to learn the two lovely girls he had met were among those taken.
The militia found the trail easy to follow, but they were soon sickened by the carnage they came upon. They traveled about five miles, just above the head of Little Slate, when they found Rachel Becraft. She had died from a crushing blow to her head. The weapon was probably the blunt end of a tomahawk. Being ill, she likely could not keep up. The Indians had stripped her down to her shift, but the poor woman had not been able to walk. Her bare feet were cut and swollen. Nearby her small baby was found, a mass of brains, blood and flesh. Both scalps had been ripped from the victim’s heads. Captain Smith sent a detail back with the bodies.
The Indians turned down Beaver Branch about seven miles out of Morgan’s. There they killed Robert Craig’s four-year-old son. This time the captain made a decision to bury him where he was found. Robert held his son briefly, then laid him in the shallow grave. Sam Dunn was weeping openly. Robert put his arms around him, comforting the young soldier, when it was he who needed solace.
About five miles farther, Mrs. Craig was found. Her skull had been cruelly caved in. She was alive, but it was a fatal wound. Robert knew there was no hope. He cradled his wife in his arms. Seven-year-old Betsy Becraft lay moaning against a large stone. She was half-conscious. Her skull had been crushed but the blow was a glancing one. Her injuries did not appear life threatening. Sam Dunn lifted Betsy gently, soothing her with his calm voice.
William Sudduth’s men had caught up with the militia at the site of the massacre. He sent some men to help Robert Craig and Sam Dunn carry the survivors back to Montgomery’s Station.
Seven more mutilated bodies were soon found. Mrs. Craig’s infant son, Joe Young’s two-year-old boy, two Baker children and the three remaining Becraft children.
The company of men placed the bodies side by side in a mass grave. Joe Young vowed his vengeance.
The Indians had loaded the horses with plunder from the fort. The troops could tell this by the deep tracks the horses made in the soft earth. If a load turned or shifted, rather than take the time to adjust it, the Indians cut it loose. Several such bundles were found scattered along the trail.
Twenty-five miles farther, it became obvious the Indians were gaining ground, and moving fast. Captain Smith called a halt to the pursuit at the head of Triplett Creek. The troops were getting deep into unfamiliar wilderness. The Indians had the advantage. They knew the region. It was their homeland. The soldiers did not. Here even a hunting party could ambush them easily.
They were nearing the Cherokee nation. The men were weary and sick at heart. Never, since beginning service in Kentucky’s militia, had any of them seen such depredation.
The volunteers agreed with Captain Smith that they should turn back. They determined that some captives were probably still alive, Polly, Nancy and Susie Baker; Clarinda Allington; a sister of Apsy Robinson; Joe Young’s wife, Elizabeth; and fourteen-year-old Ben Becraft.
Captain Smith reasoned that if the Indians found they were no longer being followed, they might spare the captive’s lives.
William Rice, who had been so relieved when he learned of Martha’s escape, said he would go on to the Cherokee towns and villages alone. He was determined to follow the trail wherever it led and bring Clarinda back.
Joe Young said he would never give up looking for his wife, Elizabeth. The two men were experienced woodsmen and hunters. Both knew the tribes and their customs. Both spoke the Cherokee tongue. They might succeed where the militia could not.
Captain Smith advised the two that if they continued the search, it would be at their own risk. Neither the United States government nor the state of Kentucky had any jurisdiction in the Cherokee nation. Indian tribes were sovereigns, and the relationship between them and the United States was government to government.
It was a tricky business. Once the captives were on tribal land it became a problem for the War Department.
Clarinda’s brothers wanted William to let them go with him. He refused, stating he could travel faster and accomplish more alone. William and Joe Young agreed to each follow a different path.
Extra ammunition was given to the two men. The Allingtons realized that if Clarinda could be rescued, William was the one who could do it. They wished him Godspeed.
CHAPTER IV
April 1793—Life as a Captive
Never had Clarinda been so angry. This crazed Indian clutching her must be mad. He would learn a thing or two when William and her brothers got hold of him. She heard the fiendish war whoops, then saw the naked painted bodies swarming around her. The field was crawling with Indians.
“Run, Polly, run,” Clarinda screamed. “Lord Jesus, have mercy.” Wrestling free, running faster than she had ever run in her life, she kept praying. Her long skirt caught on some stubble, causing her to trip. She fell hard and lay face down in the mud. The smell of the savage Indian stifled her. She gagged and spit up.
The flaming pictures Clarinda had seen earlier in the morning danced before her eyes. Surely her vision was a warning of approaching danger. Pushing herself up from the moist earth, she frantically looked for an avenue of escape. Finding none, she saw she was surrounded, and knew running would be hopeless.
Clarinda numbly straightened her clothing with muddy fingers. Concentrating all her young will, she held her head high and walked ahead of the Indians. She dared not look to either side, but kept her eyes forward. The booming of gunfire resonated in her ears, confirming that this nightmare was real. The Indians were attacking the station.
Clarinda resolved to follow William’s teaching. She told herself, I will not show fear. I will not cry out. Wading across Slate Creek, she repeated the words over and over again, forcing them into her subconscious memory.
The Indians pushed and shoved the women along, stringing them out in single file. Those carrying infants were made to walk at the rear of the line. Clarinda could hear the hungry, frightened cries of the babies. When the line showed signs of slowing, they were poked and prodded by their captors. The Indians used grunts and hand signals for commands. Clarinda steeled herself, blocking out the pitiful sounds of sobbing coming up from behind her.
Searching for answers, she reviewed what William had told her about Indians. Mostly he spoke about the Cherokee. Members of their tribe were often seen at the trading posts. They did not act like bad Indians. She wondered what tribe her captors came from.
Clarinda’s mind began to drift. She recalled when she and her sisters had gone with Jacob to hear some important men speak. The politicians had promised that if Kentucky became a state it would put an end to Indian wars.
Plodding along the trail she thought about William’s stories of the early frontier. He had told her that long ago the Shawnee laid claim to this mystical region that was now the state of Kentucky. Then the Cherokee drove the Shawnee to the north. Now the Cherokee lived far to the south in order to abide by the peace treaty. The Cherokee gave up this land, they signed the treaty. They were supposed to be keeping the peace.
The captives, urged forward by their captors had been walking fast all day and evening without rest. No offer of food or water was made. Now darkness was complete. Clarinda could not see the trail. The sound of the children’s anguished pleas became embedded in her heart. Clarinda knew she would never be able to shut them out of her memory as
