Seneca Surrender (23 page)
On her feet were moccasins, since her own slippers were flimsy and wouldn’t provide her with the needed protection against the cold. Sarah had also managed to tie her long hair back, although she hadn’t been able to contain the blond ringlets that fell forward against her face.
“You look very English,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied, “I think.” She smiled at him. “Was that a compliment?”
“Perhaps.” It was all he said.
She looked toward their luggage, which consisted of several buckskin bags, as well as her own hand-carved cane. “What is it that I’ll be carrying?”
“Our bags.”
She frowned at him. “All of them?”
“No, I will carry some, but my hands and arms must remain free so that if we come upon enemies, I will be able to protect us. That this requires you to bear the brunt of carting most of our food is to be regretted, for I know this is not the English way.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she said. “It’s not the English way. But your point is well taken. Where shall we go to pick up Miss Marisa’s trail?”
“I have given it some thought, and I believe that we’ll start at the beginning, where I found you: by the side of the Lake-That-Turns-to-Rapids. We will backtrack to the falls, since I believe that is where your accident occurred. When I found you, you were almost drowned.”
“So you have said. I do wish I could remember.”
“It matters little. What I have explained is the only conclusion that makes sense. So I believe that if we begin at the falls, we may yet find some trace of your friend.”
Sarah smiled at him. “I will be happy to see her.”
White Thunder nodded, but otherwise remained silent. Then, he said, “Come here. I would begin our journey with an embrace, if you would humor me.”
Happily she went into his arms, where he buried himself in the folds of her hair. He murmured, “There is a war raging across this country. Stay close to me. We will move fast, but not so swiftly that I cannot go back on our trail and erase our prints from the ground. Are you ready?”
She nodded, and with the both of them bidding adieu to the cave, they set off into the woods. Perhaps it was her imagination, but for a moment she thought that a certain squirrel had come out of her winter hideaway to say goodbye.
It was cold, it had rained and the ground was both hard and wet. There was a scent in the air of decaying, wet leaves, as well as the earthy smell of dirt. The trees were naked of their leaves and looked to be little more than skeletons waving their branches against the gray beginnings of the day. Sarah’s toes immediately protested the chilly weather, but as long as she kept moving, her feet cooperated.
They had been gone for no longer than an hour when Sarah began to wish for the relative comfort of their cave. But she knew it was not to be. They had to move on forward; there was no turning back.
Their progress through the forest was slower than what Sarah would have imagined it would be, if only because she was weighted down with their supplies, thus their stops were frequent. And although Sarah realized that each day the burden would become less—if only because they would be consuming the food—here at the start of their journey, the bags were still cumbersome and bulky.
White Thunder never strayed too far ahead of her, even though she was certain she was holding him back. While they were on the move, his rifle was held in a ready position, always. He was well armed: Attached to his belt were tomahawk, war clubs and knives. Strapped across his shoulders were bags, a powder horn and balls. And within the folds of his leggings, there at his calf, were two more knives. He looked, she thought, like a walking arsenal.
But it made her glad. He also appeared fully capable of protecting the two of them.
She took a moment to admire his look, for it was different from what she had become accustomed to. For one thing, he was dressed for the weather with a white linen shirt worn inside a buckskin coat. On his legs were buckskin leggings and moccasins. His blanket, which also was used for warmth, was thrown over one of his shoulders and belted at his waist. Quite incidentally, his leggings didn’t reach all the way up to his shirt, which left her with an alluring view of his thighs. And, indeed, she did look. Truth be told, she found her gaze lingering there more often than perhaps it should.
She knew his moccasins—and hers as well—were winter- as well as waterproof, having been carefully smoked and sewn with the fur turned inside. She knew this because she had helped to sew them.
He had insisted that her clothing also be winterized, and she wore a blanket over her shoulders in a style much like a cape. Also, there had been enough deerskin to fashion herself an outer buckskin petticoat, made and worn for warmth. She had long ago lost her hat, a shame, for it would have been a good addition to protect her against this weather.
Suddenly White Thunder came to a complete stop. She almost ran into him. Quickly, he glanced to his right and left, surveying the lay of the land. He pointed toward a stand of trees, then, gazing at her, brought up a single finger to lie across his lips.
Trouble. Her stomach suddenly churned and again, adrenaline pumped through her system.
As noiselessly, yet as quickly as they could, they fled toward the stand of the distant trees he had indicated, their feet scurrying over the wet mosses and ferns littering the forest floor. What was it? she wondered—or rather, who was it?
Her questions were all too quickly answered, however, when she witnessed a war party of perhaps twenty-five young men round a hill. At the same moment the war party came into view, both she and White Thunder had reached that stand of trees. Immediately, they ducked beneath the weight of a pine tree’s branches.
He settled her up close to the trunk of the tree so that she was almost completely hidden by its long and extending boughs. Then he left. What was he doing? she wondered. And why, in outfitting her gear for the trip, hadn’t she considered a weapon? In a land torn by war, one needed some manner of self-defense.
Soon White Thunder returned and crouched down beside her in a position that afforded him a view of the enemy’s approach. He held his rifle in a ready position and gazed out toward the path the warriors were making.
Perhaps they were lucky this day, or mayhap this particular group of men was overconfident because their numbers were great, or maybe they were returning from a battle, and thus were unaware of their environment. Whatever the cause, they missed seeing the tracks of the two people who had been on that path minutes before them.
Still, it seemed to take the war party forever to pass by, and when at last their rear was no more than a distant speck, White Thunder continued to wait, his body and his gun held in a position to do immediate battle.
How many minutes passed, Sarah could not estimate, but it must have been at least a half hour. At last, with his weapon still held in a primed position, he whispered,
“Huron war party. We will no longer travel over known paths. They are dangerous. Our way from here on will be hard, but safer because we will travel through untouched land.”
“Untouched? ”
He nodded. “Land through which there are no known paths,” he explained. “It will be hard for you, but it must be done, since it appears the Iroquois Trail is no longer safe for travel. Be that as it may, we will, of necessity, go where few wish to travel. Have you a weapon?”
“No. A terrible oversight on my part,” she said.
“Do you at least have a knife?”
“Yes.”
“Keep it ready to use. I little know what to expect. Wait here while I go back and erase our most recent tracks, but then we must leave quickly before they at last see our earlier prints and backtrack to find us.”
“That could happen?”
He nodded. “Easily.” Rising up, he left to erase their passage as thoroughly and quickly as possible.
Sixteen
“Inthe days before the European came to our country, a person could walk the Iroquois Trail from one end of it to the other and never meet with any danger … at least not from a human source.”
“Truly?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “And what exactly is the Iroquois Trail?”
She scooted closer to White Thunder as he took his time answering her question. They were sitting within a temporary shelter White Thunder had fashioned from tree branches, leaves and dirt. Since it was made from materials gleaned from the environment, it literally blended into its surroundings, disappearing to all but the most discerning eye.
The night was cold, they had no fire, nor did they dare to light one, since, as White Thunder had said, “The smoke from a fire travels farther and faster than a man can easily flee.”
They sat close together, not only because they wished to remain close to one another, but for warmth, as well. They were huddled on one of their blankets; the other he had wrapped around her. Even still, she shivered.
“The Iroquois Trail,” he explained, “is a path forged through the forest long ago that links all the villages of the Iroquois Confederation, one to the other. It stretches between the land of the Mohawks in the east to the far western tribe of the Confederation—my tribe, the Seneca. Always in the past, the trail was kept clear and free of branches or other debris so that a runner or anyone, even a child, could easily travel upon it. In the old days, no enemy dared to use it or molest anyone upon it, because the Iroquois were strong and could defend what was theirs. But all this has changed since the English and French have come here to stay. Now we see war parties of enemy tribes traveling upon our trail, where never they used to go.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds as if it had once been ideal,” Sarah commented. “But I still don’t understand. We’ve talked of this before, about how the coming of the English and French changed your people. But, sir, weren’t the Indians at war long before the Europeans arrived?”
Again it took him some moments to answer. “The change took place over a long period of time, a few hundreds of years. Before the English arrived, the Iroquois were a powerful nation, a peaceful nation. But it wasn’t always so. In the very long ago, perhaps as long as seven hundred years ago, there were revenge killings and the people were often crying, for there seemed no end to it. But two great men, Hiawatha and the Peacemaker, brought about a better way to settle grief and to appease the spirits of the departed. They sought to end all war because at that time most wars were started due to the need to avenge one’s dearly departed.
“They set up a system of government that, with certain ceremonies, would pacify the grief of their loved one, and it would ensure prosperity and peace. When this was done, a great calm fell upon the land.
“This was how it was when the European first came to this country. But we soon learned that the Europeans quarreled among themselves—not out of revenge, as we had, but due to a thirst for wealth. They had, themselves, no great peace. It wasn’t long before we also realized that not only did they quarrel with themselves, but they sought to incite the Indians to their different sides in their disputes. Witlessly, Indians took sides. Thus, the great peace ended, and all with the coming of the European, for soon, there was one war after another on this land.”
“But this is fantastic, sir. You must know that the English tell the story of their coming entirely differently. According to our history, it was the Indians who were treacherous, who were always at war, while our own English ancestors tried to restore peace among them.”
He gazed at her askance, then said, “It has long been noted that when a man has no defense against the truth, his only option is to accuse another of those things he does himself.”
She frowned at him. “This you have mentioned to me before, and it is a bit of wisdom I have never heard.”
“Simple observation will show you this is true,” he said, then continued. “Now, there are many of my brothers within the Iroquois Nation who have made friends with the English, though I think they are unwise to do so. They fight his wars. They take up his arms. They think they must, for they have become dependent on the things the English can give them. But not all the Iroquois have been bought by the English or the French. Not all of the Iroquois experience the greed that the trade has caused among our people.”
Sarah sat silently for a moment. “Then you must very much dislike the society that is springing up all around you.”
“Dislike is not the right word,” he responded. “What is more correct is that I think it is unwise to become so dependent on a people who do not know you or need you. Do you think that we of the Seneca have blind eyes and have not seen how the English and French treat the white black man who escapes into our country? Do you think we have not noticed the white black man killed or enslaved when the English can get their hands on him? And what about people like you, his own kind, whom he enslaves by means of finance and rules? Do you believe we do not realize that if he could, the English, the French, too, would do the same to us? But he cannot enslave us—at least not now—because our Confederacy is too strong. We are united.”
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