Chapter Sixteen

In The Wilderness

The morning arrived, dim and gray, and Joshua stirred in his hiding place. Around him, a gray fog drifted slowly through the woods, and the trees were scarcely visible, even a few yards away. The heavy mist damped down every sound and even the birds seemed reluctant to begin their morning melodies. The only noise was the steady drip of moisture from the shrouded trees. The night wind had passed, leaving a cold, stagnant breath lingering in the eaves of the forest, and Joshua shivered in the chill morning air. The heavy dew demanded that he risk a small fire to dry his clothes so he cautiously left the thicket to look for some dry wood. A few yards away, a large pine had fallen and begun the slow return to the soil of the forest. He rolled it over. Reaching underneath, he stripped away pieces of the dry interior and some bark and moss. He carried them back to the thicket and laid them on a clear spot in the middle of his hiding place. He poured a small amount of powder on the kindling and then holding his rifle close to the pile he pulled the trigger. The flint sent a spark into the powder, which ignited the dry moss. As the small flames rose, he added pieces of the pine and bark until he had a nice fire going. The wood was dry and the intertwined branches above him dissipated what little smoke the fire gave off. The fog was so thick around his hiding place that he knew the flames could not be seen unless someone walked right up on the fire.

Joshua ate some of his meager rations and drank some water. Then the recollections came flooding back into his mind—his father’s last loving smile, Jonas’ sacrificial run through the forest, the shots and the exultant yells of the Indians as they caught up with their quarry, and the grief and sorrow that had flooded his heart when he knew that his father was dead. As he sat quietly before the fire, a scripture came to his mind:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

The words comforted him and he began to pray. “Liebster Jesus; erhalten Sie meinen Vater mit offenen Armen heute. Lassen Sie ihn in zu Ihrem Königreich als ein guter und treuer Diener hereingehen. Lord, receive mein Vater into your kingdom today. Let his reunion with Maam and the girls be joyous. Let him take delight in his son, Aaron, and, Lord, bless your servant Jonas as a good and faithful servant.”

His prayers finished, Joshua tried to decide what to do. Because of the dense fog, the sun was completely hidden so he had no way to find his direction by the heavens. As he sat quietly, he heard the sound of a small stream nearby.

I will follow the stream downhill. It must be flowing south and eventually it will come to the river. Then I can follow the Ohio back to Zane’s fort. Or if the sun comes out, I can turn east again.

His decision made, Joshua packed his things into the knapsack, put out the fire, and made his way through the trees until he came to the stream. Turning along the bank, he began to follow the rushing brook downhill toward the river.

A few hours later, Joshua came to an almost insurmountable obstacle. The downhill trend of the land had flattened out, and the swiftly flowing creek lost itself in a dismal swamp. The fog was still thick, and Joshua had to make the choice of trying to find his way around the mire in the mist or pushing ahead. He decided on the latter course and raising his rifle and powder above his head, he waded into the stagnant, foul-smelling water. He tried to make his way across the tufts of dry ground that were interspersed among the still pools, but the going was extremely arduous and many times he found himself in waist-deep water. He felt the sticky mud sucking at his legs and dragging him down. At one point he was in the water up to his armpits. As he was struggling through a particularly dense growth of cattails, he heard a splash and saw a four-foot long water moccasin swimming away through the reeds. An involuntary shudder shook his chilled body. After an hour in the water, he came to an island in the middle of the swamp. He breathed a sigh of relief and crawled gratefully onto the dry land.

After he rested for a good while, he got up and looked around for some dry wood. The island was fairly large and there were several downed trees and lots of dead brush lying about, and within a short time, he had a cheerful blaze going. He had never realized the simple pleasure of a fire on a cold day until then. He spread his clothes to dry and scraped the mud from his trousers and shoes. Then he rested before his fire. As he contemplated the glowing heart of the coals, he heard a rustling in the brush and a curious rabbit poked its head out to see what was happening. Joshua slowly reached for his tomahawk and then with a lightning throw, knocked the rabbit senseless. In a short while, the unfortunate rabbit was turning on a spit over the fire, and Joshua enjoyed his first hot meal in days. He knew that he would find more difficult travel ahead, so he decided to spend the night where he was. The island was hidden in the middle of the swamp, and the probability of anyone stumbling onto his camp was slim. After finishing half of the rabbit meat, he packed the rest into his bag, covered himself with his coat, and lay down to sleep.

In the middle of the night, the flames from his fire died down and the night’s chill awakened Joshua. He stirred and arose to stoke the embers with more wood. Once he was awake, he could not go back to sleep, so he sat cross-legged, like an Indian, before his campfire. The blaze was small, but warm. The short pieces of dead wood burned red, like coal. Joshua spread his palms to the heat. As he sat in the silence, a parade of faces began a slow journey through the gold and red embers—his father and mother, his sisters and brothers, but most of all, the wonderful Indian princess. He was very tired but he was afraid to go to sleep because he knew the specters would awaken him during the night, and then he would lie in the loneliness and stillness of the darkest hours before the dawn, tormented by the memories, haunted by the spirits of those who had gone before, and trembling beneath the power of the love that had been born in his heart. The longer he stayed awake, the shorter would be that time he would lie sleepless, with all the events of his past displayed mercilessly before him, like lost ships on the dark surface of some mysterious ocean. So he stayed awake and his fire was his companion. It glowed and sparkled. It was something alive that cheered him as he sat.

But even the fire was a betrayer, for the moment came when White Deer’s face appeared like a phantom in the white-hot heart of the fire. It shone there, her beauty crowned by raven hair, her dark, fathomless eyes and firm, sweet lips beckoning to him in the night.  Joshua sighed, for he had longed for those lips, but he knew that they would forever belong to Jonathan. He cursed his brother and then, a moment later, repented, for he knew that his times were in the Lord’s hands, and Jesus had ordered his steps. Still, his broken heart yearned for the peace that requited love would grant and the fulfillment it would bring. He trembled before those eyes that would haunt him down every path he took, in the embers of every campfire.

“White Deer,” he whispered, brokenly.

Joshua mourned to himself while the beautiful face in the fire softened and glowed with imagined sweetness and longed-for understanding, showering him with a revelation that would only be his this one night and then would vanish as the fire burned down to ashes. In that hour Joshua’s love for the Indian maiden mounted to sacred heights and then was cast into the abyss, as he put away forever any hope he held to possess the lovely maiden. It was in that hour that he realized the only thing that remained truly his, the only thing that he could hold until his dying breath, was the passion locked in his dreams, and he marveled at the change that had come to his life and manhood simply from knowing her. And so, like his Savior before him, Joshua faced his own Gethsemane, the dark night before an uncertain dawn, when he cried for the cup of his sorrow to be lifted from him. And as he wept, his merciful Lord brought peace and rest before the dawn.

In the morning a single ray of sunlight breaking through the trees fell on his face and awakened him. He stirred. The fire that had sparkled and gleamed with life and visions in the dark night now lay before him, a heap of gray, lifeless ashes. He knew that the Lord was showing him a picture. In the ashes was all that remained of his hopes and dreams for the love of a woman. He remembered the command of the Lord to Abraham when He asked for Isaac as an offering to prove his obedience. And like Abraham, Joshua laid his love on an altar on the mountain and he remembered the Lord’s words: I will provide myself, the lamb.

In that moment Joshua began to realize that the Lord was setting him apart for some great sacrificial work and that a wife and home were not to be his, at least not now. As this truth broke upon his weary mind, he was comforted to know that a calling had been placed on his life, though he did not yet know what it was to be. He sat for a moment longer, contemplating what the Lord was showing him. Then a verse from Isaiah came to him, unbidden.

“But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

More light began to break through the morning mist. Joshua stood and faced the east. The Lord was showing him the path home.

Quickly, he packed his things and plunged into the swamp following that blazing beacon. East of the island, the land began to rise and the deep waters of the swamp grew shallow under his feet as he forged his way through the tangled brush and heavy reeds. Soon he felt the mud beneath him turn to sand, and ahead of him he saw the edge of the swamp and beyond that, the park-like swales of open forest. With thanksgiving in his heart, he stepped upon the dry land as the sun rose through the trees and led him on.

Hours later, he came to the Ohio. The broad green stream slipped between the silent eaves of the forest like a highway leading Joshua home. He calculated that he was less than one hundred miles from the fort. His spirits rose as hope rose in his heart. He began to follow the deep flowing waters as the river bent its way in a northeasterly direction, back to the place of its birth at Fort Pitt. Salvation lay before him. All the rest of that day he followed the river, putting the place of his captivity farther and farther behind him.

That night he chanced a small fire for warmth, finished the rest of the rabbit, and lay down to an exhausted and blessedly dreamless sleep. Morning brought another day of travel, and Joshua began to recognize some of the landmarks he had passed when Scar carried him down the river as a captive four years earlier. Dusk brought another camp and hope for the morning.

Joshua was awakened by the most glorious sunrise he had seen in many a day. Purple trails of clouds drifted high above the majesty of golden rays rising from the east like ethereal crowns of glory. Pinks and oranges crowded the sky as the ever-changing face of the clouds painted a flowing portrait of perfection before his astonished eyes. The beloved psalm came to him as he stood in wonder:

“Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the LORD shall be thy rear guard.”

With a hopeful heart, Joshua stooped to retrieve his bag. As he did he felt something pass by his head and go ricocheting away among the trees followed by the bark of a rifle. A musket ball! Turning, he looked back down the river. Not more than three hundred yards away was a war party of Lenape. He recognized the scalp locks and war paint, even from this distance. They had seen him, and as he turned to run, he saw the flash of a musket and heard the whistle of another leaden messenger of death as it zipped past his head. And then a voice spoke to his heart. Run, Joshua! I will cover thee with my feathers, and under my wings shalt thou trust: my truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

Joshua turned and began to run. But it was not fear that gave wings to his feet; it was trust in the God who had led him thus far. Strength from some unknown source flowed into his body, and he began to fly through the woods. Behind him, the shrill yells of the braves stirred him to greater effort. On he ran, never looking back but varying his course from moment to moment to keep his pursuers from an easy target. His lungs filled with air and his heart with hope as he put the miles behind him.

Ten, twenty, thirty miles passed beneath his feet, and still, he ran tirelessly. The cries of the Indians rose, as the strongest runners stayed close behind, for these were warriors of the Delaware, renowned for their prowess in the footrace. Late afternoon was changing the complexion of the day as Joshua came to a familiar part of the river. He and Jonathan had crossed over and hunted on this shore often. Fort Henry was just ahead across the river. Musket balls began to zip around him as he came to the bank, and without hesitation, he plunged into the cold waters and began a swim for life. His arms stroked the water with power; his feet drove him onward through the stream. His heart filled with joy in his own strength and the power of God surging through him.

There! On the opposite shore, men with muskets pointing to the water, running to the bank! Spurts of flame as they fire their rifles across the river at the opposite shore. Howls of disappointment behind him as the pursuers turn from the withering fusillade coming from the fort and vanish into the forest. Then the bottom of the river under his feet, a few more steps and then out onto dry land. Up the long hill and he was staggering through the gates of Fort Henry and collapsing exhausted amidst the crowd of astonished men and women. Joshua was saved.