1790 – The Ohio Country


As white settlers moved into the Indian areas, now known as the Ohio Country,

Indians were forced out – by the overwhelming swarm of settlers, and by

treaty – to try and eke out a living from lands belonging to other Indians.

All the while they suffered depredations from the Kentucky settlers,

who seemed intent on driving the Indians clear out of the Ohio country,

no matter the turmoil they left in their wake. The Indian tribes in question,

mainly Shawnee and Lenape (called Delaware by the whites), along with other,

smaller tribes, would not quietly relinquish the land. For them this was

a war of survival. And they fought back. Savage, bloody attacks that left

few survivors and much bitter feelings.

A leading War Chief of this angry Confederation of Indian Tribes was a Shawnee,

Waweyapiersawaw – which means whirlpool in the Shawnee tongue. Though tales

would say he was a white man, captured in his youth, he was, in fact,

a full-blooded Shawnee. He rose to prominence among the Shawnee as tactical

leader in war. He would be regarded as the toughest Indian opponent the

United States would come against, until the time of Tecumseh, and he would

be known to most as Blue Jacket. 

Into this turmoil stepped Arthur St. Clair. A hero of the American Revolution,

followed by the shame of surrendering Fort Ticonderoga to the British,

he was an able administrator, a fair man, and hoped to erase the specter

of shame from his name by his Governorship of the Ohio Country. St. Clair

was a close friend of President George Washington, who entrusted to him this

important post. St. Clair was expected to deal with the Indian problem,

and bring order to this frontier area. He would be badly disappointed,

and would sorely disappoint the President, too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Western Virginia - 1790


	Harry Tyler Benning looked down on the clearing at his cabin,

corral, and small garden from the vantage of the main trail leading

eastward. Beyond the trees to the west of the clearing were his fields.

And beyond those were the fields and cabins of two of his friends,

brought here to help him and build their own farms. The idea had not

been his but that of his eldest brother, Isaac, who was worried that

Harry was killing himself trying to farm his holdings all by himself.


	Harry gazed at the bright, clear sky, squinting to watch the

birds high above, whirling in the air currents. He loved this place,

his first remembered home, a place his own mother had dearly loved,

and his own father had died defending. His eyes fell to a place behind

the cabin, near the trees that walled the northern edge of the clearing.

	There sat two small upright stones bearing the names of his

parents, and the dates of their passing. He had no idea of the dates

of their birth. He had been too young to even remember their birthdays,

much less their ages, when they had been killed by Shawnee. Just ten

years ago, he thought. The events of that day were hard to recall,

but not completely forgotten. He could still see, in his mind’s eye,

images of what had transpired. 

Perhaps the most vivid memory of all was staring up into the eyes of

the huge man who had awakened him as he’d slept next to the body of his

mother. That was his first meeting with, Isaac, and it was one he’d

carried close to his heart ever after. For Isaac, along with his own

brothers, Ben and Joseph, and their neighbor Mac, had come this way

to find his family and see them safely out during a bloody Indian

incursion. They had been hours too late to save the Tyler family,

but they had saved Harry, and his younger siblings, Robert and Meg. 

A wry grin crossed the young man’s face, as he remembered that night.

He’d felt so utterly safe with Isaac, and the other three men, that

he’d never once questioned going with them, away from his family’s home,

off to the east, and thence to his new home. For those big young men,

and their family, had adopted Harry, Robert, and Meg, as their own. He

had become a Benning, and a finer family he could not imagine being a

part of. He loved them. 

But the time had come, as he thought it might, when he had to come back.

Here. The place that was still his first home. And he’d rebuilt the cabin

and corral, found and buried the bones of his parents, and begun resurrecting

the farm from the wilderness that had taken it over again.

Harry drew a deep breath and sighed. Shaking his head he turned his gaze

to the place beside the cabin where the soil was still piled, although now

growing with grasses and weeds. The depth of the cabin, and half its width,

this was to be the room that Harry had begun to plan, and build, for the

woman he had fallen for. Now those plans were dead, the room naught but an

overturning of the soil, the woman gone for good. Back to Richmond, and

perhaps her old beaus, or maybe on to her own family’s farm. 

His face burned at the memory, and his stomach ached. She’d not only left

him, but she’d told him he wasn’t going to amount to much more than a poor

farmer. She was very nice about the whole thing, told him that she still

loved him, but of course that meant little to his heart. Two months gone

and he still could not picture her face without that awful feeling of loss.

He doubted he’d felt anything so horrible since his folks had been killed.

And he wished it had never happened.

Worrying a pebble from beside his perch on a stump at the head of the

eastern trail, he thought, now, that maybe Kaye had been dead right about

him. What, after all, did he have to offer any woman? A farm in the

wilderness? A life of loneliness and hardship? What is that to give a young woman?

Another sigh escaped him; he rolled his shoulders to ease the muscles that

were bunching tight around his neck. And to top it off he’d introduced her

to the family. They had liked her from the first, loved her soon after. And

how do you explain to your own family that you aren’t reckoned good enough

by the woman you fell in love with? All those questions, all those evasions,
 
all those concerned looks from Isaac and Rebecca. Abraham, too, who had sighed 

deeply, placed a hand on his shoulder, and then the quiet, “Sorry, Harry.” 


His face warmed at the thought, but he stood, brushed his britches, and 

ambled down into the clearing. Kaye would not be returning to him, or this 

place. And there was work to be doing.
 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


A banging on his door roused Harry from his reading, and he rose swiftly,

grabbing his musket as he approached the door. “Who’s there?”

p
“It’s me, Harry! Jude! Got news!”


Harry smiled as he pulled open the door, seeing the smiling face of his

friend and farming partner standing on the porch. His round face was topped

by a shaggy mop of unruly black hair, his brown eyes shining in the

reflected firelight. “Come in, Jude,” Harry said, “What news?”

Jude Bowen entered the cabin, leaned his musket by the door, and looked

around the cabin. “You need to clean this place up a bit, Harry. Getting’

a wee dusty, don’cha think?”

Harry smiled, “I’ll get right to it, Mother. Now, what news?”

Jude chuckled, pulled a chair from the table and sat heavily in it.

“Well, you know how Ronny tol’ us his brother was away, a-scoutin’

the lands up past Kaintuck?"

Harry sat across the table and nodded. “Aye. Said we might find land there

more to our likin’ than hereabouts. Is he back, then?”

Jude shook his head, his hair bouncing atop his head. “Nay, brother Tom is

still out there, I reckon. But Ronny’s old friend, Nathan, that one who

went up with Tom? Well, I saw him pass the river awhile ago, ‘round about sunset,

and I recognized ‘im. Waved to ‘im, and ‘e waved back. ‘E was a-headin’

to Ronny’s place. So I lit out and come here to tell ye’!”

Harry grinned. Ronny Allen was the third part of their partnership,

and a harder worker than either Jude or himself. Ronny’d been hoping his

brother would join him in the farming cooperative. But Tom had decided to

look into the tales of the beautiful land in the Ohio Valley, up past Kentucky.

He’d been out there for months, as far as Harry could recall, with nary a word

from him save a single letter.

“I’ll bet Ronny is ready to break out that old brandy he’s been saving.”


“Aye!” Jude clapped his hands. “So I figured maybe we ought to head on

over and see what’s a-happening. Whatcha say, Harry? Shall we?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, sending a doubtful look at Jude. “Kinda late for visiting,

ain’t it?”

“Aw, c’mon, Harry! So we lose a bit o’ sleep, what matter? Let’s go see what the news is from up there.” He winked at Harry, “We might get us a dram of that brandy, too!”

Harry raised his hands in defeat. “I surrender, Jude Bowen. Let me fetch my coat, and we can be off.”

“That’s the lad!” Jude replied. He opened the cabin door and, smiling, looked out at the night sky. “God’s Teeth, it’s sure a fine night, isn’t it?”

Crickets serenaded each other, and an owl hooted from the trees to the north. The dappled moonlight played hide-and-go-seek with the deepest shadows. 

Harry pushed him through the door, and closed it, hefting his musket. He looked around. “No horse, Jude? You musta been eager to get here, eh?”

Jude grinned in the moonlight, “Hadn’t the heart to saddle up Anwen. She was snoring, I think, and she does need her rest.”

Harry smiled. Jude’s affection for his horse, and his oxen, too, was one of the things that Harry liked most about him. Jude was a kind-hearted man, who would kill himself to help you out. Harry felt lucky to have him as a friend much less as a partner. “Well, then, let’s make tracks, Jude. Sooner we get there, sooner we get a wee dram, eh?”

The two young men turned west, and trotted through the trees, muskets in hand, and made their way toward the holdings of their friend. They trotted past the corn field that Harry’s father had first planted ten years before, and past the new field that Harry had planted himself not long ago. His fields were next to Jude’s fields, which also abutted Ronny Allen’s plantings. Laid out like a huge elongated pie, all their holdings met at the small river which wended its way to the west. 

They turned south at the end of Harry’s land, and followed the river, the trail clear, though narrow, as the men had cleared it of rocks shortly after laying out the holdings of Jude and Ronny. This was their own highway, as Jude liked to refer to it. It was convenient to all three farms, and allowed the men to pass quickly to each other’s holdings. The trail meant that all three young men could work their own farms, and pitch in with their friends’ each other’s as well. It was simply an old Indian path that Harry had re-discovered when he returned to the farm. 

They reached the end of the cleared trail and turned west, crossing the corn-field of Ronny Allen. When they passed the end of the field, they could see two horses in the corral. Harry stopped Jude, tugging on his arm.

“What is it, Harry?” Jude asked. “summat wrong?”

Harry pointed to the small cabin, saying, “Not much light, Jude. Wouldn’t Ronny have more than a single light lit, if’n he was celebrating?”

Jude peered at the cabin’s window, the dim orange of single candle lighting the curtain. “Well, maybe they’ve forgotten to light more. Maybe they’re so deep into the stories and the news, eh, Harry?”

Harry glanced at his friend, his stomach tightening. “Could be, Jude, could be. But let’s go slow, why don’t we?”

“Why?” Jude stared at the cabin.

Harry clapped the man on his shoulder, “Because maybe Ronny ain’t celebratin’, Jude. Maybe he has no cause to, y’see?” 

Jude cast a worried glance at Harry. “I din’t think of that. I din’t think it mightn’t be good news.”

Harry smiled weakly, then stepped out, past the field, and headed for the cabin. As they neared the door Harry called out, “Hello the house! Is anyone to home? It’s Harry and Jude!”

The cabin door swung open slowly, and a man stepped out, his face gray in the moonlight, his hair slicked back, from sweat or grease, and raised his hand in greeting. “Hello there, Harry. Jude.” He beckoned them in, saying, “Ronny’s not in a good way, I’m afraid.”

Harry and Jude entered and looked about the interior. The main room was empty. Harry shot a questioning look at the man. He could recognize the man, now, his piercing blue eyes holding pain in them. 

“Nathan,” Harry said in a quiet voice, as he took the man’s hand. “Been awhile, now, hasn’t it?”

Nathan Arkwright shook Harry’s hand firmly, his hand rough. He shook Jude’s as well.

“Saw you at the river, Jude,” he said, “but I thought it best to come here first.”

He waved to the table near the fireplace, saying, “Sit, lads, I’ll pour you some coffee.”

Harry and Jude sat, looking at each other with worry. Nathan brought mugs of coffee, steaming and pungent with tang of brandy lacing it, and settled himself at the table. 

He looked at his hands, then at the table, then his eyes lifted and he looked at Harry and Jude. “Had to tell Ronny the news. Tom ain’t comin’ back. He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Jude straightened and leaned away, as if he could distance himself from the bad news. “How?’

Nathan had a haunted look in his eyes, and Harry guessed what was coming. His stomach tightened, and acid began to burn in it.

“Tom was killed by Indians, Lads,” Nathan murmured. He rubbed his face. ”What I’m gonna say is for your ears alone, you mind?”

Harry and Jude nodded. 

Nathan looked at them, his face a grim mask. “’Cause if Ronny heard of it, I don’t know what it’d do to ‘im.” He looked past them to the closed door that blocked off Ronny’s room. “We’d been seeing signs of Indians all day; hell, we’d been seeing ‘em for days. I wanted to go back. Told Tom there was no sense goin’ further, what with us bein’ but the two of us.” He looked from Harry to Jude. “There’s always another time, you see. There ain’t no rush.” 

He shook his head and stared at his hands. “But Tom was always wantin’ to see over the next hill, or ‘round the next bend. Always lookin’ for the perfect place.”

He rose and got another mug, poured himself the hot coffee, and returned to his seat. He sipped carefully, making sour face as the old coffee hit his tongue. “Tom told me to head back, and he’d be right along. He headed mebbe  twenty yards further away, and I was just a-waitin’ on ‘im, mind ye. And they swarmed ‘im from the trees. A few seconds and it was over. Them savages was wavin’ his scalp around and yelping.”

He sipped again. “One of ‘em took a shot at me. I shot back, but then they was movin’ toward me.” He closed his eyes. “I ain’t proud of it, but I didn’t go back for his body. I just lit outen there, and kept going ‘til I figured it was safe to stop.”

Nathan sighed, looked at Harry and Jude, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling now with unshed tears. “I snuck back two mornings after, snuck right on down to where I’d stopped that day, and I looked hard at where Tom had fallen. And I saw his body. And I ain’t sayin’ no more on that, lads, not ever.”

He sipped his coffee, then said, “So Tom ain’t comin’ back, and Ronny’s asleep with plenty of whiskey I brought ‘im, and some brandy I found in his cupboard. And now I don’t know what to do. But I’m stayin’ with ‘im for the time bein’, and I hope you lads will be here for ‘im, too.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of what had befallen Tom Allen. His own memories of his parent’s scalped bodies flashed into his mind. He took a deep breath. “Nathan, we’ll bed down in the corral, if that’s okay. Come fetch us when he gets up, and we’ll do what we can, okay?”

“That’s fine, Harry,” Nathan nodded. “That’s fine.”

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