Daughter of Shiloh. Ilene Shepard Smiddy

to listen to their red war chiefs brag about the deeds in battle they and their forebears had accomplished.

      It all was a waste of energy that could be put to better use, William thought. The whole of the Indian problem was complex. It would take generations to solve it. William knew in his heart that one day the war councils would convene, the war dance would begin, and trouble would erupt anew along the frontier borders.

      All of these things and more he had discussed at length with Rebecca’s brothers back on the Holston. They had agreed the risks were great, but the possible gains to be realized were greater.

      Rebecca’s singing touched William. He glanced over his shoulder at his wife and children. Their lives and the lives of Rebecca’s family depended on him. William was aware that it was his love for adventure and his endless stories about Kentucky that had set them on this journey. He wanted to make their lives better. He prayed he would be equal to the task.

      David and Jonathan came running in answer to William’s signal to halt. Peter Cutright climbed off his wagon and came forward. The men stood together, silently surveying the scene before them. Looking back they could see the mountains fading away into the distance behind them. Ahead the Ohio Valley stretched as far as they could see.

      “I know this will someday be productive farmland,” William said, noting the look in his brother-in-law’s eyes. “But right now any white man foolish enough to settle north of the Ohio River rarely survives. Many squatters have paid dearly for encroaching on Shawnee and Chickasaw land.”

      Both William and David had been promised western lands for their service in Washington’s army. When they mustered out, they received land warrant certificates for the Ohio Territory.

      After much discussion, most of the soldiers agreed that Ohio would not be available for settlement in their lifetime. David and William then did as many other troops were doing. They sold the certificates to land companies in order to buy food and other necessities.

      “Is this the place where we turn southward?” Peter Cutright asked, turning his back on the expansive Ohio River region.

      William agreed. “We stay south of the river. The woodlands of Kentucky are not far off.” William’s anticipation was growing. His love for this beautiful country came flooding back. His heart beat faster. He could forget the war and its hardships. He was returning home.

      On the twenty-sixth day of their journey, morning dawned clear and bright. Martha wrote in her journal. “Today the sun rose with a promise to warm the earth.”

      Nancy and Sarah were the first to point out the column of smoke in the distance. After a few miles they could see more than one column rising above the horizon. It was clear they were nearing a pioneer settlement.

      “We’ve made it. Thank the Lord,” Martha called out.

      William wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Waving his hat in the air he yelled, “Hello, Kentucky.” Everyone broke into his or her favorite song.

      I’m goin’ there to see my brother;

      I’m goin’ there, no more to roam,

      I’m just a-goin’ over Jordan,

      I’m just a-goin’ over home.

      The setting sun’s rays painted the wagon-tops gold, as they approached Morgan’s Station. It was the first week in March, 1791.

      Ralph Morgan and Harry Martin, rifles ready, peered from their position of safety behind the stockade’s north gate. When the first wagon was within earshot, the driver waved and called out.

      “Hail the fort.”

      “Who goes?” Morgan yelled back.

      “William Rice and the Allington band from Virginia.”

      “Swing the gate wide, Harry,” Morgan shouted. He laughed aloud waving the wagons forward.

      The massive gate swung open. William drove his horses in, followed closely by the other four teams.

      Clarinda jumped down from her perch beside Jonathan. Scurrying around behind Jake’s wagon, she untied the cow. She had seen a cow pen just outside the gate. The stockade fence formed the backside of the small enclosure.

      Leading Old Beauty and her calf around and into the pen, Clarinda left them in the company of two young calves. She checked the gate, making sure it was fastened, then ran back to join Nancy and Sarah who were taking in the fort.

      Clarinda spun around, arms outstretched. “Are we really home?”

      Morgan threw his burly arms around William, pounding him on the back. “Son, I’m more than glad to see you. Come and meet everybody.” Morgan led the newcomers to the center of the square where a crowd had started to gather.

      “Folks, William Rice here is an old friend of mine since we traveled with Boone,” Morgan shouted. “He and his wife’s family, the Allingtons from Virginia, are going to settle at our station.”

      The group moved forward, shaking hands, eager to ask questions. News from the east was months old by the time it reached the Kentucky frontier. They were glad to see new faces and hear about the trip over the mountains.

      “Indians give you any trouble?” Harry Martin asked David.

      “No, didn’t see any. We crossed without incident, in record time too, I think.”

      “We’re all getting tired of these quarters, though,” Jake said grinning, motioning toward the wagons.

      William broke in, “Cutright here has a brother, Captain Samuel Cutright, who owns a station on the head of Green Creek. Do you know him?”

      Peter Cutright shook hands with Morgan. “Met the captain once,” Morgan said. “Fine man.” We’re hoping you will all stay on here. We have four empty cabins and one blockhouse ready, built in ‘89. Take your pick.” He pointed out the available buildings.

      What few women there were living inside the station were delighted to meet Martha, her four daughters, and Mrs. Cutright. Each woman ran to her own home to bring the food and drink she could spare. Everyone gathered in Morgan’s place to get acquainted and hear Clarinda’s brothers tell about their crossing, and pass along what little they knew of the state of the new union.

      Night fell quickly. It became pitch black inside the fort. Thick clouds rolled in, obscuring the moon. Little could be accomplished until morning. The horses were fed and bedded. John helped Clarinda feed the cow and calf. This done, the new arrivals thanked their hosts for the warm friendship offered and the generous meal.

      Clarinda helped Martha pick out the blockhouse on the southwest corner for their own. It faced the north gate diagonally across the square. Jonathan said it was a good choice. Pulling the bedding from inside the wagons, the weary travelers retired to their chosen cabins, ready to sleep for the first time in their new Kentucky homes.

      “Clarinda, climb up in the wagon and hand the crates down,” Martha ordered.

      She had roused them all up at first light. Their long trek over, the families were anxious to get settled. Nancy and Sarah busied themselves carrying load upon load into the eighteen-foot square blockhouse.

      In daylight the station resembled a small fort, rectangular in shape. The longest sides ran east to west. It had been built on a ridge overlooking Slate Creek, where the rushing current formed a sharp bend in the streambed.

      Morgan had settled on this strategic location, because the creek afforded a measure of protection, flowing as it did across the back or south end of the fort. The horseshoe-like bend in the creek made a curve around the fort on both the south and east sides.

      Their blockhouse faced the big gate across the one-fourth acre square that formed the courtyard. Next door were the cabins of the Arthur families.

      A new stockade fence encircled the compound. The cabins, sixteen feet square, were built in twos, flush with the fence.