams started to agree then realized who he was talking to, "Watch that talk Private, be about your business, we're setting off soon. Move!"

From the trees a young man watched his village burn. His mother and his father had both been slain in the initial attack, he had watched a soldier kill his brother with a long knife, the longest knife he had ever seen.

He resolved then and there to take that man's long knife, his fancy red coat, and his life. Especially his life. He would follow the soldiers back to their fort and await his chance.

With all of his family dead, he had no other purpose in life but to avenge them, then join them in the spirit world.

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