King's Mountain (17 page)

As we ambled along at the snail's pace required to move a thousand men and a herd of cattle along a narrow trace, I reflected on that old legend, trying to remember if some bygone Indian warrior had killed the monster, or if it had simply gone away.

My two boys were a ways behind me when we set out, in company with some of the younger riders who were friends of theirs, and so for a while I had only the company of my own thoughts as I rode along, but presently my brother Robert trotted up alongside me, slowing his horse back to an ambling gait that made it as easy for us to converse as if we were sitting on a porch. The path along the creek was dappled with sunlight, shining through the leaves on the trees of the bordering woods. Those leaves would be red and gold by the time we made our way back this far on the return journey, but for now summer still held sway here in the valley, and there was no sign that it was coming to an end.

Robert grinned up at me. “Well, we've gone and done it, Jack. The die is cast. I hope you and Shelby know what you're doing, because I don't reckon you could stop this thing now even if you wanted to. There's more soldiers here than John ever saw.”

I nodded, knowing which John my brother meant: the prophet who penned the Book of Revelations. “I wish I had more soldiers than
Caesar
ever saw.”

Robert squinted up through the overhanging branches at the sun, now high in the sky. “We have a long way to go, Jack. And at this pace, it's going to take an almighty long time to get there. Why, Ferguson might die of old age and save us all the trouble of killing him.”

I scowled at my younger brother's levity, but, though I would not admit it, I took his jest to heart. It wasn't the boredom of the tedious journey that concerned me—enduring hardship was our duty. I was worried, because I knew that the more slowly we proceeded, the more danger there was of our route becoming known to the enemy, and, because of that, we could be attacked somewhere along the way. Also, a slow journey was a longer one, which would mean that we would use up more food as the days passed, perhaps leaving us less than we would need when it was vital to maintain our strength for battle.

After Bob dropped back in the ranks to talk to other riders, I turned these thoughts over in my mind for a while. Presently, I rode a bit ahead so that I could have a word with Colonel Shelby.

“We must find a way to go faster,” I told him, after we had exchanged the usual pleasantries.

Shelby turned partway around in his saddle, and surveyed the long line of soldiers stretching out behind us until they were obscured by the trees at the bend in the road. Behind them was the herd of cattle, not within sight of us, but occasionally we could hear their bawling echoing through the narrow valley.

Shelby shook his head. “There are nigh on to a thousand men in this caravan, all trying to make their way down a narrow mountain trail. I don't think you can expect them to proceed at a gallop.”

“No, but there ought to be a way to go at more than a crawl.” I told him my concerns about an ambush and about depleting our supplies on a protracted journey.

Shelby listened carefully to all my explanations, then he smiled. “Let's think on it as we go, Colonel Sevier. We'll see how far we get by nightfall. Then, if you are still of the same mind, we can take the matter up among ourselves.”

*   *   *

The sun, now low in the sky, was obscured by shoals of gray clouds that had begun to roll in from the southwest, following behind us as surely as the bawling cattle. By the time the rain began to fall, we had reached the Doe River, with the great wall of mountains rising up in front of us. It was too close to nightfall now to attempt to cross over them, and we called a halt to the procession. My great concern was neither the fatigue of the men, nor the encroaching dark: it was the danger that the rain might ruin the powder. On the steep side of the trail, a rock overhang created a natural shelter from the elements, and as soon as I saw it, I directed the men to stow the powder there. The nights were still warm enough, and we could sleep in the sodden field beside the river and be none the worse for it, but in a week's time our lives would depend upon the efficacy of Mary Patton's powder, and I meant to look after it in the meantime.

We had no tents or official military issue for our expedition. All we had was what had been brought from home. We made camp in the field beside the river, wrapped in blankets to protect us from the chill and the damp, and, after we had fed and watered the horses, we ate what rations we had brought with us: jerky and cracked corn, mostly.

John Miller, a young man from a nearby farmstead came out to see what all the commotion was, and the soldiers dismounted and crowded around him, eager to tell him where they were going and why.

John Miller nodded as they spoke, but he was looking at their horses, lifting one mount's forefoot after another, and shaking his head. “You've got a mighty long ride ahead of you, boys, and the trail gets rocky from here on over the mountain. It'll wear those horses' hoofs down to a nub if you don't get 'em shod.”

Seeing their worried faces, he added, “I'm by way of being a blacksmith. If you'd care to come back to my place, I reckon I could do the job for you this evening.”

The officer in charge granted permission for them to do this, and half a dozen men walked their horses down the path to Miller's farm.

I suppose I was as weary as anybody, but before I crawled into my bedroll, I wanted to talk to the other militia commanders about how we might go faster for the rest of the journey. I collected Shelby and McDowell, and we hunted up Colonel Campbell, who was sheltering under a tree with a group of his Virginia officers before a sputtering campfire.

The four of us squatted there next to the fire and talked in low voices about the march.

“Colonel Sevier thinks we are not moving fast enough,” Shelby said.

“I was thinking that as well,” said Campbell. “Word is already spreading among the little settlements we pass by. I would not want the news to reach the Tories too far in advance of our own arrival.”

“What can we do about it, though?” said McDowell. “Nobody is slacking or lagging behind. And that is a herd of cattle yonder, not blood horses. You cannot make them gallop down the trace.”

I had spent most of the afternoon mulling over that very point, and Shelby was right: the cattle were the problem. That set me to thinking back to the siege of Fort Watauga in the summer of '76, where those infernal cows bawling to be milked almost cost the life of my Catherine. I began to see them as an omen, and wondered if the bane of my existence would not be the usual black cat crossing the path of some unlucky soul, but a great oafish cow, always in my way.

Campbell must have been thinking the same thing about what a millstone they were around the neck of the militia. “Let's get rid of the cows, then,” he said. “They cannot go any faster, and we cannot confine ourselves to the pace they set, and so we must part company.”

I nodded. “They were an encumbrance today, on relatively level terrain. Tomorrow when we begin the steep climb to Carver's Gap, they will become an obstacle. Perhaps that herd could make the treacherous ascent, but not with any speed.”

“But we need the cows,” said McDowell. “We can't feed an advancing army on parched corn and then expect them to walk a few hundred miles and fight a battle. We'd be defeating ourselves.”

We were silent for a few minutes, turning over the problem in our minds. Finally, Colonel Shelby said, “No. I cannot see any way around it. We have to slaughter the cattle.”

“All of them?” McDowell frowned as a raindrop fell from a leaf and coursed down his cheek. “How would we ever carry all that meat? How would having to transport the carcasses of five hundred rotting cows help us any?”

“Then let's not kill them all,” I said. “Choose a few of the men to drive some of the cattle right back to the settlement. By now a few of them may be willing to volunteer to turn back. Then we can butcher the rest of the beeves and cook the meat to take with us. If that enables us to move faster, we may get most of the way to our destination before it becomes inedible.”

No one said anything for a few moments, until Colonel Shelby broke the silence with a quiet, “Are we all agreed then, gentlemen?”

We all nodded our assent.

McDowell said, “I suppose it must be done, but I hope that in slaughtering our food supply, we are not doing the enemy's work for him.”

Shelby shrugged. “The faster we move, the less time we'll have to be hungry.”

CHAPTER NINE

September 26, 1780

The day dawned clear, and at first light each of us told our troops what the order of the day would be: dividing the herd; slaughtering the cattle we would keep; and boiling the meat. Only a few of the men would be occupied in performing those tasks. The rest would be set to practice military drill, a step toward learning how to function as a united fighting force. Colonel Campbell was the most experienced among us in such formal military matters, and we deferred to his judgment about what would best serve the needs of our army. We were anticipating a battle upon a flat field, and we needed to be more prepared for such an engagement than Buford's troops had been.

After the herd was divided, and more than half of the cows sent lurching and bawling away back up the trace toward home, we turned to the task at hand. The troops spent the whole of that morning beside the river, dispatching the cattle, and preparing the meat. Although butchering the herd had been my idea, a way to speed up the march, this very action had cost us half a day in which we made no progress. I hoped that the sacrifice was worth the time it cost, and that the outcome would justify the decision.

Perhaps I should have thought of sending a message back to Catherine with the men who were driving the cattle home to the Watauga settlement, but there was much to be done in camp that morning, and by the time I could spare a thought for home and family, the riders had disappeared back up the trace in the wake of the stumbling cattle. There was little I could have told her, anyhow. We had scarcely begun.

Finally, a little past midday, the meat was cooked and stowed away for transport, and we gave orders for the men to mount up and head out. They would not be on horseback much of the way, however, for we were following an old buffalo trail called Bright's Trace that would take us through the woods and then up into Carver's Gap, through which we would ascend the steep slopes, ridge by ridge, until we had crossed over the crest of the mountains. For much of the climb, we would have to lead our mounts and go single file along the path.

As we followed the Bright's Trace higher and higher into the mountains, we left summer behind in the valley below, where the wildwood was still cloaked with green leaves, and the warm sun gilded the fields. We took our leave of that summer country as we climbed into the very clouds that had showered rain on us the night before. Now the air burned cold as we breathed it into our lungs, and the sun was obscured in a wet mist. We threaded our way upward through sparse pines and past boulders lodged on the slopes from spring rock falls.

We halted our march again a few hours later in the gap that led across the mountain. A few miles away, though we could not see it from the gap, stood the high knob of Roan Mountain, whose summit is a great treeless meadow, and once the abode of that great monster wasp of Cherokee lore. I put no stock in fanciful tales of monsters, and of course we saw no sign of such a creature hovering over the mountain when we finally reached that high gap, but we marveled all the same, for having left the late-summer fields of the valley below, we found ourselves ankle-deep in an early snow.

The air was clear now, and looking out from the height of the gap, we could see the Yellow Mountains spread out before us, ridge after ridge of red and gold, resplendent against the cope of heaven. Somewhere to the west of us was home, the settlement we had left behind a day ago. How strange to see that green valley nestled in the curve of the river, and yet not be able to go back there. I was almost glad when the gray clouds folded back over us, blocking the scene from my view.

“Perhaps this is what it would be like to be dead,” I mused aloud, thinking of the vista below us. “You can look down from heaven and see the place you came from, but you cannot return.”

We called a halt to the march so that men and horses could rest, and we broke out our midday rations to fortify us for the rest of the day's journey. But first the other colonels called for more drilling by the soldiers, and so they trampled down the snow marching and doing close order drill, practicing so that the officers' commands would become second nature to the regulars.

Again we took roll to make sure that no one had become lost or left behind along the way, but this time something was amiss.

As an officer from each militia took a tally of the men, all was well, until Major Tipton took the head count of those under my command. When he had finished the roll, he blinked and straightaway took it again, and finally, when he was sure, he reported to me.

“Two men are missing, sir.” The young officer looked as if he could not believe it himself.

“Are you sure? Oh, yes, of course you are, or you wouldn't be telling me, would you? Well, then, which two, Major Tipton?” It crossed my mind that they might have become separated from the group, or met with an accident somewhere along the trace. I even hoped that that might be the case, because the alternative would be somber news indeed.

“Well, young Sam Chambers is nowhere to be found.”

I relaxed a little. Sam Chambers wasn't much more than a boy, and not an overly bright one at that. “Perhaps his nerve failed him,” I said. “Or else he got homesick for his family and hightailed it back there before we got any farther from home.”

Tipton did not return my smile. He stood there watching me, and his expression told me there was worse to come.