The Gauntlet Runner: A Tale from the French and Indian War
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The Gauntlet Runner: A Tale from the French and Indian War
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Overview
Private Jacob Murray, a twenty-six-year-old Pennsylvanian volunteer in the ranks of George Washington’s Virginia Provincial Militia, is scouting the dense, almost impassable Ohio Valley wilderness in May 1754. Together with his twin brother, Israel, and two Mingo warriors, Jacob searches for a party of French troops encroaching on British soil.
Back at home, Murray’s wife, Maggie, and their four children carve out a meager existence until a group of French and Huron war parties raid their small farm. Taken captive, they are unsure if they will live to see their husband and father again.
With word spreading that French-backed Huron raiding parties are decimating the Pennsylvania countryside and taking white captives, young Major Washington, Murray, and a French officer bent on revenge are destined to cross paths. As three hostile powers continue to vie for control of the coveted Ohio Valley, a war soon begins that will engulf them all.
The Gauntlet Runner tells a tale of fractured lives, broken treaties, and the stark realities of the struggles faced by early American settlers as they risk their lives to cultivate the young, formidable nation.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781462051274 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 11/15/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 220 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
THE GAUNTLET RUNNER
A Tale from the French and Indian WarBy S. Thomas Bailey
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 S. Thomas BaileyAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-5123-6
Chapter One
Maggie Murray was up before the sun had completely cleared the shadows of Laurel Ridge, to the north. The Murrays' small cabin sat on a little over three acres of cleared land situated in a small valley near Black Creek. The Black Creek provided them ample fresh mountain runoff water from the Laurel and Chestnut Ridges.The land was surrounded by deep, menacing old-growth forest; swampy bogs; open, wondrous meadows; and treacherous mountain passes, and if it wasn't for an old Seneca tract that linked the other farms to the east and a main trail leading to the trading post at Will's Creek to the northeast, they would have been isolated from the civilized world.
Her life was much harder since her husband, Jacob, decided to enlist in the Virginia Provincial Militia. Although they lived in Pennsylvania, the local territorial leaders refused to offer protection to the expanding number of white settlers along the frontier. This meant they were left virtually unprotected from the growing Huron, Delaware, and Shawnee raiding parties, and from the French, who were bent on claiming the land for themselves.
Maggie had just celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday, but she honestly felt more like a fifty-year-old. Her once-beautiful face now carried the strain of the two weeks she had spent performing all the chores around the farm. It would be a long six months before Jacob, by God's grace, completed his obligation to the Virginia militia and would be permitted to return home. The sole reason for his absence was the promise of a large plot of land awarded to the men who served their time with the militia.
Maggie had always taken on her share of the farm work. She could use a rifle or skin a deer just as well as most of the men in the county. Growing up on the highlands of Scotland and working on her parents' farm since she could walk prepared her for just such moments.
She had her long brown hair tied back with a spare piece of blue ribbon, and her dress and apron were stained with the dirt and filth from her hard work. Maggie's normally thin frame was now also showing the added hardships, as her clothing was noticeably loose and she was having difficulty sleeping at night.
Before she stepped out side, Maggie had her two eldest children—James and his twin sister, Becky—clean up the two youngest, Henry and Mary. The two seven-year-olds did their best to help out where they could and watched over Henry and Mary without a complaint. Once out in the fresh morning air, Maggie detected the stinging odor of smoldering wood. She walked to the west end of the lot to move the grazing cows into the small pen beside the cabin.
Something was clearly abnormal this sunny, mild June morning. Maggie knew it wasn't the usual smell from the many morning fires that wafted from the other farms to the east. With the nights shorter now, most of the farmers worked longer to ready their spring crops and made bonfires to provide additional light as night fell. Thick black smoke clouds rose from the eastern frontier, and small pieces of ash were lingering in the breeze that swirled around the valley. Down the small path to the east sat several frontier farms, mostly settled by new families to America. Settlers had been enticed by prospects of owning their own land. Maggie knew of three families from her native Scotland, a few Swedish families, and a small settlement of Pennsylvania Dutch settlers within several miles of her farm. She saw most of them at the trading post but knew only a couple by name. The Swedish and Dutch settlers spoke little English, although they were always pleasant and offered a friendly nod when she saw them.
Maggie always loved the mornings. Maybe it was the sense of peace it brought. Possibly it was her time alone, no kids, no noise, no distractions. She particularly relished the walk across the dew-soaked grass and the fresh smells permeating from the adjacent forest.
Maggie soon realized the eerie silence around her this morning. No birds chirping their morning songs. No deer wandering about the edges of the forests. Not putting much thought into it, Maggie continued with her chores. She stopped at the rainwater trough by the cabin's door and scooped up a handful of water to drink. She splashed some on her face and soaked a small linen cloth, which she wrapped around her neck.
Her morning peace was interrupted as she noticed three men running down the trail that linked the farms.
She recognized Thomas Culp in the lead, along with his teenage son Zach and a neighbor named William Tam, frantically racing toward the cabin. They had their long rifles in hand and were screaming and motioning to her to get into the cabin. Not waiting, Maggie ran into the cabin, grabbed one of the two loaded rifles that Jacob had left behind, and stepped back outside.
James, with his black hair greased back and neatly dressed in britches and a cotton shirt, followed his mother out with the second rifle. A glimpse just before stepping out into the yard showed her that James could barely hold the long-barreled rifle upright.
"James, get back into the cabin. Go watch over your Henry and Mary and let me speak with Mr. Culp," Maggie yelled.
James stopped and peered beyond his mother. Clearly seeing the three men approaching quickly, he realized the situation was serious and immediately ran back toward the open door.
Just as he closed the door, Maggie called out to him, "Thank you, James, but I need you to protect the children. Keep your rifle ready."
Maggie could still see the three men sprinting toward her. She noticed that nothing was pursuing them. Just before they cleared the freshly tilled cornfield, Maggie saw Thomas Culp motion to his son and Mr. Taft to continue toward the last farm to the west of here. Sitting on the very edge of the forest, it was home to Maggie's sister and brother-in-law, Abby and Israel Murray. Israel was Maggie's husband's twin brother, and he too had volunteered for service with the militia. Maggie knew that Abby was alone with a newborn child and two other young children. Part of Maggie's added burden was the many visits she had to make to Abby's farm to ensure that she was taking proper care of the children and the farm. The tall, thin, middle-aged Thomas Culp was within earshot, and she could now clearly make out that he was yelling for her to get into the cabin. Maggie held the door open until Culp made it safely inside. Culp struggled to catch his breath, closed the door behind him, and dropped the heavy latch to secure it shut.
Maggie had heard that Thomas Culp was one of a handful of men left behind to watch over the frontier farmsteads while the most of the able-bodied men were north with the militia. She could see that he was favoring his left leg, injured in a hunting accident when he was younger, which made running particularly difficult. He was given water to drink as he continued to fight to catch his breath.
"For the love of God, Thomas, what is happening?"
While she waited for an answer, Maggie ran around the cabin and secured the lone window and opened the four front-facing gun ports so that they could safely see outside.
The ports were angled so that the user could move his rifle around, covering most of the front yard. This gave a family an opportunity to hold off a small raiding party until help arrived. She now appreciated Jacob's insistence to add four lockable ports on each wall. It made the cabin appear like a small garrison fort, but over time she had learned to ignore them.
Maggie also asked James to light some candles and place them around the cabin to provide them with additional light. To keep the younger children from getting upset, she suggested, "Becky, why don't you keep Henry and Mary busy and play a game behind your bed. Please just keep them occupied until I find out what is happening."
Noticing Culp had regained his breath, she pushed for some explanation.
"Now, Mr. Culp, what is going on?"
"French and Huron war parties."
While the threat of raids had become more frequent, it didn't hinder the local settlers from tending to their crops and caring for their animals. They did take precautions, building securer fences to keep the livestock in and the savages out. They purchased additional rifles and ensured the women and children could handle them as well as the men. They then prayed that the savages would leave them be. Maggie had heard the many rumors of the inhumane brutality inflicted by Indian raiding parties to the north, but she had more pressing concerns.
"The Hurons are raiding this far south?"
"They burnt out seven or eight farms to the east of here, and they were right on our tails for about a mile," Culp explained, unlatching the door and taking a quick look outside.
"Did you see any of the families along the way? Are they all right?
"Can't say for sure, but we ran into a small raiding party moving up the same trail. Thank God we spotted them first and ran back for your place."
Maggie watched Culp stick his head outside the door again to look around the front yard. The cabin was situated in the middle of their land, bounded by thick woods on all four sides, providing privacy but also presenting excellent cover to any raiding party. With the door open, Maggie could really smell the stench from the neighbors' burning homes. As the wind picked up, it created a light dusting of grayish-white soot on the grass that appeared like a fresh dusting of snow.
Maggie could now hear the faint war cries of the onrushing Huron war party. She realized that the Hurons must have fallen upon the settlers before most of them had awakened. The nearby trading post had received no warning of the raid, since no one had fired off the four-pound cannon that would have signaled to the settlers of the danger.
Culp closed the front door as Maggie yelled, "I see them now."
She counted a half dozen Hurons sprinting out from the side woods and taking up a position about one hundred paces from the entrance to the cabin. They talked among themselves as they appeared to be surveying the area. Maggie had seen many natives exchanging their furs at the trading post, but they were Delaware, Mingo, and the odd Shawnee. She had never seen them painted and dressed for battle. Their intricately decorated locks and elaborately painted bodies strangely fascinated her. The Hurons' heads were completely bare except for a small lock of hair on their crowns. They adorned this with turkey feathers and red-dyed horsehair tufts.
She had seen some of the Delaware men wearing trade-silver gorgets and tattoos over their chest and neck, but these Hurons were much more impressive. They had their heads painted from just above their eyes to the back of their necks, in black, making them look frightening. Maggie was also used to seeing the topless native women cause a stir around the trading post, yet these Hurons wore basically a breechcloth held up with a thin piece of leather strapping fashioned as a belt and buckskin leggings for protecting their legs from bushes, branches, and the numerous snakes in the region. They carried a musket, powder horn, and small decorative bag for their shooting supplies. Most had beautifully stitched sheaths hung around their necks, used to hold their only knife.
Maggie watched them through the gun port and saw two Frenchmen join them from the woods. She knew they were French from the red woolen caps they wore. Maggie pulled back from the port when she heard a loud crack. She looked over at Culp and noticed his rifle smoking from the burnt powder. She immediately looked out and saw one of the closest warriors grabbing his side and writhing in the grass. She promptly fired her rifle and hit the Huron assisting the injured warrior to his feet. The ball struck him in the forehead and he fell back, pulling the injured warrior onto his dead body.
"Damn good shot," Maggie heard Culp say as he shoved his ramrod down the barrel of his rifle.
She stared out the port at the Hurons as they screamed their hideous war cries toward the small cabin. A couple fired off their muskets at her, but the lead balls lodged into the large timber outer wall above her port. She immediately reloaded as Culp fired off another shot. She watched it hiss wildly over the Hurons' heads and land in the grass behind them. Maggie took another quick look outside before she readied her long rifle. She had her sights set on another Huron brave until she noticed they had turned their attention to something in the western woods.
She pulled back her rifle and tried to see what had caught their eyes. Quickly moving into view was Zach Culp, with William Tam directly on his heels, running along the forest line. The sight of two white settlers running in the open field immediately sent the Hurons, along with their French allies, sprinting off toward the two. Maggie saw two stop and fire their muskets, but they thankfully missed the men.
She then aimed and fired at the screaming war party. She was by far the best female shot in the area, but unfortunately she could never compete in any shooting matches, as they were reserved for the men. Her husband always encouraged her to practice and keep her skills sharp. Her shot knocked down one of the Frenchmen in full stride. His red cap flew off as he tumbled several times before stopping. He sat up clutching his bleeding shoulder.
She noticed Culp smiling as he aimed and quickly fired. Peering through her port, he hit a Huron in the leg, sending the brave falling and skidding in the grass. He squealed in pain as his wound gushed blood.
"He won't be bothering us anymore," Maggie heard Culp mutter under his breath.
Busy reloading, Maggie remained watching the two men desperately firing their rifles toward the onrushing Hurons. Their shots didn't appear to hit any of them, but they did succeed in stopping their advance. The remaining war party regrouped and ran back to the relative safety of the eastern edge of the woods.
Both Maggie and Culp yelled at the still moving men, "Run, boys."
"I'll try to cover them while you get the door open and ready for them," Maggie suggested to Culp.
Culp never replied, merely unlatched the door and opened it enough to see the men only about one hundred yards from the door. The door slammed shut as Culp fell back after a Huron ball splintered the wood frame just above his head.
"Are you all right, Thomas?" she asked, still watching outside.
Again Culp did not answer, simply got himself up. She could see that the Hurons, attempting to cut the men off from the front door, were now within a few yards of the tiring pair. Their numbers had swelled, as ten more warriors had joined in the pursuit. She fired off another around at about the same moment Culp did.
She saw two warriors fall, but they were both up quickly, suffering only slight wounds. They quickly rejoined the onslaught.
Watching and reloading, Maggie saw William Tam fall after a number of the warriors stopped to fire at the two. Tam had pulled ahead of Zach and was only ten feet from the door, but one of the balls hit him in the thigh and he was struggling to recover. He frantically crawled toward the door.
Zach had slowed after a lead ball had passed through his arm. She could see his father watching and desperately firing his rifle at the Hurons, who were now close to overtaking the boy.
Maggie did the same, but it was all for naught; she was unable to save Zach. A Huron warrior struck him down with a vicious blow from his tomahawk. Thomas Culp reloaded and fired, but his tear-filled eyes blurred his vision and the shot flew well over the Hurons.
Maggie had her rifle reloaded and fired a desperate shot that knocked down the tomahawk-wielding Huron, killing him instantly. Now they could only watch as another warrior jumped on Zach's lifeless body and scalped him. He held the bloody piece of hair up in the air and screamed.
Quickly thinking, Maggie called James to grab the other loaded rifle they had taken down from above the fireplace. She steadied her aim and fired. The screaming warrior was hit in the stomach. Maggie watched him fall to his knees then crumple forward onto his face. Again a fellow Huron was swift to grab the scalp and tie it to his belt.
The Hurons now set their sights on the struggling William Tam. Maggie could barely see him from her port hole as he pressed himself up against the doorway. He was pounding frantically on the door, begging to be let in.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE GAUNTLET RUNNER by S. Thomas Bailey Copyright © 2011 by S. Thomas Bailey. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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