Mingo's War
Chapter 1
The Kentucky bird song was punctuated by the distant roar of muskets. Mingo stopped and tilted his head, trying to discern the direction of the gunfire. The strong breeze made location difficult but after several seconds of searching the tall Cherokee pinpointed the sound. It was coming from the northwest. Grasping his own hunting rifle firmly in his right hand, he began to run effortlessly toward the sound.
The acrid odor of gunpowder drifted in the Kentucky wind. Mingo cautiously crept through the slanting sunlight until he could see the battlefield. Red coats splashed brightly in the summer grass. The brown skin blended more naturally. Mingo carefully crouched at the edge of the clearing, watching for any sign of life. The birds slowly began to return, bringing their bright notes to ease the dead stillness.
After the passage of ten minutes he rose and cautiously, sadly, approached the bodies. Shawnee arrows littered the ground. British bodies were riddled with them. The three Catawba scouts were grossly mutilated. Slowly and carefully Mingo bent over every still body, his gentle hand becoming bloody as he checked each man's throat for a pulse. Suddenly, to his right, one of the British soldiers moaned. Instantly Mingo strode to his side and bent over the groaning body.
The coppery red hair gleamed in the summer sunlight. An arrow was embedded deeply in the soldier's right chest, another angled crazily from the man's upper thigh. His insignia indicated his captain's rank. This man was probably the leader of the doomed expedition. His hand still clutched his empty pistol. Mingo glanced quickly into the surrounding forest, looking for a likely place to settle and care for the wounded man. From the position of the arrow in the man's chest he understood that care was needed immediately. Moving him at all would be dangerous. But he also knew that soon the battlefield would become uninhabitable in the summer heat and very unhealthy. And there was always a possibility the Shawnee would return. The captain had to be moved.
Mingo rose and trotted into the trees. After ten minutes he returned and as gently as possible grasped the captain's feet and pulled him into the depths of the forest. Choosing the easiest path, walking slowly and jarring the man as little as possible, Mingo dragged him to a small circle of bushes. The thicket would provide some shelter and screening until Mingo could extract the arrows and staunch the bleeding.
The red hair was drenched with sweat and the man's pale skin was growing cold. Mingo knew that he must act quickly or the man would soon die. He quickly left the brush shelter to gather an armful of firewood, then dashed back into the bushes. He left the circle again to fill his iron camp pot with water from a small spring he'd found a few hundred yards away. The water would be ready if he needed it. He struck his flint and steel to a small pile of tinder and placed several sticks on the fire. Tightening his lips, he drew his ramrod from his rifle and placed six inches of the steel into the fire to heat. He did the same with his knife.
Once again he rushed into the woods, pulling several handfuls of dried moss to use as a packing on the wounds. He also pulled a dozen vines to use as binding. Then, returning to the groaning man, he at last bent over the tall body and carefully investigated the wounds.
Mingo exposed the man's thigh, braced himself on his knees, firmly gripped his knife and sliced a deep gash in the man's thigh over the entry wound. The soldier's leg muscle twitched but the man remained unconscious. He grasped the shaft and with one quick jerk easily pulled the arrow free. He singed the wound carefully with his ramrod. Sighing in relief, Mingo packed a handful of moss on the wound and wrapped it with vines to hold it in place. Then he took his knife and carefully slit the red coat away from the bloody arrow in the man's chest. The arrow was deeply embedded, indicating that it had been a close shot. Mingo bit his lower lip in concentration. He carefully looked at the angle of entry, then cut away enough of the soldier's shirt to expose a palm-sized area of skin. The arrow seemed to have penetrated between two ribs. He glanced at the ramrod's glowing tip. Bowing his head as he gathered his concentration Mingo held his breath and gripped his knife.
Using the tip he decisively enlarged the entry wound. The shivering man moaned. Still holding his breath, Mingo pulled the arrow from the wound. It came out cleanly and Mingo released his breath. There was no spout of blood, but the wound was very deep and he understood that the man was close to death. Gritting his teeth Mingo placed the glowing ramrod against the man's pale chest. The soldier bucked uncontrollably several seconds as the rod burned the blood vessels closed. The smell of seared flesh and singed hair assailed Mingo's sensitive nose and he sneezed. He quickly wadded a handful of moss against the wound and pressed it there for several minutes. He was alarmed at the coldness of the man's moist skin.
He reached for his shoulder bag and pulled his blanket loose from the bottom of the leather pouch. With only one hand he awkwardly pulled the blanket over the soldier's body. He secured the moss in place by closing the man's heavy red coat and tucked the blanket carefully around the suffering man. Then he rose and trotted into the forest once again to gather more moss and to search for a better shelter. The night would be cool and the wounded man needed warmth.
After nearly a half hour Mingo returned to the brushy ring. The soldier remained unconscious, moaning in his distress. Mingo checked the bleeding and was relieved to see that the chest wound was nearly dry and the leg wound's flow had stopped. He carefully gathered his camp equipment and ran lightly to the small cave he'd found. Though recessed only about ten feet into a hillside the cave would be ideal for Mingo's purpose. It was small and easy to heat. The area surrounding the cave was thick with brush, nearly hiding the mouth. It would provide the needed shelter for the many days the soldier would take to gather strength. Then Mingo could take him to Boonesborough and turn him over to Cincinnatus' care.
Returning to the circle of shrubs Mingo carefully grasped the soldier under the arms and pulled him the distance to the cave. Once inside Mingo gently laid the tall unconscious body as deep into the cave as he could. Then he covered the shivering man once again and left the cave to gather as much wood as he could find before darkness settled over the Kentucky forest. Thinking ahead to the coming darkness, Mingo crafted a torch holder from a cleft in the limestone walls which he packed with mud as support.
Late in the night Mingo was awakened from a light sleep by the thrashing of the wounded soldier. He was shouting orders and flailing with his arms. Mingo slid to his side and held his arms down to prevent a reopening of the chest wound. The dim firelight illuminated the soldier's light eyes and pale perspiring skin. After he lay still, panting, Mingo dipped a piece of cloth torn from the soldier's shirt into the warm water remaining in the small iron pot. He compassionately bathed the soldier's sweaty, bloody face. Then he raised the man with his left arm and placed a cup of coffee to the man's trembling lips. The soldier drank thirstily and closed his eyes. Mingo carefully checked the chest wound. It remained closed though seeping a watery fluid tinged with blood. Mingo placed a fresh wad of moss over the deep wound. Then he checked the leg wound and treated it the same.
He leaned back against the cave wall and sipped another cup of coffee. As the dawn approached the soldier dipped into a deeper sleep and Mingo slipped out of the cave to check his snares. He returned within the hour carrying two plump rabbits. He cut the meat into small pieces to stew. Then he checked on the sleeping soldier. Finding him still sleeping deeply Mingo again left the little cave and returned with a full pot of water. He added more wood to the fire and began to brew a pot of strong coffee. The odors of stewing rabbit and strong coffee served to revive the British soldier enough to open his eyes.
Mingo saw the man's eyes open and waited for the reaction. The man lay still for several minutes, taking inventory of his battered body. Then he slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the campfire. There his blue eyes fell upon Mingo's long black hair and Cherokee clothing. His hand involuntarily reached for his missing pistol, then fell limply at this side as he lost consciousness. Mingo slid beside him and felt of the man's cold forehead. He pulled the blanket up close around the man's shoulders and added more wood to the fire. Then he sat back down at the cave's mouth and ate his breakfast of stewed rabbit and strong coffee.
Hours later the soldier again regained consciousness. This time he tried to sit up. Mingo quickly pushed him back down. "Don't try to sit alone. Your chest wound is serious. Let me lift you." Mingo braced himself and lifted the soldier's dead weight to lean against the cave wall. The soldier groaned and held his breath. A weak tremble began in his arms and legs. Mingo pulled the blanket close around the man's body and poured a cup of steaming coffee. He held the cup out to the soldier whose trembling hand attempted to take it. Mingo saw the tremble and held the cup so the man could drink. After a dozen swallows the British officer turned his head away from the cup. Seconds later Mingo returned to his side with the pot of rabbit stew. The soldier swallowed several mouthfuls before turning his head away again. Mingo nodded.
"Do you wish to remain seated or do you wish to lie back down?" Mingo's deep voice betrayed his British accent and the captain raised puzzled eyes to the Indian beside him.
"Remain seated." The captain's voice trembled with weakness. Mingo watched carefully to be ready to catch the man if he fell forward. He saw the captain attempt to draw as far away from him as possible. The effort caused Mingo to frown, then shake his head in disbelief. He slid back to the cave front and turned his back on the foolish English captain.
Familiar with prejudice, Mingo was nevertheless often surprised when it reared its ugly head. As he sat silently thinking his frown began to soften as the thought occurred to him that the soldier was simply reacting as could be expected. After all, he'd nearly been killed by Indians just hours before. And Mingo was decidedly an Indian. Probably the captain expected to be strengthened so he could be tortured to death in a nearby village. Resolving to set the man's mind at ease, Mingo turned and looked at the silent soldier leaning against the cave wall. Both hands were clenched into fists though his body still shook with weak trembles. Compassion again rose in Mingo's heart and he brought another cup of coffee to the wounded man.
The captain's blue eyes looked long into Mingo's. He breathed deeply and tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. Mingo held out the cup of coffee and the soldier took it carefully. He swallowed a mouthful of the hot strong brew, then cleared his throat again. Mingo saw his jaw tremble as he spoke.
"Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean. Why didn't you kill me too?"
Mingo shook his head. "Rest easy, Captain. I am a Cherokee. Those who attacked you were Shawnee. I am not your enemy."
Mingo could see the words swirling in the man's foggy brain. Wordlessly he handed the cup back to Mingo, then attempted to lay down. Mingo quickly reached out and pulled the man's long body down to lie full length. He carefully arranged the blanket over the tall form. The man's blue eyes watched every movement then closed as Mingo tucked the blanket close around him. He sighed deeply and fell back asleep.
While the man slept Mingo took the opportunity to hunt. He returned to the little cave two hours later with a small turkey. A short hour later it was spitted and roasting over the fire. The captain stirred and once again attempted to sit up. Mingo turned to watch him. After several seconds of futile struggle the captain admitted that he needed help. He turned to look into Mingo's face and asked the Indian to help him sit.
"I think it would be a better idea for me to help you out of this cave so you can release some of the liquid you've consumed. Don't you?"
The soldier blushed a deep scarlet red but was forced to nod in agreement. Mingo placed his left arm under the man's shoulders and pulled slowly. The soldier followed Mingo's lift and was soon leaning most of his weight on the Cherokee's strong shoulders.
A quarter of an hour later the captain was back asleep after the extreme exertion and Mingo was savoring a slice of roasted turkey. The hot afternoon sun made him drowsy and he soon was curled up in its rays, fast asleep.
He awoke an hour later to find the captain also awake. Mingo helped him sit and sliced several pieces of roast turkey for the wounded man. With a cup of strong coffee the soldier completed his meal. Mingo left him alone and returned to the cave with several more handfuls of dry moss. After the soldier was finished Mingo knelt to begin dressing the wounds. But the captain wouldn't allow it. Mingo frowned in annoyance.
"Captain, the moss needs to be changed. And I need to see how the healing is progressing. I am the one who has tended you thus far and you haven't seemed to mind."
"I was unconscious. I can tend myself now."
Mingo looked into the captain's eyes and saw the haughty expression. A memory stirred in his mind. His dark eyes narrowed as he watched the soldier peel away the moss from his wounded leg, then bind the clean moss over the dark, bloody hole. From a few feet away Mingo could tell that the wound was healing normally. He could smell no corruption. The captain leaned back against the cave wall, gathering strength to treat his chest wound. When after a few minutes he did not stir Mingo understood that he had either fallen asleep or was unconscious. So he removed the soiled moss form the chest wound and replaced it with clean moss. That wound also was healing normally.
Mingo stood and walked to the cave's mouth. He continued to walk through the forest until he came to a clear, deep creek. He stripped off his clothes and spent the next hour swimming and sunning himself on the bank. The memory that had surfaced in the cave preyed on his mind and he needed time alone to wrestle with it. When he was quieter he strode back to the cave and prepared to spend another night tending the contemptuous British soldier.