Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The two men stopped by Daniel Boone's cabin before they began their journey. Mingo discussed his plan to follow the southern route to the Carolinas and then north to Philadelphia. From William's descriptions of landmarks that he remembered Mingo had decided that the youth had come down the northern trail. Daniel volunteered to go with them, but Mingo caught the look on Rebecca's face and declined.

Though Daniel would be a welcome travel companion, especially since William was a frontier novice, Mingo wanted an opportunity to talk privately with the Quaker youth about the ideas he had read about many years previously. Plus Mingo had already grown very fond of the younger man and wanted to explore the relationship that was growing. Though slightly ashamed to admit it, he was concerned that Daniel would find common ground with William and he would be left out. Conflicting emotions were not new to the half-breed Cherokee but they were still uncomfortable. He masked his feelings carefully and left the Boone cabin with a friendly wave of his hand.

William had been given a gun, shot and powder as well as two weeks of provisions in his pack. He had carefully rolled his long black coat and placed it into his leather pouch. His blanket was tied to the bottom of the pack just like Mingo's. Inside his pouch Cincinnatus placed a quarter-pound of sugar, a half-pound of coffee, and a small bag of salt. The two men would shoot, trap or catch their meals. The Kentucky summer was full upon the land and the forest teemed bountifully. They would not be hungry.

They stopped for a breather about two hours into their journey. Mingo knew that William had not fully recovered his customary vigor, and though the youth did not complain his tight colorless lips told the Cherokee that his head was pounding with his exertion. A small creek flowed where they stopped and after a drink of clear water William seemed to regain strength. They continued on for several more miles and Mingo shot a rabbit for lunch. The two men made short work of the meat, washed it down with a drink from another creek, and proceeded. William was as reticent as Mingo. The two men felt a natural bond as they traveled in silence.

As the shadows lengthened toward evening Mingo stopped in a little glade sheltered by a rock outcropping. He instructed William to sit and rest while he gathered enough firewood for the night. When he returned only minutes later William was leaned back against the rocks sound asleep. Moving very quietly, Mingo started a fire, dipped water into his pot from a large creek several yards away and started the coffee to boiling. He took his gun and shot a small turkey in the span of only a few minutes. Cleaned and plucked, the bird was roasting over the coals within the hour. Mingo sat quietly and drank a cup of black coffee while he allowed his mind to wander where it would. He hummed softly to himself. The tune was an old sea chantey that he had heard on his crossing back from England. Lost in memory, he did not notice William's eyes open.

"Mingo." William's voice was low and confidential. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you need my help, son. And I am quite willing. Are you imagining that I am doing all the giving and you are only receiving? " His dark eyes glanced at the pale young man propped against the rocks. He saw William nod three times, his blue eyes cast down in shame.

"That is not the case, my friend." Mingo smiled at the word's double meaning, then continued. "I wish to know you better. Your religion is a puzzle to me and I wish you to clarify it for me. "

"Why? So you can mock me?"

Mingo's head snapped to the side. "Do I give you that impression?" His words were sharper than he intended. He swallowed and continued. "Many years ago I read a small pamphlet by William Penn. I am curious about several tenets of your religion. I seek knowledge, William, not ammunition to fire my own prejudices."

William's blue eyes probed Mingo's. After several seconds he nodded once, then sighed. "My mother would be the best person to ask. She is a recorded minister. She has a way of explaining things." William smiled gently. "She's a pretty woman, Mingo. She's tall for a woman, with dark brown hair like mine and blue eyes. Her voice is sweet, comforting. My father is so proud of her. My sister isn't like her at all. She favors my father. He's just a little taller than my mother, with dark brown hair and blue eyes too. Anyway, she can answer any question that you'd have. "

Mingo pondered the boy's information. A woman minister? The concept was unknown to him in Christianity. Greeks and Romans had women priestesses. The Celts had women priestesses. But a woman minister? Never.

"Excuse my manners, William! Here, son. It's strong and hot. Just what you need." Mingo reached over and extended a cup of hot coffee to the youth. William took it gratefully and leaned back once again. In the firelight Mingo could tell that the young man was worn out from the day's travel. To cover his concern he took his knife out of its scabbard and poked the roasting turkey. He had seasoned it with salt and some wild herbs. It smelled delicious. He cut a small slice to test for doneness. It tasted good too. He sliced out several pieces and handed them to William. Then he sliced some for himself, and the two men ate and talked as the night sounds began all around them.

They walked through the gap near the border. Their pace remained slow because though he tried to hide the fact, William was still unsteady on his feet. Mingo had seen him gingerly stroke his head when he thought that his companion was not looking. He remained pale and had little appetite. Mingo was concerned and tried to convince the youth to stop and wait at a promising campsite until his strength returned. But William was becoming frantic with worry as each day brought no sign of his missing family.

Every night around the campfire William explained the Quaker viewpoint on a variety of subjects and answered Mingo's questions as well as he was able. Mingo's facile mind was receptive to the completely different outlook offered by the Society of Friends. He quickly saw that many of the world's ills would be completely cured if mankind could adopt the Quaker viewpoint. He also understood that it was impossible.

He had many, many experiences that proved his point: man was not able to live as God intended. He was corrupt in nature, greedy, expedient and arrogant, cruel. Over the long hours William came to see that Mingo's Cherokee people were actually closer to the Quaker ideal than were the colonists who called themselves Christian. When he expressed his thoughts to Mingo the older man smiled and nodded his head in agreement.

"Perhaps this is the reason that Indians have a better relationship with Friends than with other whites." Mingo's voice was bright with discovery. Beside him, William smiled in return. It was then that Mingo noticed that his companion's right eye didn't seem to track with the left. Alarmed, the tall man suggested that it was time to end the discussion and sleep. Without another word William stretched out on the ground, pulled his blanket around himself and was instantly asleep. Mingo felt a twinge of guilt that he had not noticed his friend's distress and cut short the discussion.

He sat alone before the small fire for another hour, reviewing the discussion in his mind. He decided that he would try and order essays written by William Penn through Cincinnatus when he returned to Boonesborough. Mingo was looking forward to hearing William's mother's explanations and meeting his whole family. He felt that he would like each and every one.

The next morning the two men found the ruined campsite. Mingo smelled the burned-out wagon before he saw anything and put out his hand to stop his companion. The other heavy odor was unmistakable. Mingo closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he knew he was about to find. Bidding William sit behind a screen of wild honeysuckle Mingo crouched and stealthily approached the site from upwind. He listened carefully for several minutes before moving forward enough to see the carnage.

Before him were five bodies. They had been dead many days. Three were children. One was a girl around the age of six. Two were teenaged boys. Two were adults, a man and a woman. Arrows littered the ground. Mingo pulled one out to look it over carefully. He did not recognize the markings and that puzzled him. Then he glanced down at the ground and noticed footprints preserved in what had been a puddle. They were moccasin prints, but they did not toe in like Indians did. The tracks were made by white men. White men who shot arrows into innocent travelers so that when they were found innocent Indians would die. Mingo closed his eyes in despair and swallowed the lump that had risen to close his throat. How could he tell William?

Behind him he heard a gasp, then a moan. He spun on his heel and reached for the young man. Pushing him backwards so that he could not still see the massacred bloated bodies, Mingo stood in front of William and tried to comfort him. But words could not remove the images from the youth's mind or the pain from his heart, and he began to retch. He fell to his knees and vomited until there was no more matter in his stomach to expel. The violence of his body's response caused his head to explode in pain and he fell onto his side and lay still.

In panic Mingo felt for the young man's heartbeat and bent to listen for breath. There was none. Mingo slapped William's white face but there was no response. He frantically searched for water and found a little spring just yards away. He grabbed his tin cup from his pouch and filled it quickly, then flung the entire cupful on William's still face. There was no automatic flinch, no intake of breath. The Quaker youth lay dead within feet of his murdered family.

Mingo spent the rest of that horrible day laying the blameless family to their rest in the still Kentucky woodlands. He dug one large grave, placed the parents in first side by side, then the four children with William nearest his mother. He covered them with green branches to symbolize life then carefully filled the grave with earth. It was nearly dark when he finished. He stayed beside the grave the entire night, singing Cherokee songs of grief. As the morning light began to glow in the treetops he pulled boards off of the ruined wagon until he was able to free an unburned length about two feet long. With his knife he carved two words: "Six Friends". Below the words he etched the name "Sawyer". He reverently placed the board as a marker, then allowed his tears to drip onto the freshly turned earth.