Drums Along the Mohawk (61 page)

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.”

“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.

Bellinger told Gil that the women had remained at McKlennar’s, for there had not been a single alarm throughout the valley. It was now generally admitted that a powerful campaign was going to be carried on against the Iroquois that summer. Quartermasters were scouring the valley for supplies. In Schenectady they were constructing numberless bateaux. It was believed that one wing of the army would muster at Canajoharie within six weeks. James Clinton was the brigadier appointed to command it—fifteen hundred men. But that was only the wing. The main army would muster in Pennsylvania and come up the Susquehanna. The expedition Gil had just returned from was no more than a preliminary demonstration.

As he walked down the road from the fort after dark, Gil felt a strange sense of peace. The air had turned warm on a southerly wind. It was damp, and it felt like more rain; but a rain from the
south would be a growing rain. He was walking alone, for Joe had accepted an invitation to drink, and Adam, having caught sight of Polly Bowers at the corner of the fort, had been overwhelmed with the desire to describe the Indian country to her. Gil was glad to be alone, just then.

The house was quite dark. Either they had gone to bed or they had closed the blinds. He thought that perhaps in a few months it would be safe for people to burn candles in their houses once more, without darkening the windows.

He was startled when a dog rushed barking down the slope. Then he realized that John Weaver must be staying at the farm and he whistled to the dog. The dog recognized him and jumped about his legs, and the next moment the door opened and Lana was pushing her way past John. “It’s Gil. I know it’s Gil. Let me out,” she was saying.

He jumped up the porch steps and put his arms round her. She was whispering, “I was sure you were coming home to-night. I knew it, Gil, but they wouldn’t believe me.”

He pulled her through the door and they walked together into the kitchen, where Daisy was holding a splinter to the coals and blowing through her thick lips at it. It took only a moment to get the light. It was good to be home, to see women’s faces, people he loved. He shook John’s hand. John said, “We heard you’d gone against the Indians.”