3stalwarts (59 page)

He could scarcely believe what he had seen, though he knew his eyes were good. They were unmistakably bateaux, about thirty of them, he thought. They would be carrying about five hundred men. Even at that distance he had been able to make out the blue coats in some of them. And the boats were all close together, though they must have rowed all night to have come so far. Who had ever heard of an army of that size traveling so quickly?

Blue Back felt a little quiver far under his fat at the root of his backbone. Those soldiers weren’t going to do anything to the Oneidas, but it made him uneasy to think that they could move about the country with that speed. He kept the bow of his canoe straight in the wind and paddled hard, hoping that he had not been seen. He knew that he could paddle away from them. But he had figured on having a day or two to break the news.

A couple of gulls started following him and squalling, but luckily the main flock were too interested in the flotilla to be attracted to him, and little by little the canoe drew ahead until it was safely out of sight.

Blue Back did not land at the landing, but a half mile to the east of it. He hid his canoe a good hundred yards up the shore, before starting his stout trot for the Onondaga Castle.

He reached it, fairly tired out, before dark, and helped himself to a good meal before he delivered his news. The largest part of the Onondaga fighting force was in the west, supposedly to meet Colonel John Butler somewhere beyond the Genesee. There were only a few men left in any of the villages, he was informed, and they were mostly older men, or boys. When he told the men that there were five hundred soldiers coming against them, they decided that they must move at once, and started sending out runners to the surrounding villages. They planned to move in the morning. They appeared to feel perfectly friendly towards Blue Back and offered him a bed in one of the best houses.

He was glad to accept, and slept heavily all night; but next day his uneasiness recurred to him. The approaching invasion had nothing directly to do with him; it was rather the sight of all these people starting out into the west that troubled his mind. They were very quiet. Even the multitu-dinous dogs did not bark. The main town, in which he was, boasted fourteen horses, and these were all loaded to the limit of their capacity until their half-starved, beaten bodies were almost lost to view. The women carried their babies, their seeds, and bundles of their finery, as much as they could manage. Even the little girls were given each a bundle or basket. And nobody said good-bye to Blue Back. They moved off in single file into the southwest to strike the Iroquois trail, a hundred souls of them, without a house to go to.

When he started looking into the empty houses, it made him sad to see how much they had been forced to leave. Green pelts, the larger household dishes— unexpectedly his probing finger found a pouch of wampum beads.

His face looked singularly thoughtful as he transferred the pouch from its hiding place to his belt. But there were so many things left. In the council houses were a lot of oldish muskets which Blue Back carefully went over to see whether there was one better than his.

It was well on in the morning before he gave up his investigation of the deserted town and wandered off into the woods. He stopped for an instant to look back on the empty silent houses, most of them with bark roofs, some beautifully rounded in the old Iroquois fashion that the fathers used to know, all scattered any which way in the woods, with the long council house standing alone.

In that council house had burned once the council fire that made the Six Nations a great and undivided race. “Onenh wakalighwakayonne. Now it has become old; now there is nothing but wilderness. You are in your graves; you who established it.” The words entered Blue Back’s mind, the beginning of the great hymn. He had not thought of them for a long time. They went through his brain like a lost bird crossing the sky. He lifted his eyes and beheld rain clouds driving down from the northwest.

The old Indian, in his dirty shirt and his dirty moccasins and his limp, leaf -stained hat, shuffled indolently into the underbrush. A patch of blood-root bloomed like the whitest snow, and among them his feet made no sound.

So, suddenly, he heard to the southeast the report of several rifles, irregular, distinct, but tiny thuds of sound.

It had been Blue Back’s plan to return to his home before the troops arrived; but now he realized that they must have marched overland from Oneida Lake with far greater rapidity than he had counted on. They were already cutting into the outlying villages, between him and the home trail.

He drifted uneasily up on a low hill from which he could see out over the forest tops. The drizzle had already begun, driving through the stems of the trees and striking him in waves of wet. Four miles south and east a vast cloud of dark smoke was tumbling skyward. Blue Back wondered whether the people had moved away in time. A great curiosity laid hold of him to find out how the army would act. There had been shooting.

He hesitated for only a few minutes; then, like a fat brown shadow in the gray spring woods, he began to move towards the smoke. And in half an hour he had picked up the bluecoat company, led by a detachment of Rangers, coming towards him among the trees.

It was Blue Back’s first sight of the Morgan Rangers. He did not like their looks. He could tell by their faces that they would pot an Indian as quick as a rabbit. They would not be troubled to find out what nation he belonged to. He sank down into the scrub, watching them pass with beady eyes… .

For two days, Blue Back dogged the army in the rain, watching everything they did. He saw them burn the old towns, loot the houses, taking very little. He saw them casting muskets into the hottest fire. He saw the store of Indian gunpowder exploded in the main town and the council house curl apart, hissing under the raindrops, and fall in a mass of sparks. He saw a lone returning dog, a white dog, looking for food, shot in the head and swung into the fire by its tail. He saw squads of men sticking pigs with their bayonets and roasting them in the ashes of the burning houses.

The troops did everything systematically and quietly. It was not like an Indian raid. It was done with a cold-blooded calculation that overlooked no ear of corn.

On the morning of the second day, Blue Back picked up a small detachment that had surprised the one village in which Indians yet remained. They had rounded up fifteen women and brought them as prisoners, a silent, sullen, hopeless group, wet, shivering, mishandled. Later he found the remains of the village; and here he came upon signs that the discipline had not been observed. There were a few men lying about the open ground, unscalped for the most part. And there were women, some of them half naked. He was not much interested in the dead women until he happened to notice one in the bushes beyond the town. She was lying under a low-growing hemlock, on the soft needles, where it was yet quite dry. She had been hit on the head and was dying. She was quite naked. She was a young woman. Her tangled hair was long and black. She made no sound at all and did not move except for the very slow and painful heaving of her breast.

The old Indian did not let her see him; but he waited near by, dog-like, until she was dead. Then he beat around the town looking at the other dead women. Almost all of them were young.

The army camped that night on the site of the old town with great roaring fires. The officers had a long lean-to set up on a rise of ground. Blue Back, who hung on the outside of the pickets, could see everything they did. He recognized Colonel Van Schaick entering notes in a small book with the feather of a bird and receiving reports from the other officers. He also recognized Colonel Marinus Willett by his huge nose and slab-sided ruddy cheeks. He saw Joe Boleo and Adam Helmer come into the light of the officers’ fire to be questioned. He understood enough of what they said to realize that all the towns had been burned and that the army would start its return march on the next morning.

One by one, captains and lieutenants made their reports. When the last one had spoken, Colonel Van Schaick turned to Colonel Willett.

“We’ve not lost a man,” he said with satisfaction. “How’s that for a record? Ninety-odd miles into the Indian country, a nation destroyed, no casualties. By the Lord, I’m proud of you all!”

Everyone seemed pleased. Only Willett spoke through his great nose.

“I’d like to know where all the Indians went to, Goose. I’d like to know who warned them. Somebody did, you know.”

“I’m just as glad,” said Van Schaick. “We’ve given them a lesson and we’ve committed no atrocities. I’m proud of you all. It ought to have the effect we hoped for.”

“What effect, Goose?”

“Why, it practically guarantees safety to the western settlements.”

Next morning Blue Back stayed only long enough to make sure that the army had started back towards their bateaux on Oneida Lake before cutting off on his own path to find his canoe. He was well ahead of the army when he reached the lake, and he launched his canoe without being noticed by the boat guard.

Two days later he was back in his own house, talking to Skenandoa and eating a hot meal. The ancient sachem was as upset as Blue Back himself. He said he would have liked to protest to Van Schaick at once over the expedition, but to do that would be to acknowledge that the Onondagas had been warned by one of the Oneidas. When they considered everything that Blue Back had seen, they decided it would be dangerous to let the colonel know. They felt singularly helpless. They decided to wait until the news became general and then to demand army protection against the western nations and the British.

After Skenandoa had left, Blue Back’s wife combed out his hair and pampered him in his favorite ways. She was immensely proud of him; but at the same time she was disturbed by his persistent staring at her. She did not know that he was wondering whether a white man would consider her young enough, or pretty enough. He felt that he no longer comprehended white men.

Colonel Van Schaick was doing the talking. He stood up before the three men, now that he had shaken their hands in turn— Joe Boleo, Adam Helmer, and Gil. On one side Major Cochran looked on with obvious pleasure. On the other Colonel Willett was preternaturally solemn. But when Adam’s restless eye met his, the yellow-haired giant felt like laughing out loud. Willett’s right eyelid was perceptibly fluttering.

“I am obliged to you three men,” said Colonel Van Schaick. “You have done a splendid job for me. For the whole army. I flatter myself the whole army has done a splendid job, but it would have been impossible without such sure guides. You will now return to your homes, and you will kindly convey to Colonel Bellinger my gratitude for having sent me three such excellent men. Tell him I shall write him personally as soon as pressure of duty permits. Here’s your pay. I thank you.”

To each man he handed a slip of white paper neatly inscribed, except where his own pigeon-track writing wandered through the letters of his name. The two woodsmen, neither of whom could read, were too dumbfounded to speak. They held the papers in their big hands gingerly and merely stared. Gil tugged them by the sleeves. They followed him out, heads bare.

Joe muttered, “It’s like church.”

“Shut up,” said Gil. Adam burst out laughing. Then they heard a chuckle behind them and found that Marinus Willett had come after them. “You did a good job, boys,” he said. “I want to remember you.” He shook hands, the way Van Schaick had, but he seemed like somebody a man could talk back to. His big erect shoulders had none of this new drill-masterish stiffness. “I don’t know how much good the expedition did, but we did all there was to do.”

Joe looked sober. “Those Onondagas will holler like cats with their tails in traps.”

Willett nodded.

“I hope they’ll only howl.”

He nodded his head to them and went away to his own quarters. The three men walked out through the gate. As soon as they were out of hearing, Adam demanded, “What’s this paper anyway? It ain’t money.”

“I’ll read you mine,” said Gil. “They’re all the same.”

By Goose Van Schaick, Esquire, Colonel, the First Regiment, the New York Line. To Gilbert Martin & Greeting—

You are hereby authorized to impress for your own use as a return for your services in this regiment in the service of the United States, 3 bushels of wheat from any Person whom Col. Peter Bellinger, Esquire, shall deem can conveniently spare the same & whose name shall by him be endorsed on this warrant.

Given under my hand at Fort Stanwix this twenty-fifth day of April 1779

Goose Van Schaick, Col.

“Well, for God’s sake!” said Adam. “Who’s got three bushel of wheat in German Flats anyway?”

“Shut up, can’t you? Always yelling. Look, Gil, does mine say, ‘Joe Boleo and Greeting’ on it?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Show me where.”

Gil showed him.

“Well, I’ll be God damned. Boleo and Greeting.”

“Yes, but what good’s this thing to me?” demanded Adam. “It ain’t money, it ain’t likker, and there isn’t any wheat.”

“Oh, give it to your girl for dinner,” growled Joe, lengthening his stride to pull ahead of them.

“Listen, Gil. Maybe you’d like to buy my paper, hey?”

“I haven’t any money,” Gil said, with a laugh.

“Well, how am I going to get paid, then?”

“I don’t know. You can ask Bellinger.”

The road wound out of the grass into the woods. Joe Boleo shambled along in the lead. He didn’t act anxious for company. He was bent way over, his lean shoulders hanging and his wrinkled face absorbed. When the other two got in hearing of him, he was muttering, “Joe Boleo and Greeting. By God! Joe Boleo and Greeting… .”

The three reported to Bellinger at Fort Dayton and were given supper there. Men crowded round Bellinger’s cabin to hear the news of the expedition, and to many of them it seemed— now that Congress had decided to act— that the end of the war could not be far away. They started discussing the feasibility of rebuilding on the sites of their old farms. Some regretted that they had sown their spring seed in borrowed land.