There was much enthusiasm in the
settlements, preparing for the campaign; nevertheless, there was, generally, a
due appreciation of the desperate nature of the project. A march so far into the enemy's country as was
now proposed, had not been made in that direction, from the western border,
during the war. The venture, therefore,
required stout hearts and steady nerves, when looked fairly in the face. It is a tradition—nay, an established
fact—that many, aside from the ordinary arrangements necessary for a month's
absence—not so much, however, from a presentiment of disaster as from that
prudence which careful and thoughtful men are prone to exercise—executed deeds
"in consideration of love and affection;" and many witnesses were
called in to subscribe to "last wills and testaments."
It was generally understood that, when
the army should begin its march from Mingo Bottom, it would press forward with
all practicable speed to effect a surprise, if possible; the best horses,
therefore, in the settlements were selected for the enterprise. In their trappings, as might be expected,
nothing was sacrificed to show—to mere display. Bridles of antique appearance, and saddles
venerable with age—heir-looms in not a few instances, brought over the
mountains—were put in order for the occasion.
Pack-saddles also were called into requisition for carrying supplies. These were, as a general thing, exceedingly
primitive in their construction. Some
furnished themselves with extra rope halters, in expectation of returning with
horses captured from the enemy.
The volunteer, in his war-dress,
presented a picturesque appearance. His
hunting-shirt, reaching half-way down his thighs, was securely belted at the
waist, the bosom serving as a wallet. The
belt, tied behind, answered several purposes besides that of holding the wide
folds of the shirt together. Within it,
on the right side, was suspended his tomahawk; on the left, his scalping-knife.
He wore moccasins instead of shoes upon
his feet. His equipage was very simple. Strapped to his saddle was the indispensable
knapsack, made of coarse tow cloth, in which were several small articles,
placed there, perhaps, by a loving wife, or a thoughtful mother or sister. From the pommel of his saddle was suspended a
canteen—a very useful article, as the weather was unusually warm for the
season. Flour and bacon constituted his principal supply of food. His blanket, used as a covering for his
saddle, answered also for a bed at night.
Of his weapons of defense, the volunteer
relied mainly upon his rifle. Trained to
its use almost from infancy, he was, of course, a sharp-shooter—frequently a
dead-shot. Taking his trusted weapon
down from the hooks, where it was usually to be seen suspended beneath the
cross-beams of his cabin, he carefully cleaned it, and picked the flint anew. His powder-horn was then filled, and securely
fastened to a strap passing over his left shoulder and under the right. His leather pouch, either fastened to his belt
or thrust into his bosom, was first filled with bullets, bullet-patches, and
extra flints. The edge of his tomahawk
was made a little keener than usual; and his scalping-knife was carefully
examined before being thrust into its leathern sheath.
The moment of leaving was, in many
cases, a trying one to the volunteer. There
are many incidents still lingering in the memory of the aged, who, in their
youth, were told the tales of these parting scenes. "My father was one of
the volunteers," writes Joseph Paull, a citizen of Fayette county,
Pennsylvania, "and at that time was young and unmarried. When he determined on going he told his
widowed mother. She was greatly
distressed. 'Why, James, said she, 'you
are not well enough to go; you are sick.' 'I can ride,' was the response, 'and I can
shoot.' 'But,' interrupted the mother,
'suppose you lose your horse?' 'Well,'
said James, 'I have made up my mind to go.' And go he did, leaving grandmother in great
grief, as he embraced her and bid her good-bye. He was very sad when he mounted his horse and
rode away. Once with his comrades,
however, his sadness soon wore off."
Usually, however, the soldier took, leave of home without ceremony. A common mode was to step out of the door of
the cabin, discharge his rifle, and immediately march off, without looking back
or saying a word. Hand-shaking, parting
words, and kisses were too trying to his feelings!
The volunteers were mostly of Irish or
Scotch-Irish descent—young, active, and generally spirited. Many were from the Youghiogheny and around
Beesontown (Uniontown), in Westmoreland county.
Most of these came on to Redstone Old Fort (Brownsville), on the
Monongahela, where they were joined by many from the settlements around, and
from the "forks of Yough." They
then proceeded to Catfish (Washington), in Washington county. After the accession of a considerable number
from this vicinity and Ten-mile, the whole moved westward, adding a few to
their numbers in "Pan-handle" Virginia.
As the volunteers threaded their way
toward the Ohio, along the bridle-paths, their course was mostly through dense
forests; only here and there was there a lonely cabin, or, perchance, a fort or
stockade. As they passed these, they
were sure to be cordially greeted by the borderer; and matrons, in linsey
petticoats, with home-made handkerchiefs as the only adornment for their heads
and necks, standing barefoot in front of their doors, waved onward the
cavalcade with many a "God speed you, my brave lads!" Many, however, were dilatory in their arrival
at the Ohio; so that all were not gathered opposite Mingo Bottom when the
crossing began—indeed, some crossed the river above and others below the
appointed place, traveling along the west bank of the stream until they reached
the site of the old Mingo town. 1
Christ, not man, is King!
Dale
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