with a flat red face and tobacco-stained white whiskers. “Nary a one run off last night. Reckon all the chaff’s done blowed off this bunch by now.”
“I surely do hope so. Loaded to go, are we?” George stroked his jaw and looked over the heavily laden boats, which were nuzzling the wharf with their blunt prows. Captain Joseph Bowman, his young first officer, stood waiting in the command boat holding a furled flag. Davey Pagan was in the stern, leaning on the rudderpost, his good eye squinting against the sun. Each of the boats looked like a floating thicket of upraised rifles and oars, with ten to fifteen ruddy, craggy faces peering up at him, shrewd, patient, glum, or mocking. “Boah, he’s some perty, ain’t he?” twanged a voice from a nearby boat. Chuckles began, then stopped instantly when his eyes swept the boat. He stepped quickly to the edge of the wharf and stared through narrowed eyelids into the men amidships, so directly that the man who had made the remark must have thought he was recognized.
“That’s true, boys,” George said loudly, breaking into a grin, “we don’t have cannon and we don’t have cavalry, so we’ll just have to win ’em with our good looks—and that’s why I picked all you beauties!”
A wave of surprised laughter swept through the nearby boats. George leaped nimbly onto the bow thwart of the command boat, and shoved it away from the wharf with a mighty heave. He took the green-and-red-striped Virginia flag from Captain Bowman, unfurled it, erected it in the bow, then stood waving toward the west. “Cast ’em off, boys, we’re headin’ for Kentucky!”
A general cheer went up. The captains scrambled off the dock into their boats; the ten vessels swung off willy-nilly into the current. Then the steersmen strained against their sweeps, oars dipped and found their cadence, and the boats fell into file and headed for mid-channel. A few rifles were fired into the air spontaneously, their puffs of blue smoke dissipating over the river; here and there laughter and war whoops sounded. Davey Pagan started up a chanty, and soon every oar in the convoy was dipping to its rhythm. A fresh morning breeze ruffled the surface of the river and started a cheerful rataplan against the prow of the speeding boat. George stood in the prow bareheaded, looked back at the little oncoming fleet, and watchedthe bluish bulk of Fort Pitt diminishing astern. Eager fellows, he thought. But what an assortment.
He looked them over carefully. Half the men in each boat were rowing, bareheaded and stripped to the waist. Their sinewy white shoulders and backs were beginning to shine with sweat in the sun. He could feel the forward surge of the boat each time they stroked in unison. If they’re not slackers now at this work, he thought, I reckon they’ll strive when they learn I’m leading them straight against the scalp-takers. Vengeance is a good wage to work for. How I wish I could tell them now! But I don’t need to yet. They’re getting to know each other. And they’re going to like me a great deal if I can manage that. By Heaven, they’ll want for discipline; most every one is used to being a law unto himself. Look at ’em. Not one I’d reckon thinks he’s an ordinary man. Let ’em get a triumph or two under their bonnets, and they’ll have the worst case of swaggers you ever did see.
He had watched that kind of spirit evolve during the defense of the Kentucky settlements the year before. Even in the most desperate days, when the women were running ammunition in skillets and there was nothing in the forts to eat but tainted meat and musty corn, every repulse made the defenders celebrate themselves as charmed beings, superior to the folks back on the seaboard side of the mountains. He had seen the survival-cockiness of the long hunters; he had seen that giddy sense of invincibility develop in farmers who had conserved their own hair a few times while snatching an Indian scalp or two
“I surely do hope so. Loaded to go, are we?” George stroked his jaw and looked over the heavily laden boats, which were nuzzling the wharf with their blunt prows. Captain Joseph Bowman, his young first officer, stood waiting in the command boat holding a furled flag. Davey Pagan was in the stern, leaning on the rudderpost, his good eye squinting against the sun. Each of the boats looked like a floating thicket of upraised rifles and oars, with ten to fifteen ruddy, craggy faces peering up at him, shrewd, patient, glum, or mocking. “Boah, he’s some perty, ain’t he?” twanged a voice from a nearby boat. Chuckles began, then stopped instantly when his eyes swept the boat. He stepped quickly to the edge of the wharf and stared through narrowed eyelids into the men amidships, so directly that the man who had made the remark must have thought he was recognized.
“That’s true, boys,” George said loudly, breaking into a grin, “we don’t have cannon and we don’t have cavalry, so we’ll just have to win ’em with our good looks—and that’s why I picked all you beauties!”
A wave of surprised laughter swept through the nearby boats. George leaped nimbly onto the bow thwart of the command boat, and shoved it away from the wharf with a mighty heave. He took the green-and-red-striped Virginia flag from Captain Bowman, unfurled it, erected it in the bow, then stood waving toward the west. “Cast ’em off, boys, we’re headin’ for Kentucky!”
A general cheer went up. The captains scrambled off the dock into their boats; the ten vessels swung off willy-nilly into the current. Then the steersmen strained against their sweeps, oars dipped and found their cadence, and the boats fell into file and headed for mid-channel. A few rifles were fired into the air spontaneously, their puffs of blue smoke dissipating over the river; here and there laughter and war whoops sounded. Davey Pagan started up a chanty, and soon every oar in the convoy was dipping to its rhythm. A fresh morning breeze ruffled the surface of the river and started a cheerful rataplan against the prow of the speeding boat. George stood in the prow bareheaded, looked back at the little oncoming fleet, and watchedthe bluish bulk of Fort Pitt diminishing astern. Eager fellows, he thought. But what an assortment.
He looked them over carefully. Half the men in each boat were rowing, bareheaded and stripped to the waist. Their sinewy white shoulders and backs were beginning to shine with sweat in the sun. He could feel the forward surge of the boat each time they stroked in unison. If they’re not slackers now at this work, he thought, I reckon they’ll strive when they learn I’m leading them straight against the scalp-takers. Vengeance is a good wage to work for. How I wish I could tell them now! But I don’t need to yet. They’re getting to know each other. And they’re going to like me a great deal if I can manage that. By Heaven, they’ll want for discipline; most every one is used to being a law unto himself. Look at ’em. Not one I’d reckon thinks he’s an ordinary man. Let ’em get a triumph or two under their bonnets, and they’ll have the worst case of swaggers you ever did see.
He had watched that kind of spirit evolve during the defense of the Kentucky settlements the year before. Even in the most desperate days, when the women were running ammunition in skillets and there was nothing in the forts to eat but tainted meat and musty corn, every repulse made the defenders celebrate themselves as charmed beings, superior to the folks back on the seaboard side of the mountains. He had seen the survival-cockiness of the long hunters; he had seen that giddy sense of invincibility develop in farmers who had conserved their own hair a few times while snatching an Indian scalp or two
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