Beyond the Quiet Hills (37 page)

Firebrands such as Samuel Adams began to proclaim the injustices that England manifested toward the Colonies and to agitate for a united country separate from England. England, however, was far away and the Hanoverian king, George III, was determined to rule under divine law. He felt that God had appointed him to draw the kingdom of England together, and any evidence of a revolution was enough to touch off his rather placid temper.

In effect, most of the colonists understood little of the political and philosophical struggles that moved the English nobility and the leaders of the Colonies. Years after the beginning of the struggle, one of the men who took part in the first battle at Concord, Captain Preston, was asked, “Did you take up arms against intolerable oppressions?”

“Oppressions?” the old man replied. “I didn't feel them.”

“But certainly you were oppressed by the Stamp Act.”

“I never saw one of those stamps. I certainly never paid a penny for one of them.”

“What about the tea tax?”

“Never drank a drop of the stuff. The boys threw it all overboard.”

“Then I suppose you have been reading John Locke, about the eternal principles of liberty?”

“Never heard of him. We read only the Bible, the Catechism, Watts' Psalms, and hymns, and the almanac.”

Rather perplexed, the interviewer asked, “Sir, what was the matter? What did you mean in going to the fight?”

Captain Preston replied, “Young man, what we meant in going for those Redcoats was this: We always had governed ourselves and we always meant to. England didn't mean that we should.” Captain Preston was typical of the men who touched off the American Revolution. They had always had some hand in governing themselves—and they always meant to.

The English Parliament and King George could not seem to grasp this spirit of autonomy. Even Governor Gage of Massachusetts, who had spent many years in America, should have known that America would rather fight than submit. He did feel apprehensive enough in early April of 1775 to send out a spy to feel out the temper of the colonists. John Howe made a long ride and found that the temper, indeed, was high. Stopping on his way back, Howe records in his diary how he stopped at a small house beside the road and spoke with an elderly man, who was cleaning a gun. “I asked him what he was going to kill. As he was so old, I should not think he could take sight in any game. He said there was a flock of Redcoats at Boston that he expected to be coming along soon. He also said he intended to hit one of them, and he expected they would be very good marks.” Rather shocked at the old man's fiery words and obvious intentions, Howe asked if there were any Tories in the neighborhood.

“Aye,” the old man replied. “There's one Tory house, and I wished it were in flames.” Then turning to his wife, the man said, “Old woman, put in the bullet pouch a handful of buckshot, as I understand the English like an assortment of plums!”

Gage did not heed the warning of his own spy. He decided to destroy the patriots' munitions at Concord, and on one night in mid-April he dispatched a strong detail under Major John Pitcairn to perform this duty.

The patriots, however, were watching every move Gage made. That night Paul Revere and William Dawes galloped along the countryside, stopping only to inform their fellow patriots and minutemen that the British were coming, and by the break of day, minutemen were on the march as far away as New Hampshire and Connecticut.

By the time Major Pitcairn had marched his Redcoats all night and reached Lexington, he found a grim band of men lined up on the village common parallel to his line of advance. They were armed, and when the British halted, the major cried out loudly, “Disperse, ye rebels! Disperse!”

No one knows who fired the first shot of the American Revolution, but it was fired, and when the action was over and the minutemen had faded away, eight men lay dead on the green.

The British advanced and discovered that the munitions had been moved. After they were stopped at Concord by a body of determined patriots, they started back on the long march toward Boston. It was a long march indeed for the English. The Americans gathered now and stung them like wasps. From behind trees and stone walls they sent shot after shot into the orderly ranks of the British grenadiers. The march became a nightmare, and only the arrival of a relief party stopped the American forces from completely obliterating Major Pitcairn's forces.

All the news of the revolution filtered slowly to the inhabitants of Watauga. They were cut off by trackless forest over which there was no regular mail, and only bit by bit were they able to piece together what was happening. Some of them had even ceased to consider themselves as Englishmen and were doubtful of their true identity.

****

Hawk paused and wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned over at Andrew and Jacob, who were caulking the sides of the new addition to the cabin. “Now that the babies are getting older,” he said, “I reckon we're going to have to keep on building.”

Andrew grinned abruptly and took a deep breath, causing the heavy muscles of his chest and arms to stir. “How many more young'uns you intending to have, Pa? Seems to me like you're trying to repopulate the earth.”

Hawk merely smiled and shook his head. “That's up to you, Andrew—and to you, Jacob. I'm kind of looking forward to being a grandpa.”

Jacob picked up a gourd and filled it with spring water in a wooden bucket, took three swallows, then threw the rest of the water out. He, too, managed to smile and said, “I'll keep that in mind, Pa.”

The three worked steadily for thirty minutes, then Hawk said, “I reckon that's enough for a while.”

“It's enough for me,” Jacob said, looking down at his hands. They were tougher now, of course, than they were when he had come to Watauga. He thought about how soft he had been and was suddenly proud of his strength and endurance.

Andrew had been quiet all morning, but now he suddenly said, “Pa, what do you think we should do? About the Redcoats, I mean? Are we going to get in this war?”

Hawk shook his head and a weariness passed across his face. “I never thought it would come to this,” he admitted. “I think the colonists are right in wanting to govern themselves. We know how they feel out here in Watauga. I guess we've gotten so used to doing for ourselves that we want everybody to have that privilege.” He picked up a straw from the ground, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly. “Better be careful, though. Samuel Adams may be biting off more than he can chew.”

“Oh, Pa, that ain't so!” Andrew protested. “We can whip them British. All I want is a chance, and, Pa, you heard about how down in Fincastle County in Virginia they already formed their own committee of safety. And the North-of-Holston settlements in Virginia, but they're way off, just like we are.”

Indeed Hawk was aware of the Fincastle movement. Evan Shelby had been made chairman of this “Pendleton District,” named after a Virginia patriot and statesman, Edward Pendleton. He had owned a large tract of land in the vicinity of the Long Island of the Holston River, and now it appeared that this district was aligned with Virginia in the revolution.

“What about you, Jacob?” Andrew asked abruptly. “Don't you want to get off a shot or two at them Redcoats?”

“I don't see that the fighting will come out here in these hills.”

“Well, that could change fast, Jacob,” Hawk replied quickly. “The British will probably try to get the Cherokee and the other Indians to fight with them, and that will mean they'll be coming against us here on the frontier.”

“Why, the Little Carpenter and Sequatchie will stop that, Pa!” Andrew protested.

“I don't think they'll be able to this time, son. Dragging Canoe and Akando are swaying more and more of the Cherokee to their side. You've got to remember, too, that the Cherokee have come to rely on British goods. They may have to go along with them to keep up their good relations. Also, you know the British have promised to leave their lands alone.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Jacob said. “I think this war's foolish.”

“The British wouldn't keep their word,” Hawk said, shaking his head. “They'll eventually want the land. They don't understand the Indians nearly as well as most of us do. Sequatchie knows that and so does Attacullaculla, but they may not have a choice.”

“Well, what will we do, Pa?” Andrew demanded.

“Who knows?” Hawk said simply. “These are awful times we are living in.”

At that moment Elizabeth and Sarah appeared with a pitcher of cider that Elizabeth had gotten from the root cellar.

“It's cool,” she said, smiling, as Sarah held out the pewter cups and poured them full.

As the men drank, Elizabeth looked with pride at her husband and her two tall sons. She never thought of Jacob in any other way than as another son, and now as they drank thirstily, she thought,
How much they've become like Hawk, and they've become men of the mountains. Even Jacob
.

Sarah handed Jacob his cup and grinned up at him. “You ought not to be wasting time building a room here, Jacob. You need to be building a house for you and Abigail.”

“Guess I need to be doing something about that, Sarah.” Andrew frowned but said nothing, and Jacob added, “Just haven't settled on a date yet.”

“I don't see what you're waiting for.” Sarah, as usual, had no patience to spare. Her red hair caught the gleam of the sunlight, and as she cocked her head to one side, the light brought out the few freckles that speckled her nose. “What
are
you waiting for?”

Jacob, aware that the others were watching him rather curiously, felt uncomfortable. “Why, there's plenty of time,” he said.

“I thought you were in a hurry to get married,” Sarah prodded.

Elizabeth, seeing Jacob's discomfort, said, “Sarah, stop your meddling!”

Sarah's eyes gleamed with fun. “When Brother Paul preached about spiritual gifts last Sunday, I decided what mine was.”

Hawk knew the element of humor in this stepdaughter of his. “What is your gift, Sarah?”

“My spiritual gift is
meddling
.”

The others could not help laughing, but as they stood there enjoying one another's company, for the moment Hawk thought, even as Sarah had,
I wonder what he's waiting for
. He studied Jacob's face a moment, and a surge of gratitude for all that God had done touched him.
It's been a miracle
, he thought,
that Jacob has learned to forgive me—at least partly—and I'm thankful for it, but something's wrong with Jacob. He says he loves Abigail, but yet one or the other of them is hanging back. I hope it's not trouble
.

****

Later that afternoon Jacob cleaned up after work and climbed on his horse.

“Where you going, Jacob?” Sarah yelled after him.

“None of your business.”

“Tell Abigail I'd like to see her and be sure to give her a kiss!” the irrepressible girl yelled.

Jacob merely tried to ignore her, but the peals of her laughter followed him.

As he made his way along the familiar trail, his thoughts were troubled. He had been stirred by the prodding that Sarah had given him earlier, and he had seen the pointed curiosity in his parents' expressions. By the time he reached the Stevenses' place, he was determined to get an answer from Abigail.

As he approached, he found her standing beside the small corral where the sheep were kept. Riding up and getting off the horse, he tied the animal, then walked right over to her.

“Hello, Abigail,” he said and reached over and kissed her cheek.

“I didn't expect to see you today, Jacob. I thought you'd be working on the addition.”

“We did. All day. It's going to be finished pretty soon.”

Abigail was wearing a dark red quilted skirt and a white blouse that laced up the front and was sprinkled with dainty flowers. As usual, Jacob admired the fresh glow of her cheeks and the sparkle of her eyes. Impulsively he said, “I think Christmas would be a good time to get married, don't you?”

“Why . . . I don't know, Jacob. I'm not so sure.”

“Why not? What's wrong? I'm beginning to think you don't want to marry me, you've put it off so many times.”

Absently Abigail patted his arm and shook her head, but she did pause. Finally she said, “I don't know. I guess I just think I need to help my parents since I'm the only one at home.”

“Why, you'll have to leave as soon as we're married.”

“I know.” Abigail, indeed, was troubled, and it showed on her face. She had a sunny disposition, but now she was serious, and in an absentminded way, she bit her lower lip, a sure sign that she was agitated.

She took a deep breath and reached up and touched his cheek gently. “I'll decide soon. I promise.” She reached up, pulled his head down, kissed him, then took his arm and said, “Come on. You can take supper with us tonight.”

Jacob felt that somehow he had been defeated again. He had come to get a specific date, but there was something in Abigail, a reluctance to be pinned down, that he could not understand. He did not know a great deal about young women, and as he enjoyed the fellowship of the Stevenses that evening, his happiness was not complete, and he could neither explain it nor speak of it to anyone else.

Chapter Thirty-One

Decisions

The low-ceilinged room used by the settlers of Watauga for meetings was crowded to the walls. A rank smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air, but more of the men were prone to chew than to smoke. Hawk, who did neither, found the stench distasteful and carefully avoided, as far as possible, the amber stains that had splashed on the puncheon floors. He had come to this meeting in September of 1775 with apprehension, for he well knew that the decisions made in this relatively small group would alter the destiny of all who lived in Watauga and even farther westward.