Black Eagle (2 page)

“Has no one told you of the great sachem? ”

Johnson frowned. “No.”

“Forgive me for being the one to bring you the sad news that Henrick fell into a group of women, wives of the Abenaki Indians allied to the French. It is they who killed him. They stabbed and scalped him.”

Johnson shut his eyes and placed his head in his hands. At length, he said, “I shall be missing him.” Lifting his gaze, he addressed White Hair and said, “It is a sad ending for the gallant sachem that he was. When this business is done here and we are back in yer camp, we will speak words of condolence to his relatives and to those others who will mourn him.”

“It will be so.”

“And my brother-in-law, Matthew Farrell? . . .”

White Hair remained silent.

“Was he, too, killed? ”

White Hair's silence spoke better than words could have.

Johnson, who had raised himself up onto his elbows during this short exchange, fell back to the ground. “ 'Tis a dreadful business we do here. I fear my sister, Catherine, young Farrell's wife, will ill abide these sad tidings.” Johnson breathed in heavily. “But come,” he continued, “we must see to those who be still alive. Be it a long journey to the Water-that-runs-swift? ”

“Not long,” said White Hair, “but arduous for you and the Frenchman, since it will pain you both to move.”

Johnson nodded. “And yet it must be done.”

White Hair bent his head in agreement. “If our friend and brother Johnson is to remain well, it must be done.”

Again Johnson nodded. “Then let us be doing it. How many men will be carrying us to the water? ”

“There are five of us, but I will ask more to help since we must move the Frenchman, as well. Are you ready? ”

Johnson looked deeply into the red-painted face of this native-born warrior, a Mohawk fighter. Inhaling quickly, it did not escape Johnson's notice that these odd-looking natives were the truest of friends.

On a deep sigh, he said, “The very air here smells of gun powder, blood and death. Bad business, it is. Bring Dieskau here to me so that I might explain what it is that we do.”

“It will be done . . .”

 

Black Eagle continued to fly along the narrow path that had seen more battles than he cared to recall. The very woods echoed with the departed spirits of his countrymen. That such a beautiful ground should bear great strife was to be lamented, and Black Eagle couldn't help but consider that Hiawatha and the Peacemaker of the Iroquois confederation would be unhappy to learn of the number of wars that had come to their country . . . and in the name of “peace.”

Such thoughts, however, were a waste of precious energy. The white man's war was here, and whether the Iroquois people liked it or not, their homeland was situated between the two fighting nations.

Passing quickly through a stream, Black Eagle set his pace again and turned his thoughts to other matters, to the woods that greeted him on every side of the path, and to the sounds and scents of the forest. It was a beautiful time of year, trees and bushes wearing their orange, gold and red leaves, as though they would announce their departure from this world with beauty and vigor.

Black Eagle couldn't help but be aware of the comparison between himself and his people to these trees. So much better it was to leave this earth in the full glory of battle, than to cower and hide in fear. Such was the Mohawk spirit.

Brown, red, gold and green leaves littered the path as he ran onward, the musky scent of the leaves filling his nostrils and causing him to recall other times when he had enjoyed their fragrance. Those past times were happy days, filled with harmony and sunshine, times that were in deep contrast to the present.

Johnson, who was a staunch friend of the Mohawk longhouse of the wolf, must live. For his sake, for the sake of the Iroquois. With Henrick taken in the day's battle, Black Eagle could only surmise that Johnson would become more and more important to the Iroquois.

It was probably safe to say that, though few white men had ever earned the love and respect of the Mohawk people, Johnson had accomplished it. Not only were his dealings as a trader honest and fair, his knowledge and adherence to Mohawk tradition was without fault. The fact that he had also married a beautiful Mohawk maiden had sealed his acceptance, causing him to become a person who was much loved by the Mohawk people.

But he was particularly special to Black Eagle. Because of Johnson, Black Eagle had attended a white man's school—at least for a year. Because of Johnson, Black Eagle had come to an understanding of what the white man was about.

It was probably safe to say that Johnson was as influential to him as an uncle or other member of his clan.

He must be saved. By now several of the Mohawk warriors should be carrying Johnson to the place where the water runs fast—a location known to the whites as Saratoga. It was well known amongst his own people that the water there was special—it was healing . . . and it would particularly be so if a medicine man could be persuaded to accompany Black Eagle there.

Thus, since Black Eagle was acclaimed as the fastest runner amongst the warriors—both Indian and white—it had been put upon him to run to the nearest Mohawk village, a village called
Canajoharie
. The medicine man there was renowned. It was hoped that with persuasion, the medicine man would accompany Black Eagle to the Water-that-runs-swift.

Black Eagle frowned; the hour seemed late. There in the western sky, he could discern traces of the pinkish orange rays of sunset.

Had he run so long? It had been late morning when he had started on this journey.

But what was this, ahead of him? Was it sunlight streaming into the dark forest? Was his journey almost at an end?

With leg and thigh muscles that felt burned from his hours-long exertion, Black Eagle sped forward, bursting from the forest only minutes later. Immediately he was engulfed in the neat, clean fields of the three sisters, corn, bean and squash, and his heart rejoiced. At last, he thought, he was amongst the civilization of the Mohawk, the village of
Canajoharie
.

But he was not from this village. He could not simply storm into it.

So had spoken a sachem from his tribe.

Producing a pipe, Black Eagle sat and smoked, and soon, he was met by a scout from the village.

“Brethren,” said the scout as he approached Black Eagle, “I see by your clothes and the tattoo on your arm that you are of the wolf clan of the confederation. Brother, I see also by your actions that you come in peace.”

“It is so,” Black Eagle returned. “But I come bearing news on the war that has been waged nearby here.”

“Did you fight in this battle? ”

“
Nyoh
, yes, I did.”

“Then the news that you bring is good news? ”

“It is both good and bad. The French have been defeated, but our friend William Johnson has been hurt, and it is feared that he may not recover. Several warriors are carrying him to the healing place of the Water-that-runs-swift. I have been sent here to
Canajoharie
to seek the assistance of your medicine man. I have this wampum belt to show your sachem my sincerity.” He pulled the belt from a bag that hung from his shoulder.

The messenger nodded. “It is good. We are close to the Water-that-runs-swift. Come. Welcome to our village. I will take you to our medicine man at once. But before I do, let me inquire if you have had an evening meal.”

“I have not,” said Black Eagle.

“Then please honor me by seeking my longhouse first. My wife will set a meal before you that is quick, but nourishing. Then we will speak to the medicine man.”

Though still urged to hurry, Black Eagle ignored the feeling, and nodded. “I thank you for your hospitality. I will follow you.”

And so it was done.

 

 

William Johnson was positioned in his tent, on his bed. At his side was Black Eagle, who had only just returned with Johnson and the other warriors from the healing waters. Said Johnson, “Black Eagle, ye did well for this heart of mine. I cannot begin to thank ye, son, for what ye and the other Mohawk's have done. I know I speak not only for myself, but for the French commander, Dieskau. It is my hope that he will fare well enough that he will leave this country.”

Black Eagle nodded. “It is a good plan. It is well that you captured him in battle, and have sheltered him from harm, when others might have chosen to do differently.”

“Aye,” said Johnson. “I am certain we both will recover well because of all ye and the others have done. Now, come close to me, son, come close,” continued Johnson, clutching at Black Eagle's shoulder. “Yer feet are quick, yer mind is bright, and I fear I will need your assistance yet again.”

Black Eagle didn't speak. Rather, he bent toward the Irishman.

Said Johnson, “Would ye carry these messages to Albany for me? ”

“I would be honored.”

Johnson nodded. “I thought as much. Now, permit me to tell you what it is that I require. This message”—Johnson pointed to the sealed note in his hand—“be a letter to my wife and sister to make our home ready to receive the French commander. This other 'tis a letter to Governor Shirley, the devil take the man. A more disagreeable person I have never met. Yet, word has it that he has replaced Commander Braddock, who died in battle recently, God take his soul.”

Black Eagle nodded. “Is it your intention, then, to remain here, instead of returning to Albany? ”

“Aye, that I shall do. I fear that I am destined to construct a fort here to show the French that the English intend to remain. Otherwise the French may think they have liberty to force the entire valley to adhere to their command. 'Tis my duty to inform the commander-in-chief, Governor Shirley, of what I do, though I fear no good will come of it.”

Black Eagle nodded. “It is to be regretted that you must remain here, and that the Governor thinks more of his status than he does of winning battles,” he said.

“Aye,” said Johnson. “That it is.” He clutched at Black Eagle's hand. “I fear my wife's face swims before me. No mistake, I miss her, especially after all this business here. Now, son, here are the letters. Be fast.”

Again Black Eagle nodded. “Your home, Johnson Hall, is well known to me, and I should have no trouble delivering the first letter. But where will I find Governor Shirley? Is he in Albany? ”

“Aye, that he is. Governor Shirley is stationed in the home of John Rathburn, a well-known financier. He lives near the southern end of Albany. Do ye think ye can find it? ”

Again, Black Eagle nodded.

“Take these notes to their destination, lad, as quickly as ye can and tell Governor Shirley this for me: ‘A fort is required here to show the French that we mean to stay, and that we will not tolerate French presence on land that is claimed by King George.' Tell the governor that I will be staying here to oversee our new fort's construction.”

“I will.” Black Eagle frowned. “Is it your belief, then, that the war between yourself and the French has not ended? ”

“I fear it has barely begun.”

“Then there will more fighting.” Black Eagle spoke as though to himself. “Tell me, why do the English hate the French so much? ” he asked. “Would it not be better to stop this fighting and try to live as neighbors? ”

“Do ye forget what all yer people have suffered at the hands of the French? ”

“I do not forget. Imbedded in my memory is the massacre of my people by Champlain. But it will not be an easy victory if the war does not stop here. Relatives of the Mohawk, who are allied to the French, may fight with the French, and I fear if this war continues, the Mohawk will yet witness brother pitted against brother.”

Johnson scowled. “It is the French who started this war.”

Black Eagle grimaced. “Is it? My relatives in the North tell me that the French say the English started the war.”

Johnson cleared his throat. “Now don't ye be forgettin' the covenant chain yer people hold with mine.”

Black Eagle remained silent. The covenant chain, a simple agreement between his people and the English, tied the Mohawk to the English.

“Son,” continued Johnson, “much depends on this message yer bringing to Shirley. Yer the best that I have. Can I depend on ye? ”

When Black Eagle didn't reply at once, Johnson paused, and it did not escape Black Eagle that Johnson's look took in his measure.

“I know ye have already run a good distance in these last few days, but ye are rested now,” continued Johnson. “Can ye do it? ”

Black Eagle nodded.

Johnson relaxed. “Thank God that ye are here and that ye are willin' to do it,” said Johnson as he handed over the note. “God speed.”