Ye Journal of Mad Anne Bailey American Frontier Heroine

The Lost Scout

2011-12-06T21:15:00.000-06:00

Darkness came on fast that November night. Stars began to twinkle in the night sky even as the sun’s last rays winked into oblivion. Autumn was fully upon us with its shortened days and unpredictable weather. The day which had just been extinguished had held reminders of summer’s sweet warmth, particularly in sunny patches of the forest. Yet, with the setting sun all such reminders had been whisked away, replaced by a deep chill which promised a long night.

I continued to hurry-scurry down the unfamiliar trail hoping against hope I’d not miss my friends entirely. Captain Jacobs had been clear in his instruction; we were to assemble at the appointed area at five of the clock. We would launch for a temporary camp along the creek Friday night, hunt Saturday morning and move on to a station camp Saturday afternoon. Yet, if my pocket watch were to be trusted, five had been gone round entirely and the hands were now closer to seven. I knew the main party of the expedition would have gone on without me, all but Mr. Egener who had graciously promised to await my arrival, regardless of the time. Although I felt horrible for holding him back, I was especially thankful for his kindness as I trudged through the dark night.

Time and darkness seemed to be turning against me, as did the map. My eyes, which had once been keen even in the dark, had begun to blur with age and now I found I could barely read jumble of lines and words. Regardless of how close to my face or how much I squinted, I simply could not make out the path I was to take. Frustrated, I began to question why I had done this to myself, let alone to my friend who was (I hoped) patiently waiting.

A few more miles and my doubt and frustration doubled, I squinted again at my map and discovered a turning I had surely missed! For heaven sake, it seemed I could not see far away either! Age is a great betrayer, aided and abetted by my failing eyes! I turned to retrace my steps, this time with my pathetic eyes peeled even more widely. Ha! There it was! The turn onto Crooked Creek Road which I’d missed.

I carried on with a watchful eye. Good thing too, for it wasn’t another mile afore I chanced upon a gent walking the road toward me his riflegun clubbed, gamebag empty. I clutched my own firelock, checked the prime and began to whistle a tune, thinking not to startle the man and cause my own demise. The gentleman doffed his hat and admonished me for tarrying upon the path in the darkness. I assured him of my intent to meet with a party of hunters and inquired if he hadn’t come across them himself. As a matter of fact, he had passed a lone gentleman with a pirogue, not even a mile back. I thanked him for this bit of good news and bade him a good hunt of his own.

True to the gentleman’s word, less than a mile later I came upon my friend Dan Egener and his well stocked boat. Ah, a happier sight I’d not had in some time! Much relieved to have found him, I immediately settled myself and my small belongings into his pirogue and we set off in the direction Captain Jacobs had indicated. Had I thought it dark before? T’was nothing compared to the darkness of the creek bottom! My tired eyes were open wide and my ears strained for any sound of our friends. There was little talk between Dan and I as we concentrated upon our task.

Less than a mile into our journey things began to go badly. The pirogue, laden down with our supplies scrapped bottom on numerous occasions, causing us to pole the thing along more oft than paddling. Traveling became treacherous though there was no fear of turning over in the cold water which was at times only a few inches deep. Silently we struggled, each considering our folly and neither wanting to put voice to our fears. An hour slipped past, yet we had only traveled a tiny distance.

Finally, my voice broke the silence and I asked if perhaps I should signal with my firelock to see if our friends were nearby. Dan readily agreed and I balanced myself to fire the long gun. The rifle's crack nearly blinded and deafened us when my dear Lady of the Woods riflegun discharged. I reloaded and fired again, hoping for the immediate response of Captain Jacobs.

Silence once more enveloped us, there was no response in the dark night.

We carried on as best we were able until once more the dread scrape of the bow upon the shoals brought us to a complete halt. We sat. Grounded. He, no doubt, wondering why he’d foolishly waited for me. Me, hating myself for being the cause of such a mess. Both us, wondering how it could have been possible for the others to navigate through the shallow water? Heaving mightily we struggled together to back the little vessel off the shoals. Finally, we began to float mere inches above the mud. There seemed no other course than to turn around and return to the launch point. Thus, we put our backs and arms to the task, and as another hour slid into dark oblivion we arrived back where we’d begun.

Ironically, even though we’d literally gotten nowhere, we regained a positive outlook and determined to make the best of the situation. Back on shore we pulled our bedrolls and foodstuffs from the boat, laughing at the folly of trying to navigate in the dark. Soon a tiny crackling fire yielded bit of warmth and tea as we laid our plans for another attempt in the morn. After a very late night meal of jerked meat and hardboiled eggs, we bid each other sleep well and each turned in to our bedroll. Though the fire, laughter and pleasant conversation had warmed my spirits, afore long a chill set in which refused to leave for the days to come. Throughout the cold night I barely slept, my ears strained to hear the crack of Captain Jacob's firelock or even a hint of voices carried over the water, yet I heard nothing.

To be Continued in a future edition of On the Trail Magazine.

Death, Forgiveness, Strength, and Power

2011-10-24T22:26:00.000-05:00

Mark McCarter who left too soon. Photo by Ron Roundman Gholson

My thoughts of late have been rather influenced by the passing of too many souls. Some gone too soon, others who passed near the natural end of their days, and some who have been gone a long while and yet are still missed as though it were but yesterday. Eulogies seem to fall from our lips like rain from the sky. Too many words too oft spoke.

"Coming Home No More" painting by John Buxton
The loss of Anne's beloved first husband, Richard Trotter

Though some time has passed, our dear friend Hester Purefinder has been on my mind of late. She gave us all so much and her story keeps expanding. It is hard to believe she has been gone for over three years and still the stories of her life carry on. In life she gave me a glimpse of what could be done in a non-traditional role, and upon her death she reminded me how short our time on this earth is and how important it is to forgive those who have hurt us. I can not guess what my life would be like had I not attended her memorial service. Her ray of light touched me that day and she granted me the strength to reach out to someone whom I did not intend ever to speak with again. Her death truly made me realize how everything can change in an instant. Thanks Hester, I owe ya one, and every time I tell my story I am trying my utmost to pay you back and to pay it forward.

Colleen "Hester Purefinder" Gilbert from the Book of Faces - Steven Young Caudill

More recently, a good man tossed off the mortal coil and reached high to the heavens to be with his beloved. Gathered together, his friends and loved ones were much dismayed. Whispered questions flew. "By his own hand," they said. "God's choice not ours," they stammered. "Why?" they questioned. Yet, who are we to say, "It was too soon." "He had no right," or "How dare he?" How dare WE judge such matters?

Days are like gifts to some and pure torture to others, none of us can know the depths of another's soul. My friends, I am much humbled by this good man's act, and reminded to give thanks and forgiveness generously, for we know not the weight of our words and deeds. Each kind word, smile or gentle kindness given today may be that which is necessary to grant another but one more hour or one more day. Give gifts of kindness easily my friends and I beg you, give the kindest gift of all, readily, easily, and without being asked; Give the gift of forgiveness.

I remind myself of that word, forgiveness, as my thoughts turn to another sweet angel who carried the light from her mother's eyes up into the heavens. The only comfort I seem to be able to take in this loss is in knowing she is now in God's company, surrounded by those who have gone before. Yet, fury hot and loathsome burns still within my soul. For this dear one was snatched away as surely as a dove caught in the clutches of a horrendous and heartless boy. Tortured until she flew free at last away from hands which hurt her.

Fury burdens my soul for all of the helpless and the hopeless. Forgiveness does not figure easily into my heart in this matter and I can not resolve this anger, even knowing full well it only grants another power over me. For there in lies the secret, doesn't it? By allowing another to cause us anger or fear, we give them the very thing they most desire. I try to breathe deeply, and reach into the depths of all I have been given, all I have been taught, and all I believe in, and I ask God to help me and the many others who struggle with this kind of loss. I ask Him to help us to regain our strength, indeed to make us stronger for our loss

I truly believe He has set His angel free, she has gained her wings. Let her be an angel of God by our side, a guardian dear, reminding us she has been set free of all our mortal strife. She has much work ahead of her to light and guard, to rule and guide her little one, and all of us who need a guardian angel.

Abigail Parmer - Angel of God and Guardian Dear

September

2011-08-31T22:16:00.001-05:00

"September

It rained in my sleep

And in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery

Of the thunder of horses

In the morning the fields were strewn

With twigs and leaves

As if after a battle

Or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in the summer

I dreamed of rain

In the morning the fields were wet

And it was autumn"

Poem by Linda Pastan, from Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968 -1991 ©W.W. Norton & Company, 2009

Friends,

Thoughts of fine and shining times fill my mind on this eve of September, for not all which surrounds us is madness, war and the battle cry. There are moments of grace and beauty in the everyday if you but look to see. Look dear ones! Look upon children at play, a simply set table, a soft and comfortable place to rest, a basket of fresh eggs, a letter from a dear friend. A garden fresh with life, a harvest of much needed meat. Oh, my friends you’ve only but to look!

Original Painting by Mark Selter

Look in the everyday, the mundane, the simple, t’is there we find the clarity we seek. Glimpse my friends, at the many small and varied blessings which are bestowed upon us daily. Butterflies upon flowers, nature in all her glory, or a cool mountain stream. Look! Truly look upon your surroundings for t’is the simplest of these which grant us the necessary strength to carry us into battle. Is it not for these smallest treasures we fight?

The days shall surely soon grow colder, the savages shall surely make war upon us, and the nights will become long. But for this moment be well, be blessed, and please my dear ones, be thankful.

May all beings be happy and blessed.

Dare You Speak of Madness?

2011-06-27T20:32:00.004-05:00

Madness? You dare speak to me of madness? Dare you say the word out of my earshot and think ye I know not that which you say? You speak the word, but you know not of what you speak. Know you the terror of fire once used for warmth now burning all that you have loved? Have you heard the sound of a child’s cry for mercy where there is none?

Perhaps, your hand has caressed a lover’s cheek, only hours later to use the very same to clutch a bloody knife; ministering grace and death within moments of each other. Such are these times, knowing not what the morn may bring. Lying, head upon weary arms for scant hours, called upon too early to war against savages intent upon death and destruction. T’is pure madness which makes a widow’s tale of heartbreak and loss, the entertainment of others, yet t’is this very form of madness which seems my destiny.

image captured by Mark Selter http://www.markselter.com/

Dare I write words of love, of beauty? Of nights when the hearth fire burned bright, memories made, only to be lost to the sound of the muzzle’s blast on the morn. Shall I write of iridescent flowers dusted across the pasture. Of a shift white and sheer, gossamer as moth’s wings? Dare I write of urgently whispered words? Nay, not for fear of loss. All of this and more I feel! I have felt, and fear losing.

Yet, like moth to flame, drawn to fight the savage. To avenge all that has been lost. Madness. Yes. T’is surely madness, for there are times I feel others inside of my mind, inside of my heart, in my head screaming in fury for their revenge. T’is their hand at work whilst my rifle is raised; as my knife plunges.

Captured Moments by Ken Bentley

Image from Don Counts and the Book of Faces

These days and nights passed I have traveled far and wide. To the banks of Laughery Creek where savages tore through a homestead ripping a babe from the arms of her mother and the butt of my rifle took its toll upon a savage’s skull. Children tossed over painted shoulders, carried screaming from all they have ever known. Loss so deeply felt by a mother who stood amidst the carnage and chaos. Laughing madly, trying to wake the tiny lifeless babe she had moments before smothered at her breast to keep its cries quiet. Madness, you speak to me of such things? Have you been there flattened upon the grass holding strips of bandage to stanch the flow of ceaseless pumping blood? Have you seen the madness of a mother’s eyes as she recognizes her unwitting complicity in her child's death?

Image from Rebecca Waterman

This tragedy barely behind me, I pressed onward to Mr. Martin’s station for what was to be a sojourn of happiness with my dear Mr. Mains. I traveled once more with my friend Roundman and again, nary a stranger was met by my friend! All who were near became instant friends, pulled in by Ron’s humor and kindness. All but one, which remained untamed, and was duly relocated to a more suitable home!

Ah, to be in the arms of my love once more! Time nearly flew by with not nearly enough to satiate our desire to be together. T'is perhaps this, the most true madness; to be separated by hours, days, months and miles from the one whom we love most dearly!

And still even in this fine place the savage was never quiet! Little did we guess the Cherokee were watching us at the mid day whilst we walked aside waggoners Heindl & Linenkohl. I am grateful beyond belief the attack came only after my friends the Heasleys, Mr. Mains and Mr. Linnenkohl and Mr. Heindl and I were a safe distance to the walls of the fort.

Image by Amanda Evans and the Book of Faces

Captains Titus and Martin were spitting mad as men were deployed along the ramparts. I was granted a station at the wall gun, where I believe I turned back many a yellow dog with a bark much louder than any they bargained for!

Another image from the Book of Faces, via Chetworth del Gato

Yet still the dogs were successful in grasping within their evil limbs the most tender of lambs; the Doctor’s beautiful governess and her young charges, the Doctors four lovely daughters! One and all taken by the barbarians to the slaughter! And yet the good Doctor carried on, treating the wounded upon the field, ignorant of his pending doom.

From Amanda Evans - the Book of Faces

My own dear, dear friend Roundman was selected with a small group of men to press outside the walls of the fort to push the savages back. Imagine my terror upon finding he had fallen in the field, his musket clutched in his hands! Thankfully, but wounded! I could not imagine myself telling his dearest wife Jane of his loss! Fearing the words “burn the messenger!” I was most gladdened the Doctor was able to ascertain he would stand to fight again!

The day's raid upon Martin's Station subsided, though but a few hours later a wretched evening attack found me outside the walls in company with Captain Titus. Together in the gloaming we two seemed everywhere upon the field! The barrel of my fine smoothbore Lucky became hot to the touch as she sprayed her deadly fire upon the heathens of the night.

T’was a pure pleasure to find Mr. Boone, who had traveled so many many miles was at my back at all times, loaded and ready whilst I reloaded, and I firing whilst he shoved powder down the hot barrel of his own thunder stick. The battle raged, until Captain Titus’s sword sprang forth from its scabbard and he personally led the men in a final push to move the savages from the field. Their heinous black forms fading as shadows into the trees from whence they came.

image from the Book of Faces ~ Retha Elaine Reece

Captain Titus was kind enough to offer a glass of fine Madeira in his cabin as the final remains of the sun slipped behind the mountains. Candles were lit, sparkling glasses set upon the table and bottle uncorked. Together we toasted the fine young men who had fought so bravely, those who would not be coming home, and those who were fighting still. Though much refreshed from the Madeira I was longing for the comfort of my dearest as I begged leave of Captain Titus.

From the fort I passed the flames of another cabin which had been burned. Another frontier family found themselves homeless and lost upon the land; having lost more than the hard work to build the small cabin which burned like a beacon from Hell itself in the dark night.

Wearily, I lay in the arms of my love knowing full well we would part on the coming day. Our words, thoughts and deeds were those of two who could not get enough of one another. The dawning day brought forth shovels and the dead were buried beside the ashes of their lost cabins.

Captured by Adin Pemberton from the Book of Faces

The parson said a most touching and fine service for the gathered settlers and travelers garrisoned at Mr. Martin's Station, following which, a scant few moments were gathered during which Captain Titus and I were able to greet each other as dear friends.

Mr. Mains escorted me from the fort yard to do a bit of shopping and then a ride with the waggoner returned us to his cabin.

image provided by Mr. Carroll Ross

My dear friend Roundman came round to collect me from Mr. Mains cabin, knowing full well how much I hated to gather my scant belongings from the small cabin which is Mr. M's humble domain.

Our long journey away from Powell's Valley was filled with talk of our time spent, his narrow escape from the hands of death, and my simple happiness with love, and the sign of hope we'd been sent from heaven above at the close of the day.

My own travels continued, including a brief visit once more to the land of Friendship along Laughery Creek with my lovely friend Marie Blanche. Together we celebrated long into the night amongst friends not seen for a goodly long time.

Image from the Book of Faces ~ Jeri Vaughn

Sadly for us, though perhaps a blessing upon our unfortunate neighbors, our shining times did not last and but five days later I was sheltered within the walls of Fort Harrod whilst the damned savages taunted, hurling insults, fire and lead upon the fortifications.

image captured by Mark Selter http://www.markselter.com/

My good friends Mr. M. Ramsey, Mr. Burns, the Dunkelbergers, the Selters, the Heasleys, Mr. Hagee and his lovely wife were with us as were the dear Parson and his servant Maggie.

T'was so good to share time and a punch bowl with my friends! Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Kell, Mr. MacGillie, Mr. vonDielingen joined the Selters and I in partaking of the communal punch bowl. Ahhh, therein lies madness, partaken of willingly! T'was most fortunate the Parson had removed himself from the proceedings, lest a sermon would surly have followed upon the Sunday morn following!

image captured by Mark Selter http://www.markselter.com/

T’was pure pleasure having Mr. MacGillie back within our lands, his having traveled most far and wide in the days earlier. He spent a goodly amount of his time sewing a pair of moccasins for Mr. Kell, who will surely wear them out in but a few days. Ah well, yet another form of madness, to speak nothing of the great pleated sleeve generation of fellows being clad by this seamstress of the sand.

image from Luke MacGillie and the Book of Faces

I believe we three MacGillie, Kell and I shall travel to Mr. Martin’s station in the coming weeks and I shall be reunited once again with my dear Mr. Mains whom I adore and miss madly. I pray he is safe and sound cradled in Powell's Valley awaiting my return.

Nay, do not speak to me of madness, for surely you know not of what you speak.

Dreamland

2011-06-01T18:06:00.001-05:00

Dearest Readers,

I’ve only just knuckled the sleep out of my eyes this early morn; grasping my pen and paper hoping to gather the wisps of strange dreams from the night last afore they escape my mind. T’was a dream which started in the arms of my dearest Mr. Mains, an impossibility as he is so many many miles from me. I’ll not cause you to blush by sharing those details but t’was quite warming on this cool morning.

The sound of rushing water, a stream cobbled in sunlight, shadow and splashing white bubbles woke me from dreams within my dream.

Mr. M and I drank coffee and spoke words of love whilst sitting far above the water. The images changed in my mind and shifted to a place only accessible in dreams. Strangely, the two of us were now high in the trees with blooming mountain laurel below. The smell, even in my dream was intoxicating, but the view was truly magnificent.

Mr. Mains and I were strung up in some type of extraordinary apparatus and were flying through the air as if we were birds. These dream flights were so vivid and strong t’was as if it had been in real life!

I wondered if I had screamed in my bed as I had as I’d crossed valleys high above the tree tops. The worst moment had been when I had somehow missed grasping Mr. Mains hand and found myself flying backwards over the longest distance between one landing and another.

Within scant moments Mr. M’s strong arms were around me and together we pulled ourselves to a landing platform, my heart raced and I could hardly get my breath.

Again the dream shifted and I found myself once more aside a sparkling river surrounded by hundreds of fairie butterflies fluttering over a carpet of moss.

Upon waking my heart continued to soar and a smile remained upon my lips as I reached for pen and paper.

A tale of Pricketts Fort

2011-05-22T12:22:00.002-05:00

Gentle Reader please understand the disorder of my writings and grant me leave to step back a month or so in time that this tale of Pricketts Fort not be lost.

21 March

A warm breeze teased the hair from my cap and bird song spilled from the trees. The post rider placed a sealed dispatch from Mr. Bray of Pricketts Fort in my hand, awaiting my instant reply. Quickly I nodded beckoning the rider within my cabin and offering him water to quench his thirst, I penned my assent. The ink barely dry, the rider was off and I had a moment to contemplate this turn of events.

Though my intent had been to travel in the coming days far westward to the French fort deChartes, Mr. Bray’s urgent request had superseded my own preferences. I dashed off a letter of regret to my dear friends’ intent upon deChartes and notified them of this sudden and unexpected turn of events. Were it not for my high regard of Mr. Bray and the fort of his domain I’d surely not be altering my plans.

It seemed Mr. Bray would be playing host to a company of hunters, spies and scouts, each traveling far distances for a congress of sorts to determine their intent for the coming year. Such a congress as this would offer an opportunity for me to tell my story once more, perhaps influencing even one of these itinerant souls to take up the arms of Virginia to protect the innocent women and children of this wild land.

31, March
In the company of two good and likeminded men, my dear friends Roundman and Mr. Spooner I set off for Pricketts fort. Our travels were swift and smooth. Upon arrival at the fort gates the weather took a turn for the worse and a dreary fog and snow shrouded all but the banks of the river. Perhaps an ominous sign of what was to come? Indeed, memories of times past spent in this place swirled ephemerally through my mind leaving my thoughts in turmoil. A heartily hailed greeting interrupted my silent reveries.

My dear Mr. Browder, the fine proprietor of Long Hunter Leather Company settled my emotions within the strength of his arms as we greeted one another warmly. Rarely does one meet such a person who can with so few words calm inner storms merely by listening. A fine and dear friend indeed! We spoke briefly of mutual friends, our lives and our most recent travels.

Bob Browder, Longhunter Leather Company, image by Karen Garland

A short time later I announced myself to Mr. Bray and he conducted me to my quarters. A small cabin safe within the fort walls was to be mine. T’was a smallish cabin, yet what it lacked in size was surely made up in convenience, a much valued asset after having traveled so many miles. I dropped my bedroll and quickly ascertained a number of holes in the fortress walls would need to be filled to afford any protection whatsoever from rain, snow and prying eyes! This small problem was quickly overcome and a modicum of privacy resulted; another valued asset particularly when garrisoned amongst so many men of questionable origin!

Many friendships which had languished in the year of our separation were renewed and it was a fine thing indeed to see so many friends in good health and fine spirits. Yet there remained one whom I’d not yet spied amongst those assembled. My hearts turmoil once more returned, for I had not seen Mr. Mains since the time we had spent at the Blue Licks many months past and we had not left under good terms.

Time seemed mercilessly slow as I kept an eye toward the fort gates. Suddenly, there he was. My heart took a leap and a smile unbidden rushed to my lips. The pull of my heart toward his was undeniable, yet my head still said “no.”

Fortunately, mutual friends came along and we were both caught up in other conversations. There was word a few traders from the east had arrived and I was looking forward to meeting them. Indeed, t’was not long afore Mr. Galban, Mr. Hersee, Mr. Stout and Mr. Privott made their presence known. Further, I discovered Mr. N. Kobuck had arrived as well. The conversations quickly turned loud and laughter rang from the walls of the common house. Tales oft told were brought out once more and new stories from old friends blended together into a hum of contentment.

The gentlemen and longhunters found they had much in common and seemed to go on for hours on the pleating of sleeves, stroud cloth versus buckskin for leggings and even a word or two was heard of a foreign item they called a loading block…. Late into the evening we laughed and carried on. I made my way to my cabin well before the men had stopped their incessant talk of sewing, stitching and just the right materials. I noted Mr. Mains was well aware of my departing as I reached the common house door and headed toward my cabin.

Alone and much chilled, my blankets and the canvass draped around my bunk did little to keep me warm. Wind, snow and rain came through the rough walls of my cabin and even up through the floor. T’was a long night full of twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, I wished I’d not forgotten my soapstone bed warmer. The morning came with little relief from the cold or the damp, though my dear dear friend Roundman had made coffee which warmed me some. His jests and humor brought a smile and some warmth as well.

Just as I threw my head back and laughed so heartily I nearly lost my cap, I caught sight of Mr. Mains coming from the fort yard. My laughter caught in my throat as I saw the huge grin break across his face. He strode up saying it did his heart good to see me laughing. Roundman filled Jesse’s coffee mug and we all stood around telling jokes, poking fun at each other and teasing. A bit later it was time to go visit with our good friend Mr. C. Brown who was tanning some hides in the back of the fort yard. Though the customary smell assaulted my nose, it caused a great smile to see Mr. Brown who was looking quite well. A rather large crowd gathered as Charlie shared and demonstrated the secrets of his tanning skills. I was much pleased to show Mr. Brown the fine shot bag Mr. Mains had made for me of the hide I’d gotten from Charlie the year past. T’is a fine bag, nicely done and I’m greatly proud of it.

Speaking of shooting, Mr. Michael Seidelman spent the better part of an hour and a half talking about Carolina tradeguns, showing a number of his creations including one I dearly fell in love with; the Bumford gun which is covered in vines and flowers of ink. Truly this may be something I must have Mr. Seidelman make for me, ti’s so beautiful!! Mr. Kobuck’s nearly infamous Type G blue gun was also on display and much admired.

Time seemed to fly by and late in the afternoon I found myself in the common house with friends Mr. and Mrs. McClellan. We talked beside the fire for a few minutes and were lightly interrupted by Mr. Mains who joined us, asking me if I’d mind braiding his hair. My heart jumped into my throat! How could he ask that I touch his hair, knowing full well t’is a weakness of mine!
A smart reply came to my lips, but was beaten by Mrs. McClellan who asked if he was sure certain he thought that would be a good idea. We all laughed, but I can say that was perhaps the tightest braid his hair had known in a good long time! Nearly causing his eyes to pull back from one another like a Chinaman! That task done I retired to my cabin to catch my breath. The cool air felt good upon my cheeks as I quickly walked the short distance from the common house to my cabin.

Tears burst to my eyes as I entered the small room, for there upon the very center of my bunk sat the most beautiful bouquet of dogwood flowers. Knowing full well they were from my dear Mr. Mains I sat upon a small box and let the tears fall freely. This small gift nearly broke my heart. For though he had once told me he was a helpless romantic, none of his actions hitherto had demonstrated such a thing. Now, just when I’d forsaken him from my head, my heart was reaching out to his once more.

The sun fell below the mountains in the distance and the coolness of the evening sent me to sit beside a fire in the fort yard. I spent a pleasant few minutes with Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Galban and Mr. Stout. It seems Mr. Stout is soon to be a father! I wished him much luck with this, but he mentioned he is already well versed in fatherhood as this is his second child. Things then took a turn for the greatly unexpected as Mr. Galban launched into a grave warning against child hurling monkeys! For yes, it seems Mr. Galban is quite hateful in regard to all things having to do with monkeys. He was oft quoted the remaining days for saying “I’m a grown ass man and I hate monkeys, so deal with it!” Who would have suspected such vehemence for a creature so rarely, if ever seen in these parts of the world!

The mid day found Mr. Privott, Mr. Buxton and a few others highly involved in skinning a poor pitiful pair of squirrels. Their antics were much discussed, viewed, criticized and praised by the men gathered round.

Misters Ehlert, Ginglebach, and Baker conversed with Joseph, probably telling him he has pretty hair.

The evening chilled even more and darkness began to cover the land. Mr. Mains came out of the common house to gather a bit of fire wood and I removed myself from the crowd to thank him for my fine gift. Though it was quite dark I believe I felt, if not saw the heat of his blush. Together we went into the common house and though there were many people gathered inside I had eyes only for him.

A huge dinner was prepared by all in attendance and I brought out the cake I’d baked just for this event. The cake was a full 12 pounds, and I had every hope it would hit its mark with at least one gentleman. Dinner was quite delicious and there was only a tiny bit of the 12 pound cake after the line of men had cleared. The room was further cleared for dancing when the musicians of Morgan’s Glade began to set up their instruments. Roundman claimed the first dance and brought as many folks to the floor as he was able to convince. I was much delighted to see Mr. Mains return to the dance looking fine in his jacket, breeches and even a neck stock of black. Roundman spun me round the room and into Mr. Mains arms.

Together we faltered momentarily before laughing and joining into the dance as best we were able. After a few turns on the dance floor Mr. M and I stepped outside to cool down in the slight drizzle. Lamenting my skills as a dancer, Mr. Mains attempted to teach me the steps of the waltz as the the strains of the music wafted out the open door of the common house. Rarely if ever have I been caught up in such a romantic moment! Yet, somehow we remained a respectable arms length away as we danced in the rain.

Late into the night we talked and laughed in the common house. As the crowd dwindled to just the eastern boys, Jesse and myself I saw the cake dregs scraped from the pan and it wiped entirely clean. Funny how that pan seemed much like the dregs of resistance from my mind! As the fellows began to settle into their blankets Jesse and I determined it would be foolish for me to return alone to my cold cabin. Rather it seemed more sensible to retrieve my blankets, and to sleep beside Mr. Mains and the warmth of the common house fire. Throughout the night the men’s snores resonated through the room, including the sound of Mr. M’s teeth grinding. A loud, but warm and pleasant night ended as the sun rose in the eastern sky.

T’was a sweet morn waking to the sounds of the snores of those still sleeping, but perhaps the sweetness was merely waking next to Mr. Mains who was looking directly into my eyes when I awoke. A breakfast of ham and biscuits was placed into my hands by my dear Roundman along with a cup of coffee. A good bit of teasing was given as to my choice of sleeping locations, but t’was all good natured.

Mr. Rundorf and others who were neighbors to Roundman, Doug Spooner and Jeff Beaver took part in the morning coffee. Little did I know Mr. Rundorf was the writer of a fine book Defending the Backcountry: Recreating the Spies and Scouts of the Trans-Appalacian Frontier! His presentation was most interesting, speaking of brave spys such as Sam Brady and the forts of the back country. Mr. Rundorf has made quite a study of the pension applications of many a spy and scout and gleaned much useful information. I’ve no doubt he’ll be a good man to know in the coming days. Mr. Heresee, who may oft be found at Old Fort Niagara, too made an excellent presentation of information about such characters as Simon Girty and "hair buyer" Hamilton and their exploits in and around Detroit.

A walk along the river soothed my troubled mind and I thought ever so much on the question of Mr. Mains and my relationship. True, he had demonstrated his continued strong feelings for me, had not given up in the face of adversity, yet still my head said no. My feet carried my along the bank of the river until I arrived at a small graveyard. Walking amongst the stones I thought on the lives which had been cut short and those who had lived long and yet still found themselves alone in a field of green. Regrets seemed a waste of time, time alone when longing for another seemed foolish and my heart began to prevail upon my mind.

A short time later I returned to the gathering hall whereupon Mr. M. A. Baker told of the romance of the natural man. His words were well received by all assembled! A short time later Mr. Kobuck and Mr. Privott demonstrated for all who were gathered the art and mystery of tattoo. Even to the extent that Mr. K gave Mr. Privott his arm and allowed Mr. Privott to stab him repeatedly delivering ink into his extremity! T’was quite horrendous and fascinating all at the same time!

Mr. Baker took the stage once more and spoke further of the Sons of a trackless Forest. I regret I was unable to stay to hear all of his words, as I had been called upon to tell my own sad story.

I determined I would not speak in the same hall as the fine gentlemen before me had, but rather would draw all who were interested into the common house. I would tell my story before a fire, in the dark and smallness of a cabin rather than the bright light of the center stage. Shortly after four on the clock the men began filing into the common house. I noted with some sense of pride Roundman and Mr. Mains had attained front row seats for themselves.

Sweeping ash, dirt and debris from the hearth I began my story, looking out beneath the tears which coursed down my face I noted there were few dry eyes before me. My story complete I was much gratified to see every man rise to his feet and applaud the telling of my tale. A gentleman introduced himself and asked if he might someday paint my image for others to see. Much honored I gave Mr. John Buxton my leave to do so if he wished. Worn thin by the telling, I returned to my cabin.

Mr. Mains stepped inside shortly upon my return. I turned to him as he said he had a question to ask. His question contained no words. He merely leaned toward me. The answer he was looking for was quickly on both of our lips as I fell into his arms. He held me tightly to him and the pounding of my heart drowned any last vestige of reluctance. A feeling of rightness and of wholeness came instantly as I wrapped my arms around him. The remainder of the night we were not parted and the small cabin which had previously been so chilly became quite warm. Morning came too soon and it was time for us to once more depart each other’s company. This parting came with the knowledge we’d soon be together once more at Mr. Martin’s Station in but a few weeks time and held none of the misery and uncertainty of our departure at the Blue Licks.

My heart sang during the long journey home, for it had found it’s mate once more. Time shall tell what it will, but for the time that we have, we should be happy! Travel safely my friends and enjoy each step of the way, fear not to turn back when a misstep has been taken. For perhaps, in turning back you shall go further.

Blessings

The Next Chapter

2011-05-17T21:33:00.000-05:00

17, May

Dearest ones,

It is my great regret not to have written of all the many happenings of the month past. I humbly beg your forgiveness. Perhaps you’ll grant it when my tale today is done?

Those who are closest to me know of the sadness which has filled my heart these many months. My morose countenance was only bested by the melancholy nature of my writing. My dearest ones, I beg your indulgence as I write of things which weighed heavily upon my heart and mind.

Many months ago a parting of company took place. A parting from which I thought I’d readily recover. Yet, day after day, it pulled on my heart and brought naught but sorrow to me. The breaking of my heart was of my own doing, yet knowledge of my reasons made it not one bit easier to abide. Och, who here among you has not chosen wrongly? Yet, how few are granted the chance to make it right?

My dearest held on. Aye, held on with strong hands, a sharp mind and an open heart. Our daily correspondence became the ties which bind; his words were matched by his deeds and when asked a small question with no words, my heart and my lips flew to his.

T’is my greatest pleasure to share with you, we shan’t be parted so readily again. One knows not what the future holds, yet of this I am certain; we shall face it together as partners, separate yet equal, stronger each by the other, with grace, humor (much humor!) and humility. I forsake imperiousness, eschew ego and offer nothing but myself.

My friends, your listening ears have given me strength, your words of kindness have been heartfelt and your prayers on our behalf have been heard. To say a simple thank you seems impossibly inept, yet there are no other words to offer you. I most humbly and sincerely thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

The words I wish to say to my dearest Mr. Mains are private and shan’t be shared even with the closest of you. But know ye, they begin with “I am sorry,” and end with “I love you.”

Suzanne

Cairns

2011-03-27T13:53:00.004-05:00

A Letter!

"27 March

Dearest Anne,

Whilst traveling in the far west I had the fortune to travel a pathway defined by rock cairns. These wonders of western travel are created by travelers stacking rocks one upon another. They are a symbol to guide those who would otherwise not know the way.

Each magnificent rock cairn is devised by the strength and knowledge of many, the power of one, and a careful balance of similar but differing objects. Traveling unknown paths with the assistance of these stately sisters lends me comfort without distraction, care without smothering and an understanding others have traveled these roads, each leaving their mark. As I travel the paths of my future I seek these simple structures and pause to add my own small stones. Each stone I name, as I place it atop its sisters; Balance, Strength, Unity, Care and Concern. Gently each stone stacks upon another, held in place not only by its own symmetry, but by the oddities of those which have been placed before.

There are however times when even the gentlest hand placed most lovingly and carefully causes the whole cairn to crumble and the process must begin again. Not by the hand of one, but by many who must assemble a new structure stone by stone each placed in their own time and manner.

Dear friend, I know it is hard to imagine a land so free of trees that markings are not easily made in our usual manner, but I must tell you of the remarkable beauty such expanses hold. I take great comfort in knowing God fills the spaces we cannot. These small cairns seem to be reminders we are not alone in our travels and there will always be some manner of knowing the right path.

Be well and safe in your own travels dear one, I know you are off to Pricketts Fort in the next days. Give our best to those who know us.

Your loving friend,

Suzanne"

A walk alone

2011-02-06T15:47:00.007-06:00

Once more the sky reflects a grim visage and the world beyond my small cabin seems quite gray. Though I have been in the company of good friends these days passed, I cannot help but feel quite alone. Perhaps t'is but a mindset, yet in truth, is fact.

I set forth for the Spring Mill in the early hours amid gathering snow clouds. Within minutes snow poured from the sky in chunks large as your fist settling quickly upon rock, tree, and trail.

Traveling became difficult and our progress was greatly slowed; regardless I came to the destined place and joined with others of the Seven Years War Organization. T'was with true pleasure I encountered the Parson and dear Maggie.

Though there was but a small crowd of people about, the Parson once more insisted upon Maggie that she tell her tale of the years since she left her dear Ireland.

I cannot begin to give justice in my words to the depth of Maggie's story of woe and strife, and once more I found myself unable to staunch the flow of tears. Perhaps t'was this tale which caused me to be morose in my own thoughts, for afterward I felt quite unfit for the company of others and set off from the lodge for a walk in the crisp winter air.

Foolishly leaving my rifle behind, I set out to wandering the nearby hillside. Not wishing to sully my dancing shoes for the evening to come, I wore my favorite wool lined moccasins which, though quite warm, gave no purchase for footing upon the layer of ice which crusted over the snow.

Still, the cool air upon my wet cheeks felt good and the exertion of a fast walk was good not only for me physically, it began to clear my mind as well. I took time to observe the beauty in which I was surrounded and took great joy in Mother Nature's handiwork.

Quite enthralled with my study of the area I gave less attention to my footing and was brought quite suddenly back to reality as my feet lurched out from under me and I began to slide down the hill. Surely then didn't I wish I'd worn more beneath my petticoats! Ice and snow gathered up as far as the waistband of my wool petticoats and quickly began to melt between my shift and skin leaving me quite literally chilled to the bone, not to mention quite certain I'd have blue and black reminders of this little trip for days to come.

Further, and of much - MUCH greater immediate concern was the sound which accompanied my fall. A sound of such depth and ferocity I knew exactly from whence it had come, a cougar! Reports had been made of such a creature in the vicinity and hearing it so close by set my heart racing! Knowing as I do, the tendency of these animals not to stalk their prey, but rather to lay in wait along an active game trail with the intent of taking opportunity as it presents itself; I suddenly felt as though I'd presented myself as an opportunity!

Picking myself up, brushing the snow off the best I was able, I checked the location of my knives, realizing they were my only protection. I set off with great purpose in my steps returning quickly to the lodge, feeling as though I'd had perhaps a closer brush with nature than intended!

Returning to my cozy room within the lodge, I replaced the sodden wool petticoats and shortgown with a pretty polonaise gown, dressed my hair and appeared just in time for dinner and gala. Having neither escort nor dance partner, and still feeling a bit of the earlier melancholy I did not stay late into the evening. Early this morning we conducted our business affairs, I acting as proxy for Captain Wulff on behalf of Wulff's Rangers and upon conclusion of our congress, I returned home to my cabin, once more alone.

Vivication

2011-01-25T11:59:00.010-06:00

Snow lies upon frozen ground while dense fog gathers all into its ethereal grasp
and all seems lost within the gloom.

Yet, just beneath the surface, nestled within the fragrant soil, a tiny seed stretches forth,
hair like tendrils grasp and take hold

Above, grey clouds disperse and the suns warming rays burn through the fog and melt the dingy remnants of snow

Cool water seeps and sifts through the soil and drenches the tiny seed in nutrients

the hard outer shell breaks free of the seed and new life springs forth

Snowflakes and Diamonds

2011-01-12T12:34:00.005-06:00

16, January

My Dearest Friends,

There is no doubt the harshness of the winter season has set in with force. A strong constitution is surely required to withstand the onslaught these freezing winds and snow. One can barely recall the heat of summer or the golden days of autumn.

Memories slip through my mind of the past year and many shining times. More so now than ever before, I feel shining times are like snowflakes and diamonds, they melt quickly away and their memories last forever. Och, we are too caught up in the darkness of winter's drear!

We must take heart, for soon we shall travel to Fort deChartes in the company of our dear friend Mistress Storey to join a small gathering of like minded women. No doubt there shall be much laughter, entertainments and food to warm our hearts and fill our bellies! Further, the 29th a grand ball is to be held at the Fraizer along the banks of the Ohio. To this fine festivity Miss Katherine and I shall go, likely staying once more with our friends Mr. Medley and Miss Becky.

A glance toward our planned engagements reveals much to be enjoyed through the coming year. No doubt these cold dreary days of winter will slip by and we shall emerge into the spring fresh and renewed!

January

22 deChartes Womens Weekend

29 Fraiser Ball

February

5 Seven Years War Congress & Ball

12 Mad Anne to tell her story at Fort Boonesborough Fireside Chat

19 Conner Long Rifles Indoor Tradeshow

March

5 Mad Anne to tell her story at the Sons of the American Revolution Ohio Valley Chapter in Evansville

12 Mad Anne to tell her story at Blue Licks's Faces of the Frontier

19 Kalamazoo tradeshow

April

2 deCharte Spring Gathering

16 NMLRA National Womens Shoot and Rendezvous

May

7 Lore of the Laughery

14 Raid upon Martins Station

28 Quabash Valley Frontiersman Rendezvous

June

4 Mad Anne to tell her story at the Highland Games

11 Women on the Frontier or NMLRA Friendship Shoots

18 Mad Anne to tell her story at Fort Harrod

July

Mad Anne Will be Off the Trail in July

August

6 Not so Grande Valley Shoot

13 Pirates of Paynetown

20 Battle of Blue Licks and CLA

27 Fort Miamis

September

3 Menominee Rendezvous or Fair at New Boston

10 Long Run Massacre

17 Koh-Koh-Mah and Foster

24 Siege of Boonesborough

October

8 Mississinewa 1812

15 Thunder Creek Rendezvous

22 Gathering at 5 Medals

29 Locust Grove

November

5 Tanners Station, deChartes or Kentucky Woodsmans Weekend

My dearest ones, know you are often in my thoughts, dreams and prayers. Winter well, we shall meet again one day; until then be safe and take care.

Hunting III of III

2010-12-25T13:03:00.010-06:00

3 December

Darkness fell upon us while dense grey clouds blotted out both sun and moon as the sky above transitioned from day into night. We would have found a bed of boughs beneath one of the many tall pines had not the import of our messages necessitated carrying on. Lieutenant Colonel Williamson had entrusted a packet of letters to us to be delivered personally into the hands of Lord Manningham, thought to be traveling near the Big Raccoon River. Lord Manningham had confessed to Lt.Col. Williamson his interest and curiosity in the ways of the savages and the men who traded with them in this new frontier which was so unlike his own. Thus Manningham had departed from his regiment, servants, and all who knew him, to join company with an Indian trader; Captain Jacobs. Having traveled a time or two with Captain Jacobs ourselves, Williamson had known we could be trusted to find the pair out in this bleak wilderness. Huge snowflakes began to descend with unbelievable rapidity and soon the ground beneath our horse’s hooves was covered in white.

We traveled onward knowing Captain Jacobs was well familiar with this land and would likely be found afore much longer. Alongside the river a small encampment was spied, a tiny fire with a lone figure huddled beneath his matchcoat gave indication my destination had been reached. Quite surprised were we when just a bit further we spotted a solitary Indian lodge lit from within with the warm orange glow of a fire. Tired, wet and cold as we were, the warmth of either looked inviting. The lodge opened to reveal an Indian man who approached cautiously. In reasonably good English he addressed himself as Makinak, friend of Lord Manningham and Captain Jacobs, known also by the whiteman’s name of LeRoy.

Although our natural inclination is of intense hatred and distrust of all red men, we recognized this man’s sincerity and goodness of heart. Further, he indicated by hand sign and word it was Lord Manningham’s request and wish we join company with these men for a hunt upon the morrow. Even as we spoke, Captain Jacobs came forward and added his welcome to the camp. Immediately we were comforted and convinced to join this small company in their intent. As there was plenty of room within Mackinac’s warm lodge we were welcomed to stow our bedroll and small belongings within and make ourselves comfortable. Moisture had permeated nearly every fiber of our clothing during the heavy snow and the warmth of a fire and the dryness of his lodge enticed us to set aside our natural inclinations.

Lord Manningham returned from his explorations and immediately we placed Williamson’s correspondences into his hands. A dark look passed over Manningham’s countenance as he read news from Captain Peter Hogg of additional desertions. Manningham nearly tossed the letter into the fire at the nerve of Hogg to submit additional receipts for Beeves to Mr. Walker, who is now appointed Commissary for Washington’s Expeditions. Once we passed these dark moments the remainder of evening passed quickly, and soon the quiet outside and the reflection of the fire upon the walls of the lodge lulled us to sleep.

4 December

Teeth chattering with cold and an intense desire for the warmth of hot coffee we awoke to complete and total darkness. Feeling around in the darkness we came upon a few pieces of wood, tossed them upon the scant bed of coals and blew them to life. Not creating sufficient light nor warmth another piece of wood was placed upon the small beginnings of our fire. While tending to the necessities for coffee an unusual smell came to our nose, when suddenly Makinak sprung from his sleeping pallet and lifted from the now roaring fire a flaming piece of wood, lifted the lodge door and flung the offending piece out into the snow. Not comprehending the intentions of these sudden movements we reached for the comfort of a cold knife handle at our belt. Lord Manningham too was reaching for a weapon when Makinak began laughing for all the world as though the funniest thing ever had happened. We are most embarrassed and ashamed to admit WE were the source of Makinak’s humor. For it seems in our haste to make a fire for our desperately needed coffee we had somehow mistaken our friend Makinak’s moccasin for a piece of firewood!

Manningham roared with laughter and Makinak nearly fell over holding his stomach laughing and complaining loudly wanting to know why the noble crazy woman wanted to burn his moccasin? Was this a new whiteman tactic to slow the red man? Was it not possible for the mad woman to know the difference between a moccasin and piece of firewood?

We huddled into the warmth of our blankets wishing only to pull them up over our head completely! Gads! How was it possible we had mistaken the moccasin for wood?? We thought back just a few moments passed and wondered, had not that particular piece felt somehow different?? Nay, in our befuddled, cold and coffee deprived early morning state one piece had felt entirely the same as any other! Suddenly fear crept into our heart – would the man have any other footwear? By the glimpse out the lodge door it was clear the snow was easily four to five inches deep!

Fortunately our friend had two more pair of heavy winter moccs, those burned being merely an old pair used to slip on easily in the night for a call of nature. Rarely had we ever been more pleased for the comfort of a red man! Nay, he would not go about into the woods for our hunt shoeless, thank the merciful heavens!

Our morning thus begun with good humor, t’was destined to prevail throughout the day. Upon completion of our scant breakfast we set upon the woods in search of future meals. The night’s snow had made land and sky nearly the same color with only the bleak forest trees as relief between the two. Even the trees carried a load of snow upon every branch and stray leaf. Together Manningham, Makinak and I set off carrying our weapons loaded and ready. In the night another traveler had joined our small group; Robert of the Virginia Light Horse brigade. Having risen earlier than ourselves he had already set upon a deer trail in hopes of success.

As we slogged our way through the deepening snow the warmth of camaraderie was the only relief from the cold. After a few hours we caught sight of a lovely buck as he lifted his head from browsing, however he was quicker than I and he ran off afore our riflegun was fully lifted to shoulder. Not being certain of the distance of the shot in any case, we were none to upset by his quick departure. We attempted to head him off by trudging up a nearly vertical hillside, yet he was indeed much faster than I and we only found his tracks.

Shortly after this bit of excitement we determined twas surely a good time to return to the warmth of the lodge for a bit of a meal and to check in with our friends Rob and Captain Jacobs. None had known success afield and all were wet through to the skin. Fire, food and coffee did much to revive both stomach and spirit and soon enough we were once more afield. Captain Jacobs and Rob accompanied us up an enormous hillside which gave cause for serious concern were one to begin a sliding! Though the area was most clearly used as a corridor for the deer we so vehemently sought, none were willing to show themselves regardless of our stealth or desire. Upon the setting sun we returned once more to the warmth of the lodge empty handed but for my fine riflegun.

5 December

The morning sun found us within the trees, hidden beneath a well used cedar marked heavily with a buck’s favor. The sparkling of the sun’s rays twinkled over every snowflake giving the appearance of a fairy land, all quiet but for the rustling of bird, squirrel and mouse. Hours passed, a chill set in and once more t’was time to return to our home. Taking leave of these men whom I so admire was trying, yet the knowledge that we would again join forces was comforting. Alone and homeward bound we found ourselves laughing once more at the great moccasin mishap! T’is times such as these which will surely warm our hearts over the long and cold winter.

Edited to reflect the correct spellings of our dear friend Makinak/LeRoy's name.

Hunting II of III

2010-12-12T18:35:00.022-06:00

22 November

Again, these words must be writ, much to my chagrin: We return, once more empty handed, but for my fine riflegun.

A few nights past, Mr. Mains and I met at a predestined crossing in the trails on the way to Mr. and Mistress Selter’s cabin. As always, my heart was much gladdened to join company with Mr. Mains, even if his misplacement of razor has left him a bit shaggier than I prefer.

Through the knobs and bottoms of Caintuckee we traveled round bend and curve until we caught our first glimpse of the Selter’s barn, buildings, and finally their cozy small cabin. Each seemed perfectly tucked into the wooded landscape. Moonlight reflected the tallest knob in a lovely pond and candlelight twinkled in the windows of their charming cabin.

Before we even were able to wrap upon the cabin door we were greeted by Mr. Selter, his fine dog, and then dear Mistress Selter. All were well and happy and we were quite delighted to join the cozy scene. Angela (for she and Mark insist upon use of their given names) had anticipated our late arrival with a large kettle of the most delicious potato soup, a bit of bread and even cookies. Tea was served and the three of us talked long into the night.

The gentlemen retired outside to smoke their pipes beside a crackling fire. Angela and I couldn’t help but join them with hot steaming mugs of tea, admiring a million brilliant stars shining through the nearly barren trees. Soon plans and strategies for the morrow’s hunt were all we spoke of. Returning to the cabin, slightly chilled by the coolness of the evening, yet much warmed in conversation, we bid the Selters sleep well as they settled into their loft whilst we remained before the fire below. Anticipation of the hunt and pleasure in each other’s company kept Mr. Mains and myself awake a bit longer, until finally, with moonlight streaming through the windows, sleep overtook us.

The aroma of hot coffee delighted my senses as we awoke and soon Mr. Mains was found preparing backstrap deer steaks whilst Mr. Sel – Mark, whisked eggs together. Ah, yes, deer steak from my dearest… for my dear Jesse had not been entirely unlucky in my absence. A good-sized buck had fallen to the crack of Splitnose, providing much meat for the Mains family and a good bit for us to enjoy as well.

Having in my pocketbook a recent letter sent from Mr. Mains describing his hunt, I smoothed its tattered pages, hoping to glean a bit of knowledge, or perhaps just for luck, I read the letters contents once more;

I'm happy I finally got a good-sized buck (out of near 60 deer I've taken this is only the 10th. with any measurable antler whatsoever, the rest of those have been a skinny racked 9 ptr, a little basket racked, 2 5ptrs., a teeny 7 ptr. & the other 5 were spikes and fork-horns.)

I'd be REAL happy if I'd found the doe I was blood trailing when he came along, made a bad shot on her and never found her, looked until 2 am Saturday night and from 8 am till about 3:30 pm on Sunday, last I found was a bed where she dripped two tiny blood droplets and shed a couple more belly hairs about 400 yds. from where I shot her. Third or fourth time that's happened to me in 24 years of killing these things and it gets worse every time....., and I really hate knowing the coyotes might get a free lunch, but there is the comfort of knowing nothing that dies ever truly goes to waste I reckon. I think Josey Wales had something to say about that.

That buck probably spent the last three hours or so of his life thinking he finally figured out how to "grin" another buck to death. Andy Wright (another guy who hunts there along with his son Tim) watched this buck and a basket racked 8 (clearly with more guts than sense!!!) fight for about 10 minutes that morning, at one point they were staring each other down and he had a clear shot to one of 'ems shoulder (he couldn't tell which was which at 80 yards through the trees) and he busted the 8 right through both shoulders, whereupon this buck proceeded to "put the boots to him" while he was down going through his death throes. Nature red in tooth and claw, eh? That 8 did get one good lick in though, this deer had a fresh in & out puncture wound on his left hindquarter.

This buck came along around 10:30-:45 or so while I was on my hands and knees looking for blood from that doe, he was clearly heading somewhere at a trot, mouth open and a-panting, tried getting him to stop, even yelled at him, but ended up swinging my sights with him and touching it off as he crossed an open spot. After the shot the first word that popped in my head was "gouts", in description of the literal sheets of blood coming out both sides of him. I never saw such a blood trail, hit him top-dead-center through both lungs and that bubbly vermillion-red stuff sprayed 8-10 feet to either side of him, 6 -7 feet high on trees in some spots, you coulda literally found him "blindfolded and barefooted". And he still went 450 yards!!!!! The last thirty yards or so the blood just stopped cold, and there wasn't a heckuva lot left in him when we field dressed him. Don't know what he weighs, but his backstraps measured 35" long, each hindquarter weighs about 28 pounds, and I took 11-12 pounds of 2 inch thick tallow off his rump, back, brisket, and from inside along his tenderloins, he had a belly full of acorns and a little bit of corn from the farm to the north of the Young farm, you could surely tell he was in prime condition for the rut which'll be starting soon, from what we saw there is some serious pre-rut activity going on right now!

With my letter safely tucked back within my pocketbook and with full bellies, we set forth with

loaded rifles to gather more of winter’s necessary provisions. As he is wont to do, Mark acted both as pathfinder and artist upon our hunt. No longer choosing to carry arms, Mr. Selter instead carried the necessary items to capture moments in time.

Our dear friend Mistress Larner had most recently sent us a lengthy letter strongly suggesting she, Mistress duPont and Miss Katherine are quite taken with Mark’s talents as artist. Ach, our heart aches at the memory of his painting entitled “Farewell,” a vividly rendered memory of his and Angela’s departure from one another. T’is quite stunning.

Once more, the dry Autumn leaves betrayed nearly each step. Further, just as we approached a lovely hillside, a shifting wind blew our scent toward a small group of deer, causing them to snort, stomp their feet and finally to throw up their white tails, and run giving no chance of a good shot. Not having seen deer in our previous hunt, even this fruitless encounter caused me to take heart. Wiser to the shifting winds and somewhat emboldened, we continued on, our weapons readied. Hours passed quickly as we measured each step against the promise of a kill.

Noontime found the three of us settled in for a bit of conversation, coffee and jerky. Mr. Mains quickly had the fire burning whilst I took the opportunity to sew a small bag to contain Mr. Selter’s tobacco tin. Refreshed from our break we set off.

Mr. Mains split off from us for a short time to explore the higher side of the knob and was rewarded by the sight of ten or fifteen does. A shot was taken and we searched the area until dark yet were unable to locate a bit of hair or blood to indicated the shot was true, though Mr. M did feel quite certain in it’s placement.

Much disheartened, we returned to the Selter’s small cabin, where we dined once more upon soup. Our days walk, the tension of hunting and the steep knobs had all taken their toll and this evening found all tucked snug and warm inside our blankets earlier than usual.

Moonlight shone through the windows, perfectly balanced with the lightening sky to the east, as we enjoyed our morning meal. It was determined Mark and Jesse would return to the knob to search for any possible sign of the previous day’s doe, whilst I would take my own path through the bottoms around the ponds.

Alone, I traveled quietly the wanderings of deer tracks freshly made. Only the tiny sounds of chipmunks, mice, and squirrels combined with the breeze as we stepped carefully, always searching for the smallest glimpse of grey/brown.

Upon hearing Splitnose’s distinctive crack, but a few hundred yards away, and knowing the likelihood of their activity spurring our prey toward us, we took a knee and waited.

No sign or sound greeted me for nearly three quarters an hour and thus we carried on toward Mr. Mains and Mr. Selter.

Words cannot easily describe the mixture of emotions so deeply felt upon arriving at the scene of Mr. Mains kill. Relief, joy, thrill and pleasure battled, much to my regret, with sorrow, jealousy and a deep seated lack of self confidence beset my mind. As these many feelings raced through my heart and mind they were also, unbeknownst to me, quite clearly displayed upon my face and captured perfectly by Mr. Selter’s artful hand.

This being no time for self contemplation we disengaged from Mr. Mains’ arms and began to assist in the field dressing and necessary preparations. With only a few short hours of time remaining to hunting we set off alone for the farthest height of the knobs.

Walking quickly up the steep hillside, legs burning and heart pumping with the exertion, tears coursed freely and unchecked down my face. Questions raged through my mind, what was I doing wrong, what was wrong with me, why was I unable to accomplish this most important task? Was I too loud, did I not observe my surroundings, was I completely incapable? Was the smell of smoke which pervaded my clothing giving me away? Was my Leo’s ego being taught a lesson from the universe? My lack of confidence gave way to heaving sobs as I sat upon the highest point of the knob, overlooking the most beautiful landscape. Afore long, this cathartic moment passed and once more we were ourselves.

Slipping silently down the knob, a gladness and contentment filled my heart and pushed any remaining doubts from my mind. Breathing the cool air, feeling the sun shining upon my face we returned to the Selter’s cabin and joined Angela for a delicious cup of coffee and lovely conversation. The men returned, carrying their burden between them, and we ran outside to happily greet them. After a few more cups of coffee and some lovely cherry cobbler it was time to take my leave.

As has been eloquently said; “parting is such sweet sorrow.” Mr. Mains and I took a short walk from the Selter cabin for a brief moment alone, after which we parted company with the promise of joining one another soon. The journey homeward was long, yet pleasant and filled with memories of time well spent.

*Please note, the images contained here within represent only the briefest moments in time. While hunting in our modern times, Blaze Orange is always properly worn.

All images taken by Mark Selter

Empty handed, but for my rifle

2010-12-07T20:48:00.010-06:00

Dearest ones,

It seems a few pages of our journal have fallen from their bindings, we shall try to replace them within their proper places. Though we beg your forbearance should they appear out of their proper order.

15 November

We return, empty handed, but for my fine riflegun. Provisioning for the winter has been poorly done and yet, strangely we find ourselves well satisfied. We journeyed to the hunting grounds of Caintuckee to join with my dearest Mr. Mains for a hunt in Boone’s wilderness.

Upon our arrival, we found the entire Mains household rejoicing, for news had only just come from England of the birth of young master Henry Mains, brother to master Ronald, treasured son of Mr. Jason Mains. After much visiting, we set forth once more, traveling alongside the river toward Limestone and further onward toward Mr. Boone’s forests.

A snug rockhouse well known to myself and Mr. Mains was once more destined to be our shelter. Tucked up well, safe and dry, we found the small cache of fire wood left from our previous years hunt. After a scout to determine we were in no immediate danger from the wretched Shawnee, we set forth to hunt with purpose.

Though the scene was quite beautiful, the autumnal colors were not nearly as well defined as in years passed, what with the severe drought conditions experienced these many months, one could hardly expect the usual bursts of oranges, and fiery reds. Further, the confounded dryness caused nearly each and every step to be announced with much crackling and snapping of twigs, leaves and the heavy covering of mast. For though the previous year’s crop of acorns was dismal, a bumper crop now littered the forest floor. Hours quickly passed as we slipped through the trees accompanied only by squirrels, chipmunk and the occasional calling of crows.

Seeing very little sign of the deer we had thought to be prolific in the area, we separated for a few hours, each hunting as our preferences dictated. He, tracking and slipping shadowlike through the woods; I settling down beside a small, but well used pond.

Luck was surely not on our side and though the time was well spent, it proved entirely unproductive. As the sun dipped below the tree line, movement along the far knobs attracted our attention toward a small group of turkeys, too far off to assure a kill. Much discouraged, we returned empty handed to the coziness of our rockhouse.

A fire was struck, our blankets lain and our meager camp established. As we lay beneath the stars with a warm fire to ward off the chill of the fall air, my heart was much at peace. Clouds rushed over the face of the waxing gibbous moon and leaves danced in the moonlight. My dreams were soon filled with visions of grand stags and marvelous hunts.

Long before the new day’s sun breached the horizon Mr. Mains renewed the night’s fire bringing warmth and light by which we enjoyed keeping company and our simple meal of corn porridge, jerky and coffee. Much revived and refreshed, we set forth on the morning’s hunt.

The early hours had brought a bit of rain and a heavy wetness hushed our departure. Together, we retraced our steps toward those areas which had shown the most promise the day past.

I, to my small pond, only to find upon the dawn’s light a mighty buck had shown his midnight contempt at my encroachment upon his territory! An entire section of the scrub brush was much damaged; my adversary having left rubs and scrapes to clearly define this as his own! Undaunted, and somewhat encouraged, I rested aside a tree, huddled in my blanket with my fine riflegun at the ready. Mr. Mains, for his part investigated the surroundings to find similar signs, but no deer were willing to show themselves.

Once more we rejoined and giving in to our desires we found ourselves another rockhouse in which to rest. After climbing nearly straight up and into a very large rockhouse, a discovery of some merit was made. Hidden beneath a singularly placed piece of rock on a large slab of sandstone, was a hominy hole; made by ancestors of yore.

Running my fingers over the smoothness of the hole’s perimeter, thoughts of other women in this very place soaking corn into watered ashes and then beating it within the confines of this conical filled my mind, Further exploration showed defined areas for fire, gathering and sleeping. The majesty and sacredness of this experience was nearly overwhelming and we felt honored to have shared this space with our ancestors.

The remainder of our time together was much enjoyed, yet our purpose remained unfulfilled, and still no meat gained for our winter provision. And still, onward winter comes.

2010-11-23T19:38:00.011-06:00

27 November

Dearest Ones,

A howling wind doth blow, causing the tiny

nub of candle upon my desk to flicker. The moon's shine fills our window, casting shadow upon the room, lighting this table and the papers upon it.

Many days have passed since last we sent correspondence. Our usual routines much interrupted with the goings on of daily life.

A packet of dispatches hath arrived most recently, writ primarily in the fine hand of the good Doctor, Albert Roberts. We are so pleased to count such a distinguished gentleman amongst our dearest friends, further it seems the Doctor's head is quite turned by a young lady, Miss Emily Waterman. One wonders what the future may hold for two so in love as these. Even our own cold heart is warmed by the tenderness shared betwixt these two.

Tender days... one does recall them with such fondness...

A letter hath also arrived from Mistress Larner, detailing her recent journeys with Miss Katherine and Mistress duPont, along with young Miss Hannah, to the market faire at Locust Grove. Near the falls of the Ohio it seems the foursome were most graciously welcomed into the duPont family home; all candles lit, the table set and a fire soon laid in the hearth. The ladies dined sumptuously and slept well tucked within the du Pont Mansion.

Mistress duPont herself served tea upon the new day and the young ladies treated all assembled to a bit of a concert on the pianoforte in the music room.

Following a stroll through the park, the ladies set off for Locust Grove and the market faire. A wedding was witnessed, friends enjoyed, a few new wares gathered and acquaintances new and old were much enjoyed. Mistress Larner and the ladies spent a lovely time together with their hosts Mr. Medley and Miss Becky.

Mr. and Mistress Hagee, Doc Muzzy and the artist Mark Selter and his lovely wife Mistress Selter joined together for a meal. The grand party carried on to the Tim Faulkner gallery where Mr. Selter's fine art work was shown to the delight of all.

One can only imagine the scenes to which Mr. Selter gives life. His talent, according to Mistress Larner, is quite extraordinary. In fact it seems she is much carried away by it. We find this not surprising at all, being quite taken with him as well. Art seems much appreciated by Mistress Larner, as she and Miss Katherine are the subjects of a canvas in process by Doc Muzzy, the first glimpse of which the ladies were able to take the following day. Ah, t'is dearly loved this canvas! The ladies were quite amazed and delighted with what they saw and find themselves hardly able to contain their enthusiasm whilst awaiting the final unveiling.

Dear ones, our candle hath burned down and dark prevents further correspondence, though surely we shall pick up the pen once more upon the morrow for many things we need must share.

Until then we remain yours,

Anne

Piracy upon the banks of the Mississinewa

2010-10-18T20:50:00.020-05:00

October 18.

What’s this!? Another letter? Why yes, and by the style of hand one might speculate it to be from dear Cousin Z! With trembling hands the letter is turned over to reveal a splash of red wax with the initial Z. Indeed! ‘Tis from my dearest cousin!

Dearest Cousin,

I pray you forgive the dire nature of my last letter, sent in August. I fear it may have caused you pain to believe I had perhaps gone to my final resting place at the hands of a petty Governor.

Nay, cousin, do not fear, for as you can well discern by my strong hand; I am quite well and very much alive.

T’was questionable there for a time, indeed, I did quite fear for my life as the day of my hanging drew near. I’ll not trouble you too much to detail the horrid nature of my imprisonment, but suffice it to say I shall never be captured again! Better dead than to be forced to withstand the daily (and nightly!) horrors I’ve experienced.

But all was not lost, for there was one with whom I was able to find some small solace. A young mop haired guard, smooth of cheek and tender of heart, who found himself quite distracted in his guard duty.

Oh my dear one, ‘tis truly a miracle I dinna find myself truthfully in the unhappy and delicate condition I had pled to the judge and Governor! Cousin, I tell you by the 24^th day of my captivity I was beginning to fear the day whence it would be discovered (OR NOT!!) a wee babe would suffer consequence of it’s mother’s recklessness. Soon my fear took shape to the point of action, for I could not wait even one more day for the decision of the hangman.

The fair lad I mentioned was quite enamored and I found it was quite possible to slide my left hand to that which was desired, by distracting with my right until a solid form took shape, as I lifted gently from his pocket the key to my survival. Forgive me cousin, for I was forced to give the young lad quite a thump upon his head to ensure my retreat from the stinking cell within which I had been retained. Once free from the walls of my cell I paid my respects to those who had not been so lucky, a glass lifted to their spirits.

Quickly from this hated place did some mates and I retreat. Time passed as it always does and I found myself in with a new crew upon the Great Lakes. Indeed, under Lieutenant Garland and Captain McCrary a crew of likeminded souls had gathered a bit south of the Great Lakes to ply their trade upon the Mississinewa River.

Ah dear cousin, how well we did fall in with this crew. Upon arrival within our temporary camp along the river we encountered a dear dear gentleman who presents himself as an honest trader; Mr. B who sells fine wares, most with the blood stains removed. And the Widow Black too with her coffeehouse, a fine and honest businessperson she is I can tell you. Of course she has no control over who enters the coffeehouse and what commerce may be conducted within it’s confines. Sure and doesn’t she make the finest coffee ya ever had? Of course she does.

And there was Remington, dear Remi, Cousin I’m sure you’d be quite mad about such a young lad as he, most useful he is too! Indeed nary a dish was wantin for the wash water. Though he did slack a bit on the Lords day, leaving our dear Captain Dollinger to act the scullery maid, and that after the waffle man had made fine waffles all morning! No doubt dear Remi shall pay for his late sleeping. Aye, the camp was well filled with ladies and even an apothecary to treat any wounds, ailments or perfidy which might have been visited upon crew or guests. There too was another fine gent whose presence was not oft seen. A well dressed fellow Mr. K, indeed just the very type one would wish to be entertained by at a fete or grand ball, presented by day as a Navy artilleryman, and rogue by night!

But Cousin, dear cousin we leave last for our description; the Captain, who has been but briefly mentioned previously. Captain McCrary, master of seas, rivers and great lakes, plunderer of women and treasure.

He who is known far and wide, for his reputation (well deserved) does for certain precede him. Upon the Captain’s mercy we did fall, pleading to join the sanctuary and protection of his crew. Our fate in his hands, he put to test our skills, talents and abilities. To gain the right to belong, one must be willing to give all to the crew. The captain demanded of me that I make the most of my two best talents in luring in a rival crew and their suspected savage allies. The crew loaded into several boats and off to a nearby island we quickly disembarked.

I, to the front most of the isle; to plead, beg, cry and display most or all of my feminine wiles, to entice the enemy into our waiting hands and muskets! The crew and captain at my back, I presented myself as quite a pathetic and pitiful creature, crying and begging for a gentleman to “please, please save me,” whilst my loaded, cocked and ready pistol was snuggly stowed within my basket at my arm. Alas t’was to no avail, the cowardly bastards refused to come within range of my pistol. (Forgive me dear cousin, my wicked words, I beg you quickly forget such hard words.) Though it was not long afore the fight was on and bravely the Great Lakes River Pyrates did fight!

Dearest, worry not, but I myself was slightly wounded in the fray as a would-be assassin knocked me senseless. Thankfully, a member of the crew readily dispatched the red savage’s soul to Hell afore the mortal blow could be dealt. I was left with nothing too much but a lump upon the head and the red mark of his vile body upon mine, ack, cousin, I do swear I can still smell the stench of his grease upon me! Horrid!

The day’s work done, we returned to our camp and found the dear Mr. B’s delicious burgoo bubbling and smelling as a meal fit for a king. Indeed the meal was quite satisfying.

Later, as the time of the Grand Ball drew near the ladies of the camp and indeed many of the men, presented themselves in a new light, quite clean, proper and well healed. The race to the regency had presented several of the ladies with new gowns which were quite astounding and even Mr. Henderson was well turned out in a fine pair of trousers. Captain McCrary, Remington and Mr. B presented themselves quite well armed! Indeed, every member of the crew held some little surprise for any man who should dare attempt liberties with the Pyrate crew!

Off we set for the Grand Ball, which did not disappoint all who attended, though those better accustomed to dancing were perhaps a bit displeased. The fine Mr. K, looking quite dashing escorted my return to the pyrate camp, with one short but much enjoyed stop at the Navy Artillery camp. One does try so hard Cousin to maintain the countenance of a lady, and yet I fear I failed. In a feeble attempt at humor my wicked nature was quite audibly displayed. Though the gentlemen did laugh quite heartily, so perhaps my fears are unsubstantiated.

Soon Mr. K and I retired back to the Pyrate camp whereupon we discovered nearly all and every man of the 42^nd Highland Brigade had also gathered upon the steep bank of the river. My escort faded into the darkness of the camp and the boys of the brigade did their best to entertain us. Ah, and so they did dear cousin, for there are a few lads amongst them one would surely consider entertaining! Though more as a catch and release, than on a permanent basis.

Dearest cousin, you’ll note my name again does not appear upon the end of this missive to you. For surely, I would never want you to be threatened by my wickedness. I fear I have acquired a skill most unsuitable for any lady, aye, as I’ve told you before; the slight of my hand has garnered a prize or two! Indeed, the highland lads gave up much the evening of the Grand Ball. Daggers, knives, and swords of all shape and size did pass through my hands. The grandest prize of all, you’ll nary believe, but truly I tell thee, the Captain’s own fine sword!

Yes, indeed the very Captain’s sword, made for him by the master sword and knife maker Mr. Glenn McClain! With a bump and caress it was out of his sheath and quickly into my possession. Cousin, you can hardly imagine his face as I laid it across my arm and offered it back to him, merely to show him the skills which he now commands. The snarl which crossed his lips turned to a glinty smile as he saw the income I would surly procure on behalf of the crew. Together, the remainder of the evening we did make many a mark pay for their attendance at the Pyrate party.

The following day we discovered many an item left within our camp, aye fine things lost over the dangerously high river embankment, as many as four or possibly five gentlemen experienced a last step which brought them into the cool waters of the Mississinewa. Our plan had worked perfectly!

As the sun rose, the Widow Black was piteously slow in procuring her lifesaving elixir and we found ourselves quite ready to go to blows. Were it not for a hidden stash of the miracle sustenance of early morning life, I fear dear cousin how the day would have begun. Tempers flared upon the new day, yet after a time the brew was perfected and our cups once more filled.

Battles raged once more upon the river, many lives were lost and yet Cousin we were most

fortunate to not only live through another beautiful day, we cleared the land and seas of our enemies, greedily took their weapons and plunder and set off to return to our camp none the less for the work.

Dearest, I know not when we shall ever see one another again, yet I beg you to keep me in your heart and in your prayers as you are in mine,

All my love dear Cousin,

Lest anyone be overly concerned for the fate of the pyrate Z, let it be known no actual thievery took place at the Pyrate camp on the banks of the Mississinewa River, further, all missing items were returned to their rightful owners.

Imagery Credits to The Divine Mistress Karen Garland, and dear Paul Kraase who first displayed their images within the book of faces.

For another perspective on Pirates of Paynetown visit the Pirate Surgeons Journal http://www.markck.com/pages/Piracy/Paynetown10/Paynetown_10_Ch5.htm

Siege of Boonesborough

2010-10-11T20:56:00.018-05:00

September 1778,

In June our friend Mr. Boone returned from his forced captivity at Chillicothe with dire warnings of a coming Shawnee attack. The men of his fort are of differing thoughts, some believe without hesitation whilst others question his integrity. Months have passed since his return to the fort and no attack has been made. The men of Boonesborough have made small raids against the Shawnee, but have been unable to find Blackfish or his warriors.

The season for war is surely upon us, we shall garrison with Mr. Boone and be well prepared should the Shawnee leader Blackfish appear from the forest to make good upon his threats.

Our journey was most uneventful, though there were signs of recent savage activities. Indeed the half faced shelter outside the fort fairly stank of their presence.

Further, a pair of odd items; a box of sorts and bit of white toweling with the marks of the hideous paint used by savages, had been inexplicably left. Once Mr. Mains and his small niece, Savannah Rae were ensconced within the meager walls of the shelter, my companions and I passed a lovely evening, even with stench and threat of nearby savages, both of red skin and red coat! Mr. MacGillie and Mr. Kell as well as Mr. and Mistress Selter, the dear Heasleys and Mistress Reasoner were amongst those with whom we enjoyed the evening. The slight misting rain which occasionally turned a bit harder was nothing when compared with past visits to Mr. Boone's fort.

Upon the new day the sun burned a mist from the fields outside the fort gates. Many friends had gathered and the time passed quickly as children played, couples strolled the grounds, and many cups of warm coffee were enjoyed with friends.

Suddenly, with no warning, savage beasts sprang from the trees, causing the children, women and even men to scatter across the grounds racing for all they were worth to the safety of the fort. Quickly the gates were secured and guards posted in every possible position. It was Blackfish and contingent of British allies! Strangely, a young man of colour called Pompi, was sent forth bearing a white flag. He hailed the fort crying "Sheltowee, your father would speak to you!"

Mr. Boone, recognizing the lad, stepped out of the safety of the fort and approached his former captors. Blackfish and Boone spoke closely for a time, Blackfish reminded Mr. Boone of his promise to surrender the fort if the women and children were carried safely to Detroit. Boone replied other men had become responsible for the safety of the fort and those housed within, and they did not make the promise to give up without a fight. The two spoke heatedly, and each returned to his people upon several occasions. Little did Blackfish know Daniel was stalling for time, believing troops were well on their way to lend aid in the defense of the fort.

Blackfish demanded of Boone "By what right had the white people taken possession of this country?" Boone presented evidence to Blackfish the Cherokee people had sold him the land at Sycamore Shoals, and Blackfish's own ally from the Cherokee people verified this. Again the two departed company, only to return to talks with their people. Colonel Callaway, whose own daughters had been captured with Jemima Boone just two years ago, was most severely at odds with Mr. Boone. It was an intense time, both inside and outside the fort walls.

Guards remained posted in all positions even a few women wearing men's hunting shirts were stationed upon the roofs, giving the Shawnee the impression there were many far beyond the nearly forty souls garrisoned within the walls.

Blackfish and Boone once more returned to their negotiations, coming to the agreement the Shawnee would remain fast to the Ohio River Boundary if Boone and his men swore allegiance to the King. The treaties were made and upon the request of Blackfish a "long shake" was initiated, this entailed two indians shaking the hands of each white man. Fearing something may be afoot Mr. Boone had given the men warning that should he toss his hat, the guards would commence shooting whatever target their eye may fall upon. Surely a clearer premonition was never made, for once each man was taken in hand by two indians a commotion broke out and a bloody battle ensued.

The men fought bravely as the yellow dogs bit, kicked and used anything at hand, including a stump with which to beat down our men. Fires were set, and even a tunnel was commenced to being dug, but still we held them back.

The battle raged on for eleven long days. We witnessed the capture of one woman who, with a party of others had passed the rear flank of the savages. Sadly, her bravery was her undoing, as she was cut down and captured by a contingent of savages and damnable Britts. The savagery of these white men are oft overlooked, yet we saw with our own eyes, this woman savagely beaten, tied and carried toward a burning pole. Hope struck momentarily as she broke free of her bonds and nearly escaped, only to be caught up again and threatened to be tied with the length of rope she carried upon her belt. Amazingly the woman lifted the length of rope with quick slight of hand and dashed it into the fire, the fight continued, until she was swept off her feet and dealt a final blow with a belt ax. The man who had landed the blow went so far as to claim her blond scalp lifting a sizable portion, which was passed amongst the savages as if a token of their strength. Though hideously murdered, we had only one thought, she had fought so hard she had forced them to kill her upon the field rather than be taken alive back to their camps for ungodly tortures or burning upon the post.

Long did the fires burn, but as it was God's will a mighty storm came upon us and damped out the fire and the will of the savages to fight. Triumphant, the dawn did come and much rejoicing was had by all.

The coolness of the morning was warmed by strong coffee, good company and the Word given to us by Parson John. We departed sadly from the company of our dearest friends. The memory of their warmth, the laughter amongst us and thoughts of those who were no longer with us haunted the long journey home.

Our return to our little cabin brought a bit of good tidings, for a package had been delivered upon our doorstep whilst we were out. Indeed, a small package bearing a lovely gift was just the very thing to raise us from our sour spirits, as we had been mulling over thoughts of friends, and loved ones. The brightness of color, the perfection of it's stitching and every detail brought such cheer to our hearts! A fine pocketbook was enclosed within the tiny package.

Yes, a pocketbook made by the hands of our dear friend Amanda Webster, mother of the darling baby Grace, whom we remember most fondly from our visit to Mr. Martin's Station.

Once more our thoughts turn to friends and though our spirit is much brightened with fond memories, we long too for others to know we wish them well, whatever distances and time separate us.

Much thanks and image credits to Doc Muzzy and his Cannon.

Also, Mr. VonDieligen whose images were first seen by frontier folk. And finally Mr. Selter, who made them available first in the book of faces, and whose fine art may be enjoyed by many interested in the 18th Century.

Friends

2010-09-28T06:07:00.005-05:00

Our thoughts this dark and cool morn lean heavily toward dear friends. The days most recently passed were filled with the warmth and laughter of many friends near and dear; those whom we see oft, and those whom we only cross paths with but few times a year.

Yet, we found it was those friends whom we did not see who were most oft upon our mind. One wonders what makes another man or woman a friend? Is it a similar spirit, common interests, or perhaps that each carries a spark from the same flame? These answers are far beyond this simple woman's understanding, yet surely there is an answer. For there are times when one merely crosses paths with another but briefly and suddenly a new friend for life is made. Yet, with others one sees time and again there is no connection.

Further, there are those who may not know the depth and breadth of feeling they have wrought upon the hearts of others. Travelers of this earth, believing themselves alone, who carry with them the love, concern and prayers of many. Perhaps not knowing, until burdens become too heavy to carry alone, there are those nearby who are ready to take up the load, to lend a hand, to offer comfort, and strength. We can only pray those friends in need know there are many who wish them well.

Fort Miamis, Menominee and Kohkohmah

2010-09-20T20:40:00.020-05:00

20 Sept.

Dearest Ones,

The time hath nearly flown by since our last letters. The weeks past have been mightily hot and dry, the dust of the trail fills our nose and leaves a bitter taste. Though truth told, the bitterness may better be accounted for by the devastating losses suffered upon the field of battle. Indeed this bitter truth leaves a vile taste which is barely choked down and roils the guts. Aye, a season of death hath descended mercilessly upon us.

An evil adversary and an ever changing band of red and black painted men seemingly chase us day and night from fort to station, settlement to rendezvous and back. Lying in wait behind trees, crawling between rocks and slipping from shadow to sun; dogs they be! Greatly tired we are of their iniquitous ways!

Since last posting letters, our travels have been north to Fort Miamis, further north to rendezvous with the Menominee, south to the Painted Stone Settlement and of most recent time we have returned to our home territory to fight the French and their allies at Kohkohmah.

A brief interlude during the Menominee rendezvous, granted us a small bit of pleasure and time with those loved best of all. Indeed!! those very most beloved; my dearest Katie Rose, Netha, Roundman, Charlie, Reggie (who left us too soon for home upon hearing of the birth of a wee grandson!) The dear Reeves family, the Shinnabargers, Mr. Rogers, the Collins girls, the Spooners and others too numerous to name, made our time pass too quickly.

However, t'is with the very most sincere regret we must report massive losses, with few exceptions. Further, that which troubles us most, are those dear ones lost not in valor to death upon the field, but lost to us by thieves of children and women! I fear most for those poor little ones; snatched, plucked, and yes, taken from mother's stretched hands whilst their beleaguered fathers fight to the last breath!

Most of these dear lost babes are never to be seen again...it tears my very soul to have born witness to such treachery committed by those who are but mere children themselves. Indeed, even the women of these clans take part in the theft of our dear ones. The only consolation in this wickedness is the possibility a few chosen captives will be well treated, though one can hardly imagine!

And lo! those once chosen to act as children, may one day be struck down for the crime of attempting with their last breath to return to those who love them most. Such tyranny!!

But fear not reader, we fought against the evil at every opportunity!

Nay, we did not run from the fight! nor did we behave as ladies once set upon!

But all was lost time and again...

Dearest reader, we wish with all of our hearts for good tidings, we beg for a time of calm and happiness to once more reign. With fervor we recall days gone by when all was sunshine, with no fear in our hearts, the breeze in our hair and lightness in our steps!

Until such time as these savages turn tail, duck and run to the holes from whence they came, we will recall such things with a spark in our hearts that ignites the will in us to continue the fight!

And Lo! there are those like us who have that spark in their heart, the heat in their bellies and the means by which to fight! It is with great pleasure we join company with Captain Wulff's Ranger Company.

Dearest, we leave you with this tiny flame of hope for the future, as we join this company of rangers in the battles along the frontier.

your humble servant

Post Script:

We wish to offer sincere thanks to the DeEsche's, Shanna Hayes, Michael Yarberry, Bill Bower, Matt Wulff, Gloria Dockery and Sandy Fike for the use of their sketchings, previously published within the book of faces. And to our good friends at Pioneer Times, Graphic Enterprises for all that they do to support those of us who wait eagerly each week to see the front page of their "paper." http://www.graphicenterprises.net/index.html

Post Post Script:

Further, we hold a tremendous debt of gratitude to those noble savage adversaries who allow us to speak so hideously of them, kill them and who kill us on a weekly basis. We sincerely value the skill, talent and time spent pursuing the best possible portrayals. We'll not begin to name names herein, as there are too many and too great the likelihood of neglecting even a single one. You, my dear friends of red paint, red coat and blue coat; I honor and respect each of you and your "uncommon genius," to borrow the words of William Henry Harrison's compliment to his great adversary, Tecumseh.

Blue Licks

2010-08-31T17:10:00.009-05:00

Aug. 31
Quickly we shall dash off a word or two afore they leave our mind, as they have such a wont to do! Fondly, we recall a recent eve spent with dear friends the Parson, his indentured servant Maggie, Mr. Privott, Mr. Fourman, and my dearest Mr. Mains, at the home of Mr. vonDieligen. T'was surely a good time lasting late into the night, full of laughter, merriment and the sharing of stories and foodstuffs. Mr. Mains was quite pleased with the fine strap made for him in the Fourman household and it made a perfect compliment to his accouterments.

We were greatly disheartened to be drawn away from such a convivial gathering with the bad news that Mr. Mains horse had gone off missing! Knowing a rogue band of painted Shawnee warriors bent on trouble was nearby; we set off with great fear and anger in our hearts. Quietly we crept through the pasturelands searching, aware at all times of the danger! Hours went past and still no sign of horse or moccasin track. The brightness of the moon as she rose high above gave us just enough light to slip through the trees with relative speed. Shadows filled the forest, every sound held double meaning; the yip of coyotes, a passing breeze, everything caused our eyes and ears to strain. Time passed and sorrow began to overcome my thoughts.

Suddenly Mr. M gave a whoop, which was quickly answered by the soft nickering of a small brown horse. Found, safe and sound! Ah, such a sight to behold; Cheyna quietly chewing clover. So content was she, the entire Shawnee nation could have passed her by without the slightest notice. After much petting and soft talk Mr. Mains returned the mare to her pasture insuring she was well secured for the night. Nigh on four of the morning, we returned to the dark and quiet house, our friends long since gone to sleep. A scant few hours later, the smell of much needed coffee filled our senses and the day began. All were pleased to hear of our success in returning Cheyna to her pasture.

A journey to Lexington allowed us to see many fine artisans, friends, gun builders and craftsmen. Mr. Fourman was successful in making some trades for his fine hides; we acquired a few flints for our fine riflegun, and made many sketches of items soon to be made with our own hands. Our small company split with promises to meet at Blue Licks.

Upon arrival at Blue Licks we were graced to finally make acquaintance with Mr. Dave Barno, who is a great and dear friend of Mr. Mains. T’was no surprise we quickly found ourselves well acquainted with much in common. Further, our friends Mr. Jay Kell and Luke MacGillie were well ensconced in their lodgings. Together with Mr. Jeff McIntire we waxed poetic of times gone passed, stories of collections, mysteries to be solved and libraries to be raided, a true meeting of kindred spirits! Late into the night, the sounds of our arguments, laughter and collective sighs over fascinating relics filled the night air.

Mr. Mains finally gave in to my pleas to return to our camp and together we watched the moon rise and shadows fill the trees. Safely we slept through the night, rifles at the ready knowing full well the Shawnee were but a short distance away.

As the sun rose hot in the sky, a sweltering and pervasive heat filled us with dread of the coming fight. Our companions returned to our camp and began their various tasks. Mr. Mains and Mr. vonDielingen and Mr. Barno scrapped a buffalo hide, whilst Mr. MacGillie made a new pair of moccasins. Mac, Mr. Kell and I spent most of our time conversing, while Mr. Barno introduced the settlers in the area to our odd seeming ways. Mr. Kell, who had a large collection of powderhorns with him, lightened his load of wares by gifting us with a buffalo horn and serving spoon. Possessions I surely delight in and shall guard jealously!

The day passed quietly enough for our small company of hunters, though a battle did rage close by with dire and horrid result for the men lost in less than half the hour’s time. Sickened were we to find ourselves too late to join in or assist in any manner.

Though we did take a jug of water to the few men able to partake, most were lost, their wounds far too grievous. Another day there will be retribution for these losses so dear! Fear not, we shall not be weak or too late for the next fight! We have seen the image of these fearsome devils and have marked them in our hearts as targets, should our sights fall upon them!

Be certain my enemy, we shall see each other down the trail!

Be well and safe my friends, for we are set off for fighting the savages who attack at Fort Miamis!

Piracy!

2010-08-26T11:16:00.027-05:00

August 26.
'Tis with great pleasure we finally settle in with pen at hand, a deep well of ink and fond memories to share. The soft strain of beautiful music fills our heart, our head and indeed our very soul, at least in memory. A dear friend, Mr. Carroll Ross who is "Among Good Company" hath graced us with "Music for a Convivial Gathering." Aye, ‘tis truly the very music one hears in the places convivial folks gather. We recall well the tune, Bring in the Punch Ladle, played by Mr. R’s companions Mr. & Mrs. Duffy and their friends. Aye, it assuredly does reckon back to many a most hospitable eve such as Martins Station some months back and other nights, some more memorable than others!

So ‘tis while these soft strains sounding in our heart, we open an odd and much stained and torn letter.

“My Dearest Cousin,

One can only pray this missive find you well though I dare not sign my full signature. You’ll know this humble writer by a shared recollection of a daring eve we shared as girls on the Mersey Docks. Together we huddled giggling behind a hogshead of Rum whilst soul drivers scoured the docks for children no one would miss. Foolish girls were we, who’d run off from our mums for but a peek at the massive ships and their hideous cargos. Were it not for you dear Anne and your wildness we’d for sure have been aboard that hateful descendant of the ship “Blessing,” full to swellin with her human cargo. Never in my dreams before that night would I have dared your brave ways, and as you recall the dire events of that fateful night, you’ll know dear cousin, from whom I took the inspiration which hath lead me down this treacherous and dangerous path.”

(this last bit is scratched through with pen knife and we were barely able to discern her words)

Dearest Cousin, I beg ye not take to heart any concern of which you could be responsible for the wickedness of which I am now accused. For this life I chose for myownself. Had I been but half as daring and strong as you, perhaps I’d not fallen for the silver tongue, silk fashions, and cruel lies of a sailor on leave.For sure and weren’t you always tellin me to stand up for myself, well now dearest cousin ‘tis for that very thing I’m now standin trial upon the new Governors own graces. But my story didn’t start in this dank hole, ‘twas only a short time past whence a bonny lad with his honey words and promises did convince me to hie away my locks, aye wrap them entirely within a turban, not to be seen, but nights alone with the witless man to whom I’d sold my very soul.
Upon his tender words and promises stowed away I did, within the good ship Wespe, only to find myself hoodwinked into dare I say the word… Piracy!
And not alone in such deceit was he, for many a poor lad (and lass!) were brought upon these ships by hook and by crook, forced in cases, bribed in others to throw their lot in with the bilge rats!

T'was not long afore I was discovered a hidin, and brought topside from the hold, I presented myself as though I were any other lad brought on to run the lines and rigging. Made myself quite useful too, aye, fetch, carry, tote, I did as instructed without question. Time passed and amongst the men I passed as but another.

T'was only but a fortnight since these very words I write whence the trouble came upon us. For little did I know the good ship Wespe was but one of many on the sea with intent to take plunder from the ships and shore of Paynetown. Indeed fair cousin, timidity was never my course, yet I can hardly account for the very wickedness which took hold once challenged! For, t’was during a raging storm whence the captain launched the attack, Ack, good cousin you cannot imagine the very sickness which did fill my soul once realizing t’was a fight for my very life.

A pistol was produced, but was of no use, what with the rain pouring upon us! Captain Dollinger commanded the vessel with mastery, yet aground she became set. Once my toes hit sand I began to run with all my might toward the assembled troops of the Kings own.

Dearest Cousin, I beg your forgiveness for as reached these men, I did not surrender myself and reveal my womanly status. Nay, cousin it was with vigor I joined the shrieks and shouts of the pirate lads with whom I’d served. Moments into the fray that silly boy, that one who offered much in word, yet none in deed was lying face up in the sand, blood pouring from gaping wounds.

This scene seemed to invigorate my attack and quickly I grabbed up the only useful implement; an oar and charging into the Kings men, dearest Anne, I must confess only to you, I believe I killed one!

Yes, indeed, his musket drawn he took aim, and blessings from above, the foul thing refused to discharge, which I consider God’s divine provenance. Yes, cousin, indeed, if God saw fit to spare me, who does this new Governor think himself, I ask you! Once passed this man and his failed attempt to reign in my wildness, other men stepped forward. To them I did surely show a wretched and hateful side of myself!

But blast if one of them did not injure me and I was forced to take treatment. Ah yes dear cousin, as you imagined, the Good Doctor made quite a discovery! A woman! Yes, indeed a woman! Hid amongst the vicious scourge of the sea! Taking full advantage of the Good Doctor’s befuddled state I quickly scampered away and hid myself until much after dark. At which time a swim in the luxurious waters was too much to withstand and I joined the crew in my nearly natural state with but few clothes to lend decency.

The Captain, much distressed but willing to allow that I had performed as well or better than the lads of the crew granted me the right to continue on with his protection, provided I clad myself properly. As the new dawn broke clear over the water I found myself once more cinched into shift and stays as befitting a proper lady. The bearing of a lady provided just the disguise needed to once more join the captains and their crews as we took the town! Aye and take it we did, though the Kings men did not give in so easily!

Indeed, a man known as Jack Salt did think to assault your dear cousin, but I assure you cousin, his attempt was met with intent of my own. I’d not back down so easily as he had thought, nay neither he, nor his fine knife making friend, were prepared for the ferocity with which your own dear cousin did attack!
My fellows and I had much success that very day, taking the town, the old Governor was captured and killed by Captain Henderson of the Tantrum. The spoils split and shared betwixt us! The item of which I was most assuredly proud was the Governor’s own velvet coat, aye indeed dear cousin a fine prize t’was! And further Lieutenant Garland and Captain Henderson let loose of a large rum jug for my use. Though its use now is much in jeopardy. Dearest cousin, I beg you to know, I but wish I could confess sorrow for the acts and deeds of which I now stand accused. But lo! Dearest Cousin, oft rumours I’ve heard of your own madness. I beg pardon to give form to that which is said, perhaps out of your hearing, but cousin, no fool are you, you know well that of which they say.
Perhaps t’is madness, what comes upon us. Perhaps t’is the screams of many sisters held deep within us which when provoked rise up and take hold. Dear Cousin I know not what it is, nor from whence it comes, but surely you know that of which I speak. I’ll stand my trial and throw myself upon the new Governor’s mercy. Perhaps I’ll beg the belly as I suppose such a guise hath done it's trick in time past! Perhaps, given my delicate state the Kings man will take pity upon me…whether such a babe exists... or not!
My dear Anne I dare not write one single word more for fear this reach the very wrong hands, but do please know I have lived well and with daring. The spoils were worth every possible tomorrow!
Your loving cousin,

Ach! My heart cries out for this dear cousin of mine! The daring times on the docks of Liverpool, fair times within the warmth of our mum's hearth, the sweet curve of her cheek, and the spark in her hazel eye remains fixed in my memory as well with her wrathful tongue, her quick anger and vengeful spirit. Ah, this dearest cousin of mine, we are truly cut of the same cloth! We dare not reveal this dear cousin's name! Indeed, the name of this darling letter writer shall remain forever unmentioned as it may reveal a good bit more of the dear writer than would be wise, for one so involved in deep and desperate intrigues!
And so, we close our journal this quiet eve with memories of our dear cousin now heavy upon our hearts, and yet... with further recollection of our cousin's previous exploits, we find ourselves hopeful! Yes, dear ones, rest easy for our cousin Z has been known to get into and out of scrapes of a deadly nature before. We'll trust divine provenance and if that should fail, Z's own providential spirit! Yes, our spirits are raised once more with hope.

http://www.outoftheordinarymusic.com/

enclosed within please find Mission's Pirate Surgeon's Journal

http://www.markck.com/pages/Piracy/Paynetown10/Paynetown_10_Prologue.htm

2010-08-16T08:24:00.003-05:00

Because I know Anne Bailey as I do, I strongly suspect that she would never be so inclin'd to make a post such as this. Therefore I believe it up to me to do so upon her behalf.

In my recent readings I discover'd a posting in the journal of Mr. & Mrs. Cummings about our Anne, and wanted to take a few moments to share it with you, dear reader.

I would respectfully request that you see the journal entry for yourself, and know that if, in your affairs, I can render you any acceptable service, I beg you will use that freedom with which I wish you to command, my dear Friend,

Your most humble and obedient servant,

the Doctor

that of which I am made

2010-07-18T10:04:00.004-05:00

July 18. perhaps 'tis the heat which has caused us to slow down for a few moments of quiet contemplation, for not much else can one do without fear of collapse on days such as these.

Thoughts of days past, family and dear friends fill my mind. Thankful am I to grandfathers who taught us well, grandmothers who loved us much, to aunts and uncles, and to friends; all those who choose us over others... For these fine things and more, we are mightily blessed.

My eyes linger over a map, a bit of silver, a black arm band worn in time of loss, flowers gathered by tiny hands, letters writ betwixt friends and loves. These small pieces of life have such meaning to one, yet nothing to another. For without knowing its story, each piece is but another bit of useless stuff. Yet 'tis this useless stuffing of which I am made.

Fort Harrod

2010-06-23T10:51:00.004-05:00

June 18. Terrible rains pound my small cabin as clouds and light race cross moon lit sky. Darkness oft broken by long flashes of light, and my quiet solitude disrupted by rumble of thunder louder than that of cannon fire. Were it not for the white wash of these cabin walls and small candle, one could hardly see to move pen cross paper. Once more vicious rumours hath reached mine tender ear; friends sequestered in Harrod’s town live in desperate fear of attack. Quickly we gather up only those things most necessary and flee toward the danger. Tis far late in the night when we arrive, Mistress Storey and I, to find all rumours quite true.

For with our very own eyes we have seen such nightmarish sights as can hardly be described; a giant of a red man barely clothed, shirt much stained and shorn nearly from his filthy red painted body, accompanied by many many more just as filth ridden, painted and jeweled as he. Indeed, another giant of a man with long flowing hair and much fearsome demeanor carrying a bow in bear skin the same length and stature as I! Never have mine eyes witnessed such beastly men bearing their teeth such as these! Fortune was much with us as we were able to pass through this hateful territory and slip unnoticed past these restless dogs and into the fort.

All danger and fear fled as mine eyes lit upon the face of our dear friend Mr. Mains, having traveled a great distance from the east to arrive just hours afore us. We were much delighted in each other’s company. A loft within a small cabin was found to stow our meager gear and we set about greeting our dear friends garrisoned within James Harrod’s fort. Mr. Godwin, known as Pit, and Mr. Webster were first to greet us, and quickly others too who had traveled far to lend hand, lead and rifle to the impending fight. Long into the night, nay early into the morn, we gathered to lay plans to overcome the pending siege.

Hardly able to remain wakeful, finally we returned to the small quarters granted us. Just as sleep had nearly taken us into her dream land, a sound the likes of which could not be immediately determined disturbed us greatly. Not but just sound, a feeling quite unusual? By light of moon through open window the source of this disturbance manifested; Bats! Indeed, many many of them, flying but scant inches over us in our repose. Nonetheless, sleep won out and carried us far from concerns over winged vermin.

June 19. Once more the pounding of rain and darkened black, grey and even green tinged skies greeted the morn, fierce winds blew through the fort and great sloughs of water ran from tentage and we were much gladdened to be stowed within our cabin. Friends not yet discovered the night last, made their way through the deluge to assemble with steaming mugs of coffee, tales of far off places, raids, and sad stories of losses so devastating as to make our tender heart break.

As the rains cleared and the hot sun sent steam rising, a few men, women and children ventured outside the fort gates. In fact, two lads feeling much restrained by walls, ventured further out toward the largest Osage tree mine eyes have ever taken in. Foolishly these two harassed each other into a game of shooting skills, but Lo! Just at the crack of the first shot, other shots were heard! My God, the boy was down, not just down, but shot full of lead, blood flying, bone breaking, helplessly jerking about with the agony!

Myself and Mistress Heasely were tending a fire and adding what bits of meat as we had to a meager stew when the multitude of shots rang through the valley. Gathering screaming children, we ran with all our might toward the safe haven of the fort. Blessed we were to make it inside just as the gates slammed shut behind our flying skirts! Quickly gathering my gun, lead and powder to the upper ramparts I ran, loading as my feet found purchase upon the rough ground.

Och! The sight before my eyes! T’was my own dear Mr. Mains flying toward the barred gate! The sheer terror which ran up my spine tightened my grip upon my gun and without conscious thought brought clear focus upon the black painted skull of the savage in my sights. “Dig, Dig!” was the scream from our lips as men began a hole for Mr. M to crawl under the fortifications. Lo! T’was the giant red man with long flowing hair running with a band of miscreants coming toward our most dear one! Tingling limbs worked without thought as we loaded time and again, our barrel so hot it blistered our skin. “Dig!” shouted Captain Curry until finally he was in!

Bold were they, these red dogs! One particularly stood out, perhaps his great height or the filthiness of his rags, but great was the burning anger in my soul to send this son of satan back, back to whence he came! Alas t’was not to be. His brethren, bold fighters were they! Long and hard did they fight, yet we of the fort were able to withstand their bloody assault. Ere long the shots rang out with less frequency, their yellow backs seen slipping into the trees, dragging off their wounded and dead, no doubt to recoup their losses as their own.

Finally, time passed without the hail of their snarls and shots and a great Huzzah was raised within the fort walls! Much celebrating commenced! Everyone gathered about the spring to dip neckcloth, bowl and cup to quench the heat from body and soul. Parson John gave blessings upon many and together we dined with much gladness in our hearts. Mr. Mains close by mine side, covered in more dirt than is usual, much the vermin upon that day! Having barely scratched and crawled through the hole dug small enough but a groundhog should pass. And yet, much thanks given, he had passed through unscathed. Once more late into the night our songs filled the air and wondrous time spent enjoying dear friends, Mistress Storey, the Heaselys, the Selters, our friend and oft times cook; Mr. K. Stambaugh, and so many others impossible to name. Huzzah, Huzzah, Huzzah! for our fortune this day!

June 20. Hot was the sun even upon rising, breezes unknown, nary cloud in the sky to grant even a moments respite and once more we fought! Evil dogs with snarling teeth and rankled hides came tearing through the trees and screams filled our ears. Smoke, thick from our musket and rifle fire, clung in the still air. All round us the fear, terror and fright, and yet we fight! Aye, indeed we fight, blistered skin from barrels blazed hot, split lips from lack of water mean nothing, t’is only powder, lead and shot that fills our minds. Rarely time to take proper aim, rather but a hail of lead we rained down upon those soulless beings with their black painted skin. Women run lead balls without ceasing, men load and hand up rifle and musket quick as can be done. Those of us of a true eye and aim never hesitating. Exhaustion, heat, and lead take our men and theirs. The hurled insults betwixt and between mean nothing against the blood stains of our souls, once more we fight. We fight until blooded and sickened by their losses they slip away once more into the woodlands and trackless forest, like shadows, evil shadows of the night, not but the smell of them left. Gone.

We seek out our loved ones, cry in the arms of those who have lost all, gather together with the Parson to pray and seek divine solace. Why, we wonder, why must life in this fair land be so hard, the losses so great? For land? For gardens and cabins and commerce? Nay, not those foolish things, but for our lives! Our very lives, and our children’s lives, for widows, orphans and those most beloved.

We carry on and we tarry not without rifle at hand, we press on in high hopes that our children will not carry burdens such as these, that they might have more than we. Indeed, that they know freedom from these murderous times. Yet, their eyes have seen, their tiny ears have heard, they’ll not forget what we’ve done. They will carry forth different burdens, different hurts and have other forces against them. Yet we pray we’ve done enough to prepare them, lest they be harmed. For as we fight; they too shall fight. They too shall hold the eye of their enemy in theirs. God grant them mercy to forgive themselves for what they shall do and what we have done. This small mercy we beg, in His name.

Women on the Frontier

2010-06-15T17:32:00.009-05:00

June 11. With our most dear companions, Mistress duPont and Miss Katherine Dennis, we made the long and arduous journey to Mr. Boone’s Fort, to join like minded women of the frontier. Mistress duPont, who is of a much higher station than our own, was quite unfamiliar and a bit uncertain of this rough territory, though she persevered and bravely faced this new adventure with great fortitude. Willing even to forgo her usual accommodations, accoutrements and high styles, to take up the rougher sort of appearance common in this lowly place. The young miss was of a hardy sort, well prepared to undertake the care and assistance of her elder in their travels. Charged with their care we were most cautious to take well traveled and judicious routes. Further, upon our arrival, we begged leave of Mr. Farmer, to allow us make use of a small cabin within the confines of Mr. Boone’s fort. Fortune was with us and we were able to secure our position within the walls of the fort.
June 12. Upon rising, Mistress duPont was much vexed to find there was no coffee to be found within the fort. As this was quite disturbing, we set about resolving this practical matter. Soon we were refreshed and felt better able to face the assembled ladies and gentlemen who were to be our neighbors for this short sojourn.

Mistress DeEsch, Mistress Heasley, Mistress Hayes, Maggie, the Parson and a few others who are well known in these parts were quickly found and an acquaintance betwixt themselves and Mistress duPont was struck. We were all quite delighted with Mistress Heasley’s manner, speech and appearance. For myself it was quite refreshing to find a sister in station, demeanor and thought. Though Mistress Reasoner, being a much higher sort, would surely have looked down her nose upon such a one as Mistress H had she not retired to her suite, much too distressed by the heat to trouble her good self with the likes of us.

The fine Mistress R. did not show herself this day at all, though a native woman of very similar appearance, known only as Two Knives was oft seen and heard within the crowd of gathered women. Indeed this woman Two Knives shared with us the customs of her native people, their dress, accoutrements, and culture. T’was nearly enough to cause us pause in our pure hatred of all things savage, feeling a near kinship with this well spoke woman. Disconcerting, to say the very least. Nearly confounding. For this woman did seem to have a voice much as my own; strong, outspoken, independent and she would have had us believe this is indeed the common demeanor of many the savage’s women. T’is something to think upon, surely. Though one need only momentarily to think upon our heavy loss at hands of this woman’s man to rekindle the fire within our very soul. T’is easier to wonder; was this a fine bit of trickery to coax us to see the commonality of all sister women? Though we resolved not to be lulled into trusting one such as she, our heart was indeed opened by the kindest gesture of friendship; a small piece of this woman’s own treasure given with open heart. The weight of this bit of silver shall serve as reminder of our two opening hearts and our time passed in each other’s company, a visible token of what we have learned from one another.

The remainder of the day though quite warm and a bit stormy, was filled with cheerful conversations, a bit of demonstrating of our varied skills and even a bit of dancing! As the setting sun’s rays lit the fortyard a very special ceremony took place, for one of the fine young ladies of our small group had only just completed her education and forsaking the custom of graduating with her class had chosen to come join us here at Boonesborough. We were all much delighted to hear of her many accomplishments, being able to do much more than make her mark upon a piece of paper, we believe Miss Marz shall be quite a force to be reckoned with!
My own dearest companion Miss Katherine celebrated the 10th year of her birth with a bit of sweet cake and seemed quite delighted to receive a small gift of artist’s necessities from her mother, Mistress Dennis. Mistress Dennis must also have been taken with the heat, much like Mistress Reasoner, as she did not show herself a single moment of this day. The children of the fort played late into the night, thrilled with one another’s company, making fast friendships which shall surely last many a year to come.

June 13. Our pleasant sleep was much reduced by the accompaniment of a very small, but none the less, uninvited guest of the rodent variety. Not quite the vermin which I have become accustom to in this place; but a wee mouse which ran the length and breadth of the cabin, very nearly causing Mistress duPont to assume a position upon a table with broom in hand shrieking! Indeed, one may safely assume, given but the opportunity, Mistress d and Miss K. would surely have spent the remainder of the night ensconced atop the highest table top, much like a princess with the pea! But we digress…

The day being Sunday, the Parson called for a worship service within the fort walls. Mistress Dennis deigned to make an appearance, though one my wonder if it were not merely for the purpose of showing off such a fine gown. Beg pardon, for the boldness, but t’was my thought. For though Mistress Dennis did kindly join Mistress duPont and Miss Katherine in divine services, she was promptly not seen again for hours. Only making a brief appearance to have her portrait sitting with a local artist, Master Dennis Muzzy. Whist I was made busy with other necessary tasks, the ladies three did wander garden paths as Mister Muzzy followed behind, sketch pad in hand.

Though the heat was quite intense Mistress Reasoner too stepped outside her fine quarters to grace us with a small tea party and a word or two of her own. My, my, my, the fine beautiful gowns, trinkets and sundries she did show, things of great worth and dignity the likes of us shall certainly never attain. Though Mistress Dennis does seem quite taken by such things, indeed she made purchase of a lovely burnt orange linen from the dear Mistress Ruff, the purpose of which is to make a round gown.

As for myself, the women and a few men of the fort had gathered near a miserable small shelter outside the fort walls to hear the tales and story of my own poor life. Though it brought tears to mine eyes to repeat the hard words, it is my story to tell and tell I shall. For if in the telling of my own loss, one man may be moved to join up and fight against those red devils, my tears have worth. Many a woman, child and even a man or two were moved with great emotion upon hearing of the devastation those savages have wrought. As indeed they well should be, for is not the loss suffered great? Are times not hard? One can not lightly gloss over what has been done by those yellow dogs with red skin and red coats. For in forgetting are we not doomed to repeat? Aye, we will tell the tale far and wide in hopes those men and women who lost their lives might be remembered. And yet… the weight of this bit of silver upon my ear, causes me to wonder momentarily of the losses suffered by our sister Two Knives...

Recent Travels

2010-06-07T18:23:00.003-05:00

June 7. My dearest friends, we beg your mercy and forgiveness for the lateness of our writings herein. The trail has been long and our travels far into the wilderness. As such; our time hath been otherwise spent in other endeavors.
The fortnight past; 29 May, found us encamped upon Wolf Creek. Our Governour, Patrick Henry, hath upon Monday the fifth day of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy seven, and in the first year of the Commonwealth, made known to the public his acts for regulating and disciplining the militia.

The men of the Commonwealth mustered up with great zeal in the early hours, however with each passing hour, became most disenchanted with the Colonel in command; one Colonel S. Dennis. Sheriff C. Hodges, known by most as a bald headed prig, collected many a tariff for public lewdness, drunkenness and even thievery! Upon more than one occasion whilst we encamped in this place, men and even women were forced to be bound by hand and by foot to a post for the public to humiliate.

The Morgan Company, lead by Captain Dennis Morgan was found to be the most resourceful and ready of the assembled men and were therefore well rewarded for their service. Other companies, sadly were found insufficient in their tasks as set by Colonel Dennis and were often dressed down for any number of fractious causes.

Perhaps the men of the militia were granted their greatest desires, when t'was found the Colonel’s own wife had turned 'gainst him; found to be a wanton, thief and woman of much ill repute, causing the Colonel’s reputation much harm!

For his part, he acted fairly in that said woman was held to the same punishment of pillory and stocks as others accused of such atrocities. Her begging and pleading upon knees did nothing to warm the Colonel’s cold heart once the woman had proven her true nature. Regardless of this outlandish behavior, our belief remains true in the fine men of this commonwealth who remain steadfast to our cause and stand ready fight with moment’s notice the red skin devils and their red coated yellow bellied deceitful allies of Britton.

Our more recent travels, as of 5 June, brought myself and my companion Mr. J. Mains to the banks of the Licking River where we prevailed upon the mercies of a local inn-keep. T'was our great fortune to unexpectedly encounter Mr. M. Schwendau whom we had last met upon the battlefields of Koh-koh-mah. Further, it seems Mr. Schwendau shall be presiding as land steward over the entire encampment at Blue Licks and shall therefore be more often in our company.

For once having time to tarry about, Mr. M and I took great pleasure in walking the buffalo trace and the hallowed ground of Blue Licks. The spirits our forefathers reached out to touch our hearts and souls as we tread the very ground where Major Hugh McGary had leapt upon his horse shouting, "Them that ain't cowards, follow me." Tears for the men lost in less than 15 minutes welled within my eyes and made blurry all but the blue sky above.

As the sky was so blue, Mr. Mains and I determined to avail ourselves of the fish residing within nearlby Johnson Creek. Much to our regret, the fish remained most reluctant to become our supper, only permitting two of their kind, which were quite small, to be caught upon my line. Mr. M’s lines remained quite untouched by even the smallest nibble, which brought him no small level of disgust!

Our dining fortunes turned dramatically for the better as Mr. K. Stambaugh of Bee Lick, offered up to us as many roasted chickens as we were able to stuff within ourselves! Mr. B. vonDielingen joined us, as did other local inhabitants for an evening of much enjoyment. Mr. vonDielingen, who had been captured by the Shawnee, was much gladdened to have returned to his people and the land of his birth. Though much scarred by recent atrocities, Mr. v. did regale us with tales and many songs, adding much to the night’s entertainments. By my count, an excess of 15 long guns were close at hand to shoot marks both still and on the wing, with differing levels of success. Late into the evening the spark of our powder and the ring of our laughter filled the rolling hills.

‘Tis indeed time such as these which mark our hearts forever. Much gladdened are we for the warmth of friendship and love of dear ones. For, ‘tis these very moments which our fathers, brothers and country men die to protect; the twinkling eye, merriment, and song, all life’s simple and trifling yet most treasured moments.

Dear ones, I remain yours most truly and humbly,
Anne

Ouabash Valley Frontiersman Spring Rendezvous

2010-05-23T18:48:00.004-05:00

Having battled the French and Indians with the Ouabash Valley Frontiersmen we have returned with no more silver, prizes, nor goods than when we left.

My dear Mr. Hodges, Mr. Gholson and I fought well; provisioned the militia with much meat, carried messages and many necessary items, and yet were found wanting.

Lacking the strength to carry all which was needed, we made do with only that which we could easily carry, and for lack strength or foresight were penalized mightily. Further, dampness was our greatest foe; for our inability to strike fire and burn through a simple barrier prevented my men and I from obtaining our greatest desire.

Once more my fine smoothbore Lucky proved herself, yet sadly she and my companions were placed but fourth and garnered no prize.

Nonetheless we have seen dear friends, spent time in the woods and slept beneath the stars, no regrets have we. None, save the loss of our fine water jug, which must surely be replaced soon.

The Raid upon Martins Station

2010-05-12T16:10:00.009-05:00

May 7. We arose early to find a golden sun burning through a haze which had settled in the night to obscure the majesty of the Cumberland Gap. Off we set immediately, seeking the flash of trout in yonder streams with which we would like to break our fast. Though sparkling waters were quickly found, our desire was left insatiated. Though in truth, my heart was entirely satiated by the company, the magnificence of the surroundings and the anticipation of the coming day. Rarely in our travels do we find ourselves thus completely undone by our surroundings, truly in a condition of such complete satisfaction as we found upon this very morning.

Together, my companion Mr. Mains, and I tread ancient paths, among the rhododendron and pines. The silent whispering of our forebears filled our heads as the cool morning breeze caressed our cheeks and caused our hearts to swell with the knowledge we were not alone. Filled were we with tender thoughts of those many who had gone before on this very trail, leaving invisible footprints upon the earth and our souls.

Having reached the summit we so desired, we returned to Webb’s Inn to join friends. Over many cups of coffee and a hearty breakfast reigned tales of times past and future, completely unbridled by truth. Sustenance of heart and belly now satisfied, my dear companion and I set off for Martins Station.

Not wishing the constant company afforded by the masses gathered upon the hill outside the fort, nor to garrison within the fort, my companion and I hacked out a small encampment within the shelter of soft pines. Having but the necessary items, our camp was set quickly with little effort. Mr. Jos.Hinson’s comments notwithstanding, our encampment was quite well suited toward our purposes.

Indeed, t’was not long into the setting of camp that friends seemed to pour out of the very woods with hailed greetings, rough slaps upon our backs and much good natured ribbing. Thus the entire day was spent in the company of friends, visiting suttlers and admiring the many goods available for notice of the public. Many were the faces we had not seen since year last, or in many cases had but corresponded with and never placed face with word. It was a fine thing indeed to spend even little time in the camps of friends. Unbidden, the day quickly slipped into night and though constantly on guard of attack our company of settlers, hunters, horsemen and friendly natives passed the night unmolested by the gathering savages. Though safe from native attacks, Nature surely blew her best winds through the mountains causing minor harm to some.

May 8. My companion remarked upon the new day; “I was half awake and two thirds asleep all night!” which did indeed seem a fair if not mathematically accurate statement. Our small camp held tight and the morning coffee was enjoyed immensely. Having sutlers nearby caused our vain side to appear and I departed company from Mr. Mains in search of female companionship to obtain garments befitting a Sunday service. Though unable to locate the whereabouts of Mistress Patton, Mistress Selter and I passed a pleasant, but unfortunately short time together strolling through the assembled tradesmen’s tents. Just as a purchase was negotiated to obtain a pistol from Mr. Moore a runner approached announcing imminent danger of attack!

As is my wont to do, I flew off toward the station camp to render my services to Captains Titus and Martin. Though concerned with my obvious femininity, the captains discerned my sincere intent to fight, with or without their leave or consent to do so, and thus they welcomed the additional steady hand, powder and lead of an experienced shooter.

Within moments the thunder of hoofs confirmed our worst fears, the whooping and snarls of painted savages ripped through the afternoon air with the sounds of engagement. A rough moment took place in getting the inexperienced men into formation and out the narrow gate, nearly causing Captain Titus to explode with rage, but once no longer hemmed in by the fort walls, the men showed their courage and hours of drilling became muscle memory, as finally they began to follow command as second nature.

Smoke from burning cabins, screams of terror, agony, defeat and defiance filled my senses entirely. A high fever burned inside my soul for revenge against this heathen force. Further, a burning raging hatred for the militia's drilled volley fire filled me and nearly caused me to break rank and engage the enemy at will, as I knew my aim would be more accurately used, and alone I could pour many many more ounces of lead down the enemy’s throats and rip through their soft red bellies.

T’was only the sheer force and brute strength of the Captain’s will that held us together in rank, particularly when approached by savages with our own dear women as captives. Surely Satan himself must embody those hellish fiends for no son of God could destroy so viciously the innocence of women and children. My God, the terror those savages struck with their fires, tortures and scalping knives, twas surely a blessing for those who were quickly dispatched, not to be taken with force to the red man’s evil places to be further tormented. Worse still, were those race traders, those men of white skin who hath turned their yellow backs upon the ways of right and Godliness! Those yellow cur dogs deserve no less than the very tortures which they themselves inflict upon their own kind.

Within what seemed hours or even days of fighting the battle was over, a haze of gunsmoke filled the valley and the wounded and dead were retrieved from the field. Screams continued to rend the air as the good doctor made every attempt to save life and rend torn and useless limbs from the bodies of the mortally wounded. The militia formed up a line and marched to a safe area for the enjoyment of a rum ration and acknowledgement of a job well done. My dear companion once again found, we enjoyed the lecture of our friend Mr. M. Baker, after which some quiet time alone and the remainder of the day slipped easily by.

This quiet reverie was once again broken by the sound of drums, screams and the crack of firelocks. To arms we ran for it seemed another battle was underway, this time with a layer of intrigue! Early in the warm afternoon sun, acting in our natural capacity as spy and scout, intelligence was gathered of devious schemes afoot. Indeed, we had heard whispered rumor of the savage’s intent to disarm Captain Titus. Once such intelligence had reached our ears fierce was our intent to dissuade any fool from such a mission. Further, other spies had gathered intelligence of evil intent to remove the cannon from our possession. Thus we were hardened to battle with our very lives to protect the honor of our captain and our strongest defense.

To Captain Titus did Mistress Bailey attached herself with much determination. Acting as his personal guard along with Colonel Brown, Captain Titus addressed his men with a bellow and allowed them to know Mistress Bailey was granted his full permission to fire at will, and buttstoke any man who came within harms distance of himself.

Thus into battle we did advance. Darkness nearly upon us, the hateful fire, smoke, and crack of firelocks filled the night. Truer men than these can hardly be imagined. Strengthened by fierce loyalty and determined to protect that which was ours we marched into the night and took on the savages with raw power. Captain Martin roared commands at his men and the men responded with perfection firing as one into the night. During the heat of battle, the smell of powder and a heady knowledge of our forebears lent strength to our purpose. Indeed, so filled were we with a second life of those who had gone before, it seemed invisible fingers guided our own to insure perfect loading and we were joined with another’s eye with which to aim true. We welcomed in the ghosts of our fathers past and joined in spirit with them, we did surely fight with double strength, loyalty and honor! No evil intended man would brook the range between myself and Captain Titus, for rather we would place ourselves in harms way, guarding his very life with our own.

Twice, yellow bellied men with paint upon their bodies to cover their cowardliness, came to engage our captain and were instantly put down as the cur dogs they were. And still the fires burned bright into the night. Orphans screamed with terror as they were torn from lifeless mothers arms, men once sound of mind and body, lost a level of conscience and allowed their minds to take leave of their senses. Yet still we fought! And the savages too seemed filled with a mindless rage, as defiant and evil as we had ever engaged. Mistress Nature again whipped her mighty winds through the mountains and so the battle fever blew through us.

Memory does not serve one well in such times and suffice it to say this is for the best; for many such battle memories are too difficult for a thinking man to bear. The savages were partially successful in their endeavor to relieve us of the cannon, however their joy was much depressed to find our good men had spiked the thing, leaving them a heavy but useless trophy. Our own men were much gladdened with the capture of the most offensive of savages who was even now bound and left for dead in a secure blockhouse, to be dealt with appropriately.

As the fires burned down and the smoke began to clear we rejoined our companions within the station camp walls. Much rejoicing took place with the capture and success of the field. The prisoner was brought forth to the Captain’s presence and lo! Even in his weakened state, did this evil son of Satan make an attempt for Captain Titus’s sword! Having been earlier informed of this savages greatest intention, we were on the lookout for such an attempt and made quick work of him. His meaty hand twisted beneath my own as toward the sky I pulled it and gave him over to Colonel Brown, who immediately tossed him like refuse of a chamber pot into the fort yard.

With this excitement past, the Captain and I passed a short time quietly together, celebrating with a rum ration. As is his duty, the captain then went out to address the assembled men and women of the station camp. His sincere and heartfelt thanks was given to all those who fought bravely, but especial thanks to Captain Martin who’s own diligence and perseverance were remarkable. Three cheers were given and the huzzah’s rang over and over long into the night.

Mr. Mains, and I once more retired to our own encampment to discuss the passed hours, during which we had hardly laid eyes upon one another. His time spent primarily in company of Mr. Delph on a couple of mules well outside the station camp. Afore long the soft strains of Mr. C. Ross’s whistle and Mr. J. Salt’s voice carried into our small copse of trees and begged us join in the merriment. Delightedly we joined with friends new and old to cheer the day, sing songs upon Mistress J. Wingo’s whim, late into the night we joined with others in telling tales of exploits past. Few times in our lives have been passed so happily as these few hours around the campfire with twinkling stars above, mountains standing guard around us and the warmth of love and friendship upon our hearts.

May 9. It was with great dismay we awoke to find fellow scout and hunter Mr. Baker standing at our very feet whilst we slept! Indeed! with much vigor I beg Mr. Mains chose his friends more wisely in future, For Mr. Baker was there to inform Mr. Mains he was needed now at this very moment as the sun cracked the horizon, to go with him on an important mission.

Left to our own devices we determined to make coffee. With bucket in hand to the spring we went, passing two farmers and their indenture along our path. Said indenture, a Mr. Neidlinger, had upon the previous evening oft let loose with his tongue a number of insults which we had chosen not yet to responded to in kind. However, unbidden into the morning light his wayward thoughts got the best of him once more and one further insult too many resulted in a pail of cool spring water being dumped upon him. Now knowing the folly of his ways Mr. N. begged the forgiveness of Mistress Bailey and further presented her with a small gift that she should know his sincerity.

Once coffee, a bit of food and the company of others were enjoyed, it was not long before Mr. Mains returned to find us in the farmer’s paddock. Lo! Mr. Mains appeared to have once again suffered injury during his time with Mr. Baker, in whose company not one month past he had received a vigorous burning from the application of Cowpeas to his flesh courtesy of Mr. B.

This time however, it seemed the wound was self inflicted as Mr. M had been much carried away with the telling of a tale and stumbled upon a stob as though reliving the tale. Grateful not to have removed his own eye, Mr. Mains returned to our company, much marked but not truly wounded except perhaps in pride.

The sound of a horn rent the glorious mountain air as the Pastor called to one and all for divine services. To the station camp we assembled in the presence of Gods wisdom. With the pastors word, the surrounding mountain beauty and His word we were many of us carried in spirit far beyond our simple selves to truly feel His presence. The magnificence of these moments with God and His chosen company cannot be described by this humble writer.

T'was truly a blessed morning, furthered by the tender words of friendship offered by one whom this writer most admires and respects. For in all God’s creatures it is often the lowliest, most humble and downtrodden that He Himself instills His words and acts for the benefit of others. And so it she, our own dearest Mistress Maggie, a simple indentured servant who brings friendship and God’s words closer to our hearts, bringing tears to our eyes as the beauty, glory, and honor being her friend fills us so fully that room must be made by the spilling out of tears.

Indeed many words of love were spoken on this glorious day, and no better place on earth in which to share them. Love and friendship only tempered by the lack of time to be spent in each one another's company. For time doth pass too quickly and too soon must we be upon the trails to return to our home lands, but never in our hearts will this time among loved ones, past and present, be forgot. The grandeur of the mountains, the word of our Lord, and the divine inspirations granted to us this day are far reaching into our very soul leaving us somehow different and better than when we arrived.

Our greatest and most humble thanks to Mr. Heck, Captain Titus and those assembled at the Station we remain deeply indebted to you.

Your most humble servant,

Anne

sketching of the goings on may be viewed:

http://www.graphicenterprises.net/html/martin_s_station.html

Tales of Lore

2010-05-04T05:42:00.008-05:00

April 30. Once more we found ourselves traveling in good company to the banks of the Laughery. Though my companion was delightful, our travels were fraught with concern. upon occasion, we found wispy light clouds had settled into a bank of ominously dark clouds which threatened to spoil not only our travels but our entire encampment. Fair warnings had been given of the impending storm and it's expectant flooding, yet these warnings went unheeded as we felt the warm sun upon our cheek. Warning also of a gathering of savages with ill intent in their red hearts. My intent was clear to keep my small companion close by and in sight at all times.

Our arrival in the destined encampment was met with much joy. Acquaintance long forgot and in need of renewal were in company and friends not seen since year last upon these same banks brought pure delight. Ever watchful of the encroaching savages we made camp with good friends of McLeods Company of 78th Highlanders.

We found ourselves quite grateful for our canvas overhead as the sky opened and let forth a gusting wind, filled with light, a deep grumbling sound and a pounding rain. The valley fairly echoed with the booming of thunder, accompanied by the pounding of stakes deeper into the green earth as our mates hunkered down their canvas more tightly.

May 1. Upon the new day it was determined all had faired well with no casualties of the the storm. With drizzling clouds of rain washing through the valley we broke our fast and enjoyed the warmth of coffee under the sheltering canvas of the McAfee clan. With the rising sun the mist of the hills began to burn off and a glimmer of sun peeked through leaving silver and gold lines in the sky over head.

Though the skys seemed to clear, warnings reached us of impending battle. As we were guests upon the graciousness of our hosts of the McLeod company we thought it best to make ourselves into their very likeness, with hope of gathering forces to defeat the miserable French and their native allies.

Once kitted into the likeness of a Highland lad we endeavored to disguise ourselves entirely. Though in truth some may have noted the smoothness of cheek and soft curves of this lad, if inspected too closely. We assembled our forces upon the hill and fought bravely. With our great strength and superior ranks the small number of French found themselves and their allies unable to hold the field, and as they are wont to do, retreated from the field after an accord was struck. Our ranks celebrated the victory with little cheer as the French ranks had been so small as to hardly require our services, leaving foul and dirty muskets for almost no true fight.

Wishing to further our skills in the practice of musquetry we set off for the blockhouse and the range beside. Once a small group had assembled the troops broke into small groups of three and four. A small number of Voyageur had made an encampment and thought to show our men the handling of weaponry. Which, much to our dismay they surely did, their ranks having fired more truly than our own upon the determined target. Being French, they celebrated their success with much merriment and drinking of shrub.

Our time was our own for a while and as there were many good sutlers my companion and I partook of a few of their wares. Captain Jacobs, Mr. Browder and many others whose reputations are much esteemed, presented many fine items for the notice of the public. Though in truth, the foulness of the weather had kept many settlers snug in their dry cabins.

This fine reverie was brought to end as a runner brought news of savages nearby. Not wishing to be restricted in dress or by rank of military we made ourselves into our usual attire and prepared to meet the risk at hand.

Near a cabin upon the hill a small assembly of women and children were about their chores and a bit of merriment, when they were struck with the worst possible disaster, as the crack of indian rifles fired brought all men and lads to give rescue to their beloved. As my weapon is always my constant companion we gave back as much fire as was possible. Devastated were we as the number of women and children murdered by these sons of satan increased. Mistress Cole whose own dear children were among the first to fall could not be restrained in her fruitless searching for babies. Twas pure misery to see the field littered with the small bodies of innocence and the aimless wanderings of Mistress Cole, begging for her children to come to her.

Raging fire took hold of my very heart as we screamed warning to her, yet God's protection must have been upon Mistress Cole. for though she took no shelter and walked fully among the dead and through the rifle fire, no bullet found target in Mistress Cole, perhaps this was little mercy considering her bewildered status of mind and loss of her beloved children.

This fire once kindled in my breast could only be dampened in the blood of the savage. My aim was true and more than one of the red hearted cowards were turned in agony as we loaded each ball with the prayer it bring death and destruction upon those whom it meet. These prayers were many answered and yet it was that traitor to his people, one Simon Girty, miserable wretch, who found himself with a chance to fight not with his rifle, but hand to hand with this woman. Ah, ye know it was not an easy fight, not as he might have expected for as always my hatchet was at hand! The blow given was mighty and given with all possible strength, but being filled with a hatred of his own race Girty found his strength much stronger than my own. struggling for life and limb we were dealt a blow of uncommon strength which took the wind entirely out of ourselves and twas not long afore the disgusting traitor took advantage with his knife to liberate a portion of my scalp. Screams met, his and my own, one in bloody triumph, the other in pure agony.

The battle raged for only a few minutes more as the skulking red beasts deprived small bodies of their hair and mothers of their children. spoils of the field lay littered upon the hill as we pulled ourselves toward the relieve of men come too late to save our little community.

May 2. Ominous skys let forth with rain and mist all of this day, leaving little time for any pleasure. Though in company with Messers; Narjess, Haas and Prusinski, a bit of shooting ensued under the watchful eye of Mr. and Mistress Stern. Scores were settled and we found ourselves well pleased with the results, though mostly with the pleasure of spending time with frontier friends. My companion let not the rains trouble her at all, taking pure pleasure as only children do, and our travel home was filled with Lore of the Laughery.

(Photo Credit Graphic Enterprises Cummings, http://www.graphicenterprises.net/index.html)

a gift arrives

2010-04-28T15:55:00.003-05:00

April 28. On an otherwise quiet day, a knock upon the door and there, before us is the post rider, delivering an unexpected gift. Inside the tenderly wrapped package, a poleax from Mr. Romack, a fine friend in Maryland. 'Tis a wonderous thing to behold, and soon shall be put to good use upon the trail.

Westward to Ouabash Valley

2010-04-19T21:26:00.002-05:00

April 16. We traveled lightly and quickly to the designated encampment and found ourselves upon high ground, much satisfied to be far from the river and it's quagmire of mud, and amongst good friends, the Ouabash Valley Frontiersman. The gathering herewith was small but much enjoyed; a good natured contest or challenge amongst friends to be held on the marrow.

Mr. Curt Hoagland the fine master of gun making and a musician of some renown played late into the evening setting tunes to the chirps of the night creatures. My dear, dear friend, Mr. Charlie Hodges and I shared camp as is our usual custom, though each within our own confines, we shared fire, stories, and a drop or two. Passed a lovely hour or so with Mr. Travis Wilkins and enjoyed a fine meal in the local ordinary, though sadly Mr. Wilkins was destine to leave us fore the night was o'er.

April 17. Mr. Witte had arranged a fine contest amongst the small gathering and many shots were heard to ring true upon the day, my companions and I at no loss for lead or powder made quite a show of our skills. Though in truth, Messrs Hoagland and Hodges were quite superior in their placement of marks. Mr. W's sweet daughter Miss Katie was a useful girl who entertained herself in the replacement of marks and the occasional taste treat! for but a few shillings the girl even partook of the grand fun and was found to be quite talented as a markswoman!

The day passed swiftly amongst such company as this and a few other good souls and the evening was filled with laughter, the strains of Mr. Hoaglands sweet music and even a greeting or two from a winged bird hooting or rather screeching from the trees. The recent acquisition of a soapstone heated near the fire kept toes from chilling and was even found to be warm to the touch upon the new days dawn, a fine acquisition indeed for a woman alone to keep warm of a cool night!

April 18. another contest and challenge for the gathered participants, a brief nap in the sunshine, and finally an auction were the highlights. The auction resulted in a new snuff box and gambling cards. sadly the day came to a close and all passed into other territories.

A Fine Frolic at Pricketts Fort

2010-04-13T12:27:00.005-05:00

April 8. We rose early in the morning to journey far to the south, with great anticipation in our hearts and much haste at heel. Arrived at the back woods cabin of Mr. J. Mains and was entertained well by the family therein. We left Mr. Main’s in Augusta at one’oclock in high spirits and embarked for the Great Kanawha Valley. We proceeded along the river passing Blue Licks and Limestone, after which time Mr. Mains lost himself, or rather became bewildered for a time, in his own river valley. We passed on from hence, crossing uneventfully the River Ohio, whereupon we found ourselves once again.

We proceeded along at a reasonable pace to the Kanawha River with only a brief correspondence from one D. Rowsey who informed us of another gentleman upon whom we might call, but greatly regretted he himself would not be making the journey to the fort, as he was presently embroiled in other Indian affairs. Within the prescribed time we found the location of Prickett’s Fort. Having been nothing but a blinding rain in the valley for days upon end Mr. Mains spoke to the keeper of an ordinary outside the fort who had rooms to let and we stopt for a time. It being a fine establishment, we found ourselves in great comfort and were entertained in a high fashion for the night.

April 9. We arose grudgingly, early this morning and proceeded 4 miles lower to the fort. The land is quite good in this area and we traveled easily with much sun, arriving at the determined time. Quite befuddled were we to find Mr. D. Jones, known simply as Muggs, was not to be found within the fort walls or without. Having come into a poorly spirit he found himself quite unable to travel.

Upon arrival near the fort, a smell the likes of which can only be ascertained near a tannery assaulted our very senses and we found the tanner Mr. Ch. Brown attending to the necessaries of his profession. Mr. Brown is well known as a fine tanner and waxed on about his profession to all who would listen. A good many hides were in evidence strewn about the area, most of which had been perfectly tanned. Mr. Brown seemed mildly amused and only lightly vexed with commentary by a Mr. Ma. Baker who requested significantly less fine quality, he, Mr. Ma. Baker, perhaps not being afforded the ability to pay for high quality hides and repeatedly suggested he receive “narly” hides. Messers Brown, Mains, and Baker enjoyed some humor and much discussed the topic. Resulting in Mr. Baker presenting Mr. Mains with a bit of deer tail for his hat, for which Mr. Mains while exceedingly grateful ultimately returned.

The good Doctor Mr. A. Roberts was visited by a goody many sorts near the fortyard. A fair bit of bloodletting, an amputation, scalp reattachment and other status of the arts of medicine were practiced. One poor miserable creature who had been beaten about the head with a war club was forced to undergo trephination. Dr. Roberts expounded upon his work with great zeal, to the crowd which had gathered to witness this miraculous work, he explained that once the hole had been created with the trephan, he would straddle the crack with his instrument and poke around abit, extracting bits and pieces of bone and tissue, relieving the intracranial pressure, then allow the crack to close up and scab over.

We determined a great fort dinner feast was in order and much food was prepared and enjoyed by all inside the fortyard. The company of a good many souls was much enjoyed. Captain Jacobs and Mr. Browder had made the journey and were fine company well into the evening. Many acquaintances were made and renewed. It seems the exploits of Mstrss. A. Bailey have become known in many forts, ordinaries and coffee houses and she was well received, with few exceptions.

April 10. Messers: St. Gengelbach, Mr. M. Miller a fine rifle maker, Mr. Eh. Ehlert and Mr. Ma. Baker were in attendance from the Second Company. Mr. G and Mr. E gave fine intelligence of several scouts made far and near. Mr. Miller discussed the various types of critter getters of the rifled variety.

Messers Kobuck, Charlton, Hersee and the tailor Mr. T. Crowder made fools of themselves much of the time until mustered Saturday afternoon, at which point one was utterly confounded to find the uncouth Mr. N. Kobuck in a role of leadership,

causing great consternation among my company. The tailor T. Crowder was found to be quite competent, even in his spirited shape, and produced many necessary hunting shirts for the assemblage.

Those who mustered at Pricketts fort were good men, brave and true with few exceptions, those of which found not to be in possession of all necessary goods were fined a shilling per piece. About the fortyard there were fixed, like dung upon rails, any number of men found unfit to serve. agedness, physical and mental infirmity were plain to see but a few had the look of simpletons, loafers and layabouts, the likes of which should, by all rights have been stockaded, beaten or whipped and pressed into service within our very sight.

Upon review of the good Doctor, the vast majority of the assemblage of men were proclaimed fit for service, though Mstress A. Bailey caused a pause in the questioning and requested proof the Good Doctor was fit to conduct such examinations upon herself. Upon which time the Doctor presented a document writ in the hand of the very doctor who had trained him up. Once so proven, your friend Mstress Bailey was approved for service as spy and scout within the company. While scouting, one in her company was unfortunate to step upon a large thorn which required extraction, and cauterization. The Doctor, suddenly unavailable and likely to be found imbibing with the proprietress of a local coffee house, required Mstress B. to extract the offending item herself, strike a fire, cauterize the wound and then fend off an imminent attack with her hatchet. The impending attack narrowly averted caused much hunger in the fort.

Mr. Baker, who one would be hard pressed to call a camp cook, waxed prolific on his findings on his study of the Natural Man. Mr. B, while quite proficient as an instructor was found to be lacking in his presentation of buffaloe short ribs. In addition, his jovial manner while dishing his three sister stew with cowpeas, corn and squash, resulted in a scuffle with Mr. J. Mains, the resulting scald upon Mr. Mains hand will likely require restitution from Mr. B. for an extended time. Once again the Doctor was completely unavailable and Mr. Mains endured the nursing skills of Mstrss B. who gathered bits of plantain from thereabouts, chewed it and then spit a mighty hank of green slime upon the blistered area and wrapped it in linen.

The tavern provided much distraction and a fine frolic for all assembled. Games of chance, skill and luck prevailed within, and without the fortyard, as patrons imbibed in spirituous beverages of shrub and punch, prepared, of course, by the drunkard Kobuck and his group of instigators. Mr. Charlton presided over the hearth area, much impressing all in his banyan and cap, to which many others aspired but, alas fell short.

Mr. Mains and Mstrss Bailey much enjoyed the company of many a good man, but retired early to quarters without the bewildering and befuddled nature so easily obtained from one’s cups, not requesting nor requiring the strong assistance of Mr. G. upon this years gathering; unlike in years passed upon which Mr. Gengelbach fairly slung Mr. Mains over his shoulder and tossed him to quarters.

Indeed, fine times were had. Departing the fort brought nearly a tear as hands were tightly clasped perhaps for the last, and fond farewells given, until such time as many of us shall reconvene near the falls of the Ohio at Laughery Creek or at Martins station, whereupon much concern has been addressed of an impending raid.

The journey to the River Ohio was uneventful and Mr. Mains split company from us at his cabin with much regret. One can only hope he regains use of his much disfigured limb and will thus be counted upon in the event of the raid at Martins Station. Upon returning, my own small cabin affords warmth, comfort and the feeling of home until such time as we shall be called out into the wilderness again. A candle remains lit late into the eve, the log upon the hearth crackles merrily and letters shall be writ to share the fine times, that others may know of them and remember our names.

Mud Scout

2010-03-29T21:44:00.004-05:00

March 28 ~29. Auspicious beginnings to the Blue Heron Scout: Small flock of spring turkeys were spied upon a flat as two large males puffed and strutted for hens, displayed their magnificence. Happily, Mr. Browder, of the Longhunter Leather Company, chanced upon me prior to our arranged time and location, and we made a quick study of these fine animals in their glory. If not for fear of alerting any natives in proximity, surely a turkey would have graced the mess this very eve. Mr. Browder and I continued together to the Story Inn, our ordained assembly point. Within moments we were met with others of our scouting contingent; Mr. Egener, Mr. Blackerby and his native son Jeremiah, Mr. Goodwin who is known to all as Pit, Mr. Henderson the renowned potter, and Captain Jacobs with his friend Mr. Harmeson. Together, we convened to review our provisions and maps. After remarking with great humor upon my skills as an artist and mapmaker we set off for Jacobs Station.

Mr. Blackerby, the Tracker Jeremiah, Mr. Browder and Pit set off afoot. I gladly joined Mr. Egener in his fine pirogue, while Captain Jacobs and Mr. Harmeson launched Captain Jacobs newly made pirogue, Mr. Henderson carried many supplies of the men afoot in his small punt.

While weighed down heavily with goods and provisioning our small fleet made haste until such time as a small beast made his presence known with a snap of his tail. We admired his sleek coat as he swam alongside Mr. Henderson, though afore long he evaded us. Had Pit carried in his fine traps Mr. Flattail’s hide would most surely have been in Pit’s possession!

Our small company arrived at Jacobs Station and disembarked, in a short time the troop afoot appeared and required passage from their side of the waterway. Mr. Egener made the ferry trip several times and once more we were assembled together. Captain Jacobs and Mr. Harmeson made a quick survey of the area to determine the area for encampment. Suddenly, a foreign sound to the south sent all to arms. Three natives boldly stepped into view. Pit and Mr. Blackerby immediately strode aggressively toward the men, but were halted by a word from Captain Jacobs.

The native’s leader, a slender man with scalplock, warily but with much confidence came forward, while his two men remained on guard. Their lack of war paint and clear intent to communicate was a small comfort, but the company was vigilant, instantly taking points of defense. The captain laid out trade goods and then stepped forward with a gift held forth. The two men took stock of one another and the noble savage spoke words only intelligible to the captain. With handsigns, a few words of French, and our own tongue, a rough communication was made between the men. With a trade of goods between the leaders a tentative accord was struck. Recently from a maple sugar camp the natives produced a weight of the cakes and offered them to the company. Their leader made it known to us that they were traveling ahead of their families and were much concerned with our intent in this land. Much concerned were they over recent settlements being made in their hunting grounds. The captain confirmed our intent to merely travel through. Our accord now firmly sealed, Captain Jacobs invited these men to join our company for the evening.

The area for our encampment was determined with the help of the natives and shortly order was established, camp made and a fire begun for the mess. A contingent set off for a rough scout of the area surrounding the encampment, whilst a few remained to keep a watchful eye over our newly formed friendship. Upon the scouting contingent’s return a bit of good natured pugilism was taken up by Captain Jacobs and myself. Whilst Captain Jacobs feels certain of his success in the match, his position face down in the mud with my arm covering his windpipe causes me to believe myself to be the victor; if not in skill nor strength, then certainly in spirit.

An evening of fellowship and camaraderie passed without incident. Cloud cover kept the air relatively warm, but soon let forth with a drizzling rain that failed to dampen the company’s spirits. Huddled in my bed of leaves with my blankets and oil cloth, neither the rain nor the temperature were of any consequence to me, however a watchful eye remained upon the tamed savages sleeping nearby; my own rest delayed until theirs was certain. After but a few short hours of sleep, Mr. Browder and I took up watch over the company, soon joined by Mr. Egener. As the men arose it was discovered not all had enjoyed a warm or dry bed. Some found their choice of bedding inadequate or poorly positioned, leaving them more than a bit damp, but all remained in high spirits once coffee and tea was properly taken.

Our native brothers left the camp without incident in the early morn as a dull light filtered through the clouds during a break in the rain. All signs of their brief sojourn wiped away in all but our journals and memories. The company was soon trail ready and decamped. As with the previous day, a portion of our party traveled the water way whilst others cut a trail. Water, dirt, and mud from the continued spring rains seeped into every fiber of our clothing, packs and nearly every crevice as we proceeded upon our way, causing the members of our group to rename the scout from Blue Heron Scout to Mud Scout. Our small, weary, and very muddy company dispersed after taking in a hearty midday meal.

One can only hope each man found comfort in joining in fellowship and company for but a short time. T’was certain that each was a valued member of our little band of brothers, lead by an able captain in an uncertain and dangerous time. I shall recall this time spent together with much fondness, fine memories and a desire to cross paths again with any of these good men.

2010-03-22T05:13:00.003-05:00

SPRING

March 21. Spring rains pound the ground causing autumnal seeds to wake, tiny bursts of color dot the landscape; yellow, purple, green, even the barest hint of pink. Spring, in all her eternal glory hath stepped lively into this land, where her charming finger doth point there is renewal, rebirth and strength anew. ‘Tis she, the forever childlike daughter of Mother Nature who casts off ice and chill of old man winter. A fine and fickle child she is, dancing through meadows of tiny lavender flowers one moment and next stomping her feet in the moonlit rising creek. Beware, for when her tempers flare neither man nor beast can hide against her. Man may beg of her tender mercies; this mistress of flood, fire and mayhem, but ‘tis merely her nature, as the beasts recall.

Aye, much like our dear child Spring, my tempers flare; only to be washed away with the coolness of a morning rain shower. One must recall, danger is often only perceived; light of day reveals the frightful monster of night ‘tis merely the small branch of a tree, blown by rushing wind to tap tap tap upon the window glass. Morning hath come, painting the dawn with her full palette.

Sparks Ignite!

2010-03-12T18:26:00.007-06:00

Great anger hath taken hold and penetrates deeply into both heart and mind. Doubt the Lady and her abilities, eh? One might briefly consider the Lady's hot demeanor before making statements or whispering innuendo. A shower of sparks hath been laid to dry tender and one should hardly be surprised when great flames lick mercilessly at the hand which did so thoughtlessly strike flint to steel.

While at once our great friend, providing warmth and enlivening the dark, remember dear reader, that the twinkling flame is quick to betray the careless hand. Recall, 'tis just a tiny spark that ignites both candle or cannon; and tis but the same to the spark.

Vigilance is again most strongly cautioned, for one knows not from whence an attack may arise. Rumors, like ashes after flame abound, the savage is restless and seeks to strike those who are incautious like mere babes. Preparedness is essential without end. Anger breathes hot through my veins and removes all trace of fear, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. Aye, the spark hath been well laid and the Lady burns for vengeance.

early scouting report

2010-03-10T21:41:00.006-06:00

March 10. Having returned but hours ago from a brief scouting, I find myself miserably winded, and terribly unfit for the duties necessary for my position. Having gently wintered amongst friends with nearly every possible comfort it is quite disheartening to find oneself in such soft condition.

Indeed, even carrying the barest essentials; my rifle, ax, bedroll, a meager amount of foodstuffs and a small pot with which to cook, has taxed my body and left soreness within my arms and legs. I feel compelled to set out each evening with these few belongings upon my back to prepare, Prepare! for the coming season.

One must be prepared in physique, mind, and spirit for one knows not from whence troubles may arise. I'll relate a bit of a story of a scout named Lynn who encountered resistance in an unexpected manner. This narrative comes by way of a good gentleman, Mr. Dale Payne, who compiled many Narratives of Pioneer Life and Border Warfare;

"In order to make discoveries, on the 26th of September (1777), Capt. Foreman with forty-five men set out for Grave Greek. Having arrived there, and seeing the fort standing and discovering no signs of the Indians, they returned. On arriving at the foot of the narrows, a contention arose between Capt. Foreman and a man by the name of Lynn, who had been sent with him as a spy (scout) upon which road they should take, the river or ridge. Lynn urged the probability of the Indians having been on the opposite shore, and had more than likely seen them pass down; and the most likely place for waylaying them was in the narrows, and therefore urged the necessity of going the ridge road.

Foreman being indisposed to take the council of Lynn, proceeded along the base of the hill. During the contention, Robin Harkness set upon a log, having very sore eyes at the time, and took no part in the dispute; but when Capt. Foreman started, he followed him. Lynn, however with seven or eight other frontiersmen, went the ridge road. Whilst passing along a narrow bottom at the head of the narrows, the foremost of Capt. foreman's men picked up some Indian trinkets, which immediately excited a suspicion that Indians were near, which caused a halt. Before them some five or six Indians stepped into the path behind them about the same number, and at the same moment a fire was poured in upon them from a line of Indians under cover of the river bank, and not over fifteen steps from the white men. Those that escaped the first fire fled up the hill, but it being steep and difficult to climb they were exposed for some time to the fire of the Indians. Lynn and his comrades, hearing the fire when they were below them on the ridge ran along until opposite. They then proceeded to the brink of the hill, where they saw a man ascending near them, who had got nearly to the top when he received a shot in his thigh, which broke it. Lynn and his comrades rand down and lifted him up, carried him over the hill and hid him under a cleft of rocks, and then proceeded to wheeling.As Robin Harkness was climbing the hill near the top and pulling himself up by a bush, a ball struck it and knocked the bark off against him, which alarmed him, as he supposed it to be the ball, he however proceeded on and escaped unhurt. In this fatal ambuscade twenty-one of Capt. Foreman's party were killed and several much wounded; among the slain were capt. foreman and his two sons."

You see dear reader, the folly of hiring a man to fill a position and then discounting that man's words. This grievous error indisposed Capt. Foreman in a most permanent manner. Had but Lynn's word been taken for their worth, the captain his two sons and twenty one mother's sons would be well and breathing for another fight!

2010-03-05T17:54:00.006-06:00

March 5. Finally, the sun hath shone upon the land, there is much for which one aught give thanks.

Though with the coming spring it is certain the Shawnese will throw off their winter robes and take to their wickedness. Vigilance always; for the snap of a twig is oft afore the crack of rifle fire.

Meet Anne

2010-03-02T22:23:00.000-06:00

In the late 1700s Anne Bailey served in the Great Kanawha Valley as a buckskin-clad frontierswoman who could handle a horse, hatchet, and long rifle as well as any man. When her husband was killed in the battle of Point Pleasant in 1774 she was compelled to avenge his death and embarked on a new life as border scout and messenger. The 1861 poem “Anne Bailey’s Ride” commemorates her heroic 1791 ride alone through over 100 miles of mostly wilderness when Fort Lee (Charleston) was threatened with attack to Fort Savannah (Lewisburg) and her return with desperately needed gunpowder.

The story of Anne Bailey's life is interwoven with local folklore, but her place as a pioneer heroine is unquestioned. In 1791 what is today West Virginia was largely unsettled wilderness in the middle of a frontier war between would-be settlers and local Indian tribes. When Fort Lee was threatened with attack and a low supply of ammunition, Anne Bailey, scout and messenger, rode alone through 100 miles of near wilderness to Fort Savannah at Lewisburg and returned with the needed powder to save the fort at Clendenin's Settlement which today is Charleston, West Virginia.

Born Anne Hennis in Liverpool, England, probably in 1742, she came to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia when she was about 19 and in 1765 married Richard Trotter, a local settler. When Lord Dunmore called for militia to fight the Indians of the western border in 1774, Richard Trotter enlisted, but was killed on Oct. 10, 1774 at the Battle of Point Pleasant against the forces of Shawnee leader, Cornstalk. This event changed Anne's life completely and she left her son, William Trotter, to the care of others and became a skilled frontier scout, horsewoman, hunter, messenger and storyteller, wearing buckskins, carrying hatchet, knife and long rifle. She married again in 1785 to John Bailey, another frontiersman and army ranger, those forerunners of today's special forces.