Chapter 1 - Attack!

The cave was dark. A faint musty odor lingered from generations of small animals that had sheltered there, seeking protection from the fierce winters. Hannah crouched in the farthest corner. So complete was her terror that she scarcely felt the jagged rocks, hard enough to bruise, pressed against her back. Her heart pounded so loudly that she feared it would be heard echoing between the narrow damp stone walls.

Through an opening that was low to the ground and barely large enough to squeeze through, she could see the scuff marks she had made in the dry earth. Her breath caught in her throat in panic. The Iroquois were skilled trackers. They were sure to see the evidence she had left. She forced herself to move, but her foot bumped the half-filled bucket of berries she had brought into the cave with her. The bucket struck the stone wall of the cave with a soft metallic ping. Hannah froze. There was no triumphant yell, no pounding feet to indicate the sound had betrayed her presence. After a minute, she allowed herself to breathe again. Stepping around the bucket, she crouched at the low entrance and peered out. Was she really alone? Or was someone there, just out of sight, waiting for her to show herself?

After a second of hesitation, she pushed herself partially out the entrance. Lying flat, she could reach handfuls of pine needles. Working quickly from her awkward position, she smoothed and patted the dirt and sprinkled the pine needles over the top. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, although her body was shivering with terror. She hoped she had covered signs of her presence, but the entrance was still exposed. If someone were to bend down and look in, she would be visible. A small bush struggled for life in the rocky soil near the entrance, but it was too well rooted to dislodge.

There wasn’t much time left. Hannah could hear the small cracking of branches, the soft thud of footsteps—sounds of men passing through the forest. With a strength fueled by desperation, she managed to break the main stem so that the bush covered the opening. She shrank back against the stone walls of her shelter. Through the leafy cover of the bush, she could see feet, the soft silent moccasins of warriors and the more measured tread of the soldiers’ boots. By crouching down, she could see flashes of red and green jackets—British and Tory soldiers. And so many! This wasn’t a small raiding party. This was an army. She thought of her father and her older brother, Jack, clearing stumps from the new pasture. "Prepare to be beaten tonight when we play checkers," Jack had said that morning. "I let you win last night, but tonight you will see who the real champion is."

"You didn’t let me win," she had bristled. Jack had grinned to show he was teasing and hurried to catch up with their father, who was already heading for the pasture.

Their mother had chuckled as she cleaned up the breakfast dishes. "You two and your checkers games." Thinking of her mother made Hannah choke back a sob. It was washing day, and Hannah should have been helping. However, her mother had unexpectedly sent her to pick berries that morning. Hannah knew her mother was being kind, giving her a few hours of freedom from the never-ending work on their small isolated farm in western New York. "I have a taste for a blackberry cobbler," she had said with a smile when she woke Hannah.

A sudden crackle of gunfire sounded not far from the cave, and Hannah sank to her knees in despair. Why hadn’t she tried to warn them? Wasn’t it better to die with her family than to cower alone in this tiny cave? A small part of Hannah’s mind admitted the truth. She did not want to die. She could not have outrun the quick-footed warriors. And even if she had made it back to her parents and brother, what chance would they have had against so many? No, if she had not remembered the little cave she and Jack had found when they were younger, she would be dead already. Or worse. The Iroquois often tortured their enemies. That was what Mr. Van der Beck, their nearest neighbor, had told Hannah’s father when he came to warn him a few weeks earlier.

"There are rumors some farms to the north have been raided," he’d said, looking out over the peaceful valley. "I’m taking my family to safety, as are most of our neighbors."

Hannah’s father shook his head. "I can’t believe Englishmen would incite the Indians against their own people. At any rate, we have had no problem with the Indians."

"Some of the tribes are helping the patriots," Mr. Van der Beck said, "but they say the Iroquois have joined with the British. King George has promised to stop the westward expansion into Iroquois land. My brother brought a newspaper from Boston. It says that after George Washington drove the British from that city last year, most of the Tories abandoned their homes out of fear and went with the British to Halifax. Almost half the people in Boston have left. Those who favor England are bound to be bitter."

"Thank you for the warning," her father had said, "but Boston is far away. I’ve seen no signs of trouble here. I’ll not be driven from my land by a rumor."

And rumor it had seemed. Over a month had passed since that conversation, and nothing had marred the peace. Even Hannah’s mother, raised in Boston and never comfortable living so far from her neighbors, had begun to relax.

The gunshots in the distance stopped suddenly. Hannah thought she heard a scream. She thought it might be Jack, but it did not seem quite human. She covered her ears and quietly sobbed.

It was nightfall before the screaming stopped. Still she did not move. She had seen the enemy arriving that morning in swift, silent birch-bark canoes. The canoes were beached along the muddy banks of the river, just a few hundred feet away. She could not venture out until the murderous savages had finished their cruel work and paddled back north again.

Her body was cramped and sore from the hard cold ground. She rubbed her arms through the rough material of Jack’s shirt that she wore. She almost smiled when she thought of her mother’s reaction to seeing her in her brother’s clothes.

"Hannah Pritchard! What is that you are wearing?" Mother straightened her back and gestured with the long pole she used to stir the huge boiling kettle of clothes she was washing.

Hannah had paused, flashing her mother her brightest smile. "Jack’s clothes are so much more comfortable, Mother. Remember how upset you were the last time I picked berries and tore my dress on some brambles?"

"It’s not seemly for a girl of fourteen to be wearing britches," Mother had answered, shaking her finger and frowning. "Your father will not want to see you that way." She did not order Hannah to change, however.

"I think girls ought to be allowed to wear pants," Hannah said. Ignoring her mother’s shocked look, she rushed on. "Think how much more comfortable it would be while we are doing chores. If I could wear pants, I could be helping Father and Jack."

"That’s men’s work," her mother said with a shake of her head. "Your place is helping me so you can learn how to run your own home someday."

Hannah sighed. "I wish I could do something first. Have an adventure. Have you ever noticed that whatever work women do is always waiting to be done again? You will just have to wash those clothes again next month. Dinner will have to be cooked again tomorrow. When Father and Jack are done today, the field will be done."

Her mother had chuckled as she used the pole to put Father’s pants in a second big kettle to rinse. "You have such funny notions, Hannah, I ought to make you change."

"You are washing my dress," Hannah had pointed out. "My old dress is so small it is even more unseemly than Jack’s clothes."

Mother had nodded. "I can’t let it out any more. You have been growing faster than the weeds in my garden. I think there is a dress in my trunk we could make over for you."

Hannah had hugged her. "No one will see me," she said. "I will be back before Father and Jack return from clearing the pasture. And I will change as soon as I return."

Mother had smiled, shaking her head. "See that you do. And keep a watchful eye."

Hannah had glanced around at the peaceful farm. Near the house was Mother’s large garden. It was late summer, and the beans and corn were nearly ready to pick. A small fenced pasture and barn were home to the oxen, Max and Tug, and Blossom the milk cow. Several chickens pecked for bugs about the yard.

Father had cleared more than twenty acres when they had first come here several years ago. Now that Jack was fifteen and old enough to do a man’s work, Father had decided to clear another twenty acres. From where she had stood, Hannah could see them hard at work. Last winter, her father and Jack had cut down all the trees. Some they had split for firewood, but the rest, with the help of the oxen, they were dragging to a pile for burning. Max and Tug could pull up the smaller stumps, but her father would leave the larger ones and plant the wheat around them. Before he did that, however, Hannah and her mother would help by digging out rocks and piling them to be made into a fence.

"I’ll be careful," she had promised her mother as she picked up the berry buckets.

The cool night air creeping into the cave was filled with smoke. Hannah sniffed in alarm. She crawled to the cave entrance and peered out. The moon was hidden behind the low hanging clouds, but a faint red glow was visible through the trees. What if the fire spread and she was trapped here in the cave? Then, as if in answer to her question, she felt the first few drops of rain. She crawled back to her corner.

Hannah’s stomach growled with hunger. She groped around, searching for the spilled berries. When she found a few and placed them on her tongue, she nearly gagged. How could she think of food when her whole family was dead or dying? She forced herself to swallow a few, then curled on the ground, waiting for the night to pass.

In spite of the chilly night air and her hard stone bed, Hannah dozed fitfully, awaking just before dawn when the invaders returned. The men made no attempt to be stealthy this time. They talked among themselves, and once someone laughed. Hannah felt her grief change to anger as she saw the flashes of British red.

A shadow hid the rising sun. Someone was just outside the cave. Had she survived all this terrible night just to be found now? She shrank back, shaking in terror.

An Iroquois warrior squatted in front of the cave and moved aside Hannah’s camouflage. He stared at her silently. A scream tried to leap from her throat, but in spite of his ferocious appearance, something in his eyes made her stay silent.

His head was shaven, except for the long center lock. He wore nothing but a loincloth and soft moccasins. Intricate designs had been painted on his face and chest. In one strong hand, he gripped a war hammer, which was decorated with beads and feathers.

He continued to look at her and slowly shook his head. Then he stood, carefully replacing the bush. Hannah heard him say something to his companions in his own language.

For a long time, she did not dare move. What had happened? Was it possible that a savage like that was sick of the slaughter and had shown her mercy? How strange that the mercy had come from an Iroquois and not one of her own people.

She waited a long time to make sure they were all gone. The sun was high in the sky before she at last dared to leave the cave. Crouching low, she slipped through the trees to the place where she had first seen the canoes. They were gone, and only the smashed reeds at the water’s edge gave signs that they had been any more than a dream. She turned and started the trek back to the farm, dread filling every part of her.

In the forest, no birdsong came from the trees. Not even the chirping of late summer insects filled the air. The acrid smell of smoke burned her nose. She trudged through the stubble of the burned cornfield. The barn was gone, burned cleanly to the ground, but part of the house had been spared by the rain. The clothes fluttered from the rope her father had strung for drying. Her brown dress was there, streaked with wet black ash.

She found her mother where she had fallen, near the kettle of rinse water. There was an arrow in her throat. Hannah wondered if she had even had time to scream. She stared at her mother’s body dully, her mind unable to process it, too numb even to cry. Blood soaked the earth, and flies buzzed around the wound. She brushed them away, but they returned almost instantly. After several minutes, she pulled herself away. She had to find her father and Jack.

They were not in the field, although Max and Tug were there, their bodies still attached to the yoke. She searched for hours, but she did not find the rest of her family in the surrounding forest. Hannah allowed herself a faint hope. Perhaps they had somehow escaped. Maybe they had been taken captive. Indians did not always kill captives, she knew. Sometimes a boy like Jack was even adopted into the tribe.

She stood still, remembering the screams she’d heard, and suddenly she knew where they were. She forced her feet back to the barn. It was still smoldering in spite of the rain. With a stick, she poked through the rubble. She found Blossom first, though little was left of her. Father and Jack were not far away, their bodies black and twisted.

Hannah stumbled away from the barn. Her stomach cramped, and bitter bile filled her throat. The retching reminded her that except for the few berries she had nibbled in the cave, she had not eaten in almost two days. Although it filled her with shame to be thinking of food when her entire family lay dead just a few feet away, she rummaged through the trampled vegetable garden. She found only a few beans for her effort, and she made herself eat them.

She was so numb with horror that it was hard to think. She knew that the first thing she had to do was bury her family, but she could not imagine how she would manage that task. Her gaze returned to her mother’s garden. The earth would be softer there. Near the smoldering debris of the barn, she finally found a shovel. The handle was burned, but it was still usable, and she set to work.

Under the first few inches of soil, the ground was hard. The day was hot, and sweat trickled down Hannah’s head, making her eyes burn. She worked steadily, but hunger, heat, and grief made the progress slow. When the sun set, she was still not done. At last, she put down the shovel, noticing for the first time that her hands were blistered. She pulled up a bucket of water from the well, plunged her hands into the cool water, and splashed it on her face. Then she pulled her clothes from the line and put them on. She rolled up Jack’s clothes into a neat bundle. Using it for a pillow, she curled up on the ground near a still-standing corner of the house.

In spite of her exhaustion, she lay awake for a long time listening to the night noises. An owl hooted, and she sat up, listening intently. Was it really an owl, or was that a signal between cruel-faced men slipping through the forest on moccasined feet? She had never been alone before. Always there had been Mother, Father, and even Jack to depend on. She knew she had to make some sort of plan to survive, but right now she was too weak and sick at heart to move. She closed her eyes and slept.

It was a nightmarish, fitful sleep, and when she awoke at dawn, she was still exhausted. Without opening her eyes, she felt the sun on her face. Slowly, she became aware of a drumming sound in the hard earth. She sat up quickly. Horses! Someone was coming. They must have realized that she had survived and come back to kill her. Fresh terror filled her as she scrambled to her feet frantically looking for a place to hide. Not enough remained of the house to shield her. Her only hope was to reach the forest and try to hide herself among the brambles.

Holding her skirts, she pounded through the burned cornfield, stumbling over clumps of incinerated stalks. There was a pain in her side, and her knees were scraped where she had fallen. She knew they would overtake her before she made it to the trees, but she raced on. Her breath came in ragged gasps that made her throat ache, and there were bright spots in front of her eyes. She heard shouting behind her. She willed herself to go even faster, but her body would not obey. A blanket of darkness covered her as she fell, unconscious, to the ground.

COMING SOON: Peek at Part II of Trilogy
Pirate Hannah Pritchard: Captured!