instead.
Most of the men in this string of boats now were already veterans of such tests. He had interviewed each recruit personally at Redstone Fort or at Fort Pitt, and knew there was scarcely a greenhorn among them. They were trail-hardened and cunning and knew how to shoot the eyes out of a squirrel. Hardly a one had the look of a soldier about him, but they were, he knew, dangerous as a den of bobcats.
All they need to learn, for our cause, is how to follow orders and fight together, not as individuals, he thought. I could lose too many if each one tried to fight his own war, and I can’t afford to lose any.
The sound of a child’s voice from one of the boats reminded him of the presence of another element he had not initially planned for: the families of several of his recruits. There were about twenty families in the convoy. Some of the militiamen had signed up mainly because they were interested in Kentuckyas a destination, or because they had friends or relatives already in Kentucky; some had had to bring their families simply because they were adrift and landless and had nowhere to leave them. Helm and Bowman, finding recruits so scarce, had signed up some such family men, on the condition that they could bring their families at least as far as Redstone Fort. George himself had invited two likely-looking adventurers who had been hanging about at Redstone, and had agreed to bring their families along part of the way in return for three months’ service in the militia. The scarcity of recruits had been that desperate. At first the presence of these women, children, and oldsters had seemed to be an unwanted burden, but then the idea had come to him that they might instead prove an asset. They could do planting and other work at the new base camp and thus free all the men for drill. George knew of course that he could not have made these dependents stay behind anyway, as they were as free as himself to venture to the frontier; he had no authority to order them back. Better to have them come along under our protection than follow at a distance, he thought. Besides, every family that settles in Kentucky helps to solidify Virginia’s frontier.
So there they were, huddled in the prows of several of the boats, these little homeless families with their precious pots and tools and bags of seed corn—all they would really need to start new lives. They were some added baggage for the military expedition, but not really very much. And their presence for the meantime would help keep the men civilized.
The oars steadily munched the river and the sun rose toward its zenith. The planks of the boats grew hot to the touch. At noon George ordered the rowers relieved, and the boats drifted on the current for a few moments while men changed positions in the cramped spaces. Murmurs, curses, and laughter, bumping and scraping sounds drifted with strange clarity across the water. Those going off the oars blew and sighed happily like pack horses, stretched and flexed their arms, pinched sweat out of their eye sockets, stood at the gunwales breaking wind and pissing over the side. Those going into the rowers’ seats now removed their shirts and hats, and some of them had tied rags around their heads to absorb the sweat of their brows.
In minutes the vessels were underway again, awkwardly at first, with some clumsy clacking of oars and good-humored taunts, until all had found the rhythm and the going became mechanical. George lounged now in his shirt-sleeves, quietly observingthe men and contemplating their suitability for the expedition.
Here and there among the soiled tan buckskins and homespun hunting shirts he had seen a blue military coat, but these were frayed, patched vestiges of some earlier service, or secondhand articles which somehow had worked their way into the possession of these civilians. George entertained the suspicion that a few of the men might be deserters from the discouraged and unlucky armies of the east, but
Most of the men in this string of boats now were already veterans of such tests. He had interviewed each recruit personally at Redstone Fort or at Fort Pitt, and knew there was scarcely a greenhorn among them. They were trail-hardened and cunning and knew how to shoot the eyes out of a squirrel. Hardly a one had the look of a soldier about him, but they were, he knew, dangerous as a den of bobcats.
All they need to learn, for our cause, is how to follow orders and fight together, not as individuals, he thought. I could lose too many if each one tried to fight his own war, and I can’t afford to lose any.
The sound of a child’s voice from one of the boats reminded him of the presence of another element he had not initially planned for: the families of several of his recruits. There were about twenty families in the convoy. Some of the militiamen had signed up mainly because they were interested in Kentuckyas a destination, or because they had friends or relatives already in Kentucky; some had had to bring their families simply because they were adrift and landless and had nowhere to leave them. Helm and Bowman, finding recruits so scarce, had signed up some such family men, on the condition that they could bring their families at least as far as Redstone Fort. George himself had invited two likely-looking adventurers who had been hanging about at Redstone, and had agreed to bring their families along part of the way in return for three months’ service in the militia. The scarcity of recruits had been that desperate. At first the presence of these women, children, and oldsters had seemed to be an unwanted burden, but then the idea had come to him that they might instead prove an asset. They could do planting and other work at the new base camp and thus free all the men for drill. George knew of course that he could not have made these dependents stay behind anyway, as they were as free as himself to venture to the frontier; he had no authority to order them back. Better to have them come along under our protection than follow at a distance, he thought. Besides, every family that settles in Kentucky helps to solidify Virginia’s frontier.
So there they were, huddled in the prows of several of the boats, these little homeless families with their precious pots and tools and bags of seed corn—all they would really need to start new lives. They were some added baggage for the military expedition, but not really very much. And their presence for the meantime would help keep the men civilized.
The oars steadily munched the river and the sun rose toward its zenith. The planks of the boats grew hot to the touch. At noon George ordered the rowers relieved, and the boats drifted on the current for a few moments while men changed positions in the cramped spaces. Murmurs, curses, and laughter, bumping and scraping sounds drifted with strange clarity across the water. Those going off the oars blew and sighed happily like pack horses, stretched and flexed their arms, pinched sweat out of their eye sockets, stood at the gunwales breaking wind and pissing over the side. Those going into the rowers’ seats now removed their shirts and hats, and some of them had tied rags around their heads to absorb the sweat of their brows.
In minutes the vessels were underway again, awkwardly at first, with some clumsy clacking of oars and good-humored taunts, until all had found the rhythm and the going became mechanical. George lounged now in his shirt-sleeves, quietly observingthe men and contemplating their suitability for the expedition.
Here and there among the soiled tan buckskins and homespun hunting shirts he had seen a blue military coat, but these were frayed, patched vestiges of some earlier service, or secondhand articles which somehow had worked their way into the possession of these civilians. George entertained the suspicion that a few of the men might be deserters from the discouraged and unlucky armies of the east, but
Similar Books
