KEEPER OF THE SACRED PIPE
Charles Rayner Kelly
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © CharlesRaynerKelly 2011
Published by CharlesRaynerKelly at Smashwords
On the archaic level of cultures, being and the sacred are one. It is the experience of the sacred that founds the world. - Mircea Eliade
1.
Nebah Kohum sat quietly on a ridge overlooking the council meeting that was taking place late in the afternoon. From there she could see the entire village of a hundred or so wigwams, clustered around a babbling creek. There were trees nearby, which produced plentiful amounts of fruits and nuts every year, as well as bushes which gave four kinds of berries and a field of wild turnips. The village was well provided for and was one that she knew well. It was where she'd been born.
Her father was Ninivois, the village chieftain, and it was he who had summoned the council. Nebah Kohum and Pontiac, her husband, had just returned from a long journey among the tribespeople to the south, and Pontiac wanted to share their experiences with the chiefs of the various tribes now assembled about him.
Nebah Kohum saw the head men of the Real People, the Anishinabeg or Three Fires - the Ottawas, Ojibwas and Potawatomies - but these were not the only chiefs present. Also sitting in the council circle were Kiasutha of the Mingoes, Naranea and Pacanne of the Miamis, Flying Goose of the Weas, Sekahos and Takay of the Wyandots, Tamaroa and Chacoretony of the Kaskaskias. The Delawares were Washee, Tamaqua the Beaver, his brother Shingas, Tessecumme, Pisquetomen, Netawatwees and Neolin. There were also Piankashaws, Kickapoo and Mascoutens from the Wabash.
It was the presence of white settlers that was pulling them together. Many of these red nations had been forced to surrender land to the advancing white man. It was Nebah Kohum's hope that under her husband’s leadership, it might be possible for the tribes to put aside their grievances and act as a tribal alliance. Only united as a single nation could they prevent the palefaces from stealing more of their homelands.
But first, the tribes would have to let go of their enmities to one another, her husband insisted. Only if they buried the tomahawk and forgave misdeeds could they provide for their mutual interests. This was why Pontiac had Ninivois call the chiefs to assemble, by sending out wampum belts which Nebah Kohum had stitched and beaded.
Pontiac set the council for the full moon of May, the Moon of Planting Seeds. As the moon grew larger, his wampum belts returned with the tribal chiefs promising to attend. Nebah Kohum knew that this council she was witnessing was unprecedented, while she also savored the moist spring air and enjoyed the company of the flowers all around her.
Pontiac had spent the preceding days fasting and calling for a vision, existing on no food and little water. Even his own wife hadn’t seen him before the council began. He looked thin to her in the distance, yet she knew that his eyes would be clear and his mind alert. The Creator would talk through him to inspire each of his listeners to make peace with one another and to form an alliance.
Yet there were doubts among some of these chiefs about Pontiac. He was the keeper of the Ottawa’s sacred pipe and the leader of the Midewiwin, a medicine lodge society in many of the Great Lake tribes. The Ottawa pipe-keeper was held in high esteem as a holy man, but he was neither chief nor warrior.
Could such a man lead a confederation of tribes that were bitter enemies for untold generations? Could he unite them in a common effort to keep their homelands from being taken? Could a man of peace like the pipe-keeper lead them against an enemy such as the white man?
These were the doubts concerning Pontiac, and the foremost doubters were Wasson and Neolin, also called the Delaware Prophet. They both distrusted the pipe-keeper's ability to hold the tribes together. As an example they cited the Menominees, who refused to participate in any council that included the Ojibwas, their traditional enemies.
Pontiac and Nebah Kohum only arrived in Ninivois’ village ten days before, after a long absence of many moons. They had scarcely seen their son Kasahdah, who remained behind while his parents were traveling. Kasahdah was now fifteen summers, a restless spirit more interested in being with those his own age, despite the fact that his father had just come back from a very important mission.
He greeted them warmly when he awoke to find his parents home, but he didn’t stay with them. He had promised his friends that he would go hunting, he told them. That was nine days ago, and he still wasn't back.
But Nebah Kohum didn’t mind. She wasn’t the kind of mother who would keep her son from doing what he wanted. From the time she was a child, she learned that she had little influence over others, which now included her son. She was born prematurely with a clubfoot that made her clumsy as a consequence. When only a toddler she tripped over a campfire and fell into the smoldering embers, scorching and disfiguring her face.
The clubfoot, her diminutive size, the faltering gait, and her deformed face made the people of the village wary of Nebah Kohum. Even dogs would sometimes bark when they saw her approach. Superstition naturally hovered around anyone who looked as peculiar as she did. Some whispered that there was an evil spirit that accompanied her, and they warned others to avoid her lest they too should be similarly deformed.
Had it not been that her father was the village chieftain, Nebah Kohum might have suffered worse than she actually did. Her widowed father loved his eldest daughter, but Ninivois couldn't prevent her from growing up lonely, shunned by almost everyone. The fact that her two younger sisters were strikingly beautiful and were much sought after by braves from nearby villages, added to Nebah Kohum’s misery and lack of confidence.
Her cherished friends were the four-leggeds that lived near the village. Though they survived by hunting, the villagers never killed animals that lived nearby. They would journey far in search of deer, beaver or rabbit before they would think of harming those that dwelled in sight of their lodges. These animals tended to be quite friendly as a result. Nor were they frightened by Nebah Kohum’s appearance.
By the time she turned eighteen, everyone in the village would have said that Nebah Kohum’s chances of marrying were small. The only thing they thought was in her favor was that she was good at quill and beadwork, and softening and tanning hides. But other young women in the village, who were much prettier than she was, could do the same.
So it came as a surprise to everyone when a reclusive Ottawa asked Ninivois for his daughter’s hand. Little was known about Obwandiyag at the time, other than he rarely was seen among his own people, preferring to stay on an island by himself. His mind was other-worldly, much given to fasting, sweatlodge purifications and vision-quests.
Pontiac was hardly the man whom the Potawatomie chief would have chosen for his daughter. He'd have preferred someone who might have helped Nebah Kohum overcome her shyness, rather than someone more likely to add to it. It surprised Ninivois to learn that his daughter and Pontiac even knew one another. She never mentioned him. Quickly, the chief began making inquiries about his prospective son-in-law.
He soon found out that the old keeper of the Ottawas' sacred pipe was training him to take his place. That made a big difference. When Ninivois heard that his daughter’s suitor was to be the next pipe-keeper, his attitude improved. He married them himself and celebrated the occasion by giving away all his belongings.
When the old pipe-keeper died, life suddenly changed for the married couple. Pontiac was chosen to become the leader of the Midewiwin, a visionary society of men and women among the Great Lakes tribes whose beliefs included the resurrection of the dead. He also began to receive visions of a mission he was to accomplish, which would alter his life.
Nebah Kohum watched as her husband rose to speak. She was too far away to hear his voice, but she was able to see the gestures of his hands. As was traditional, those who spoke in council used handsign to repeat their words, for the sake of those who spoke in other tongues.
Her husband was dressed in his customary simplicity, a buckskin vest and leggings and elk-hide moccasins, which she herself had made. He stood tall and erect before the council. His hair was shaved on both sides in typical Ottawa fashion with a fringe in the middle. He counted thirty-five winters according to the reckoning of those who recalled his birth.
Nebah Kohum looked on proudly as her husband stood among the chieftains, as they somberly smoked their pipes and leaned forward to hear his words. She could see her father sitting with other chiefs of the Anishinabeg including Minavavana and Wawatam, Wasson and Manitowby, Shamindawa, Mackate-pelecite, Quinon-chaming and Atawang.
This was a critical meeting for Pontiac, one which might help or hinder the alliance he was trying to forge in accordance with the visions he received. All eyes were fixed upon him as he walked to the center of the circle where a fire was burning brightly.
“Friends, let us begin our deliberations by calling down a blessing,” he signed. His hand gestures were simple and easy to follow.
He extended his hands with palms together and separated them, the handsign for Great. He then held his right hand to his forehead, palm outwards and made a spiral motion with two fingers pointing upwards, meaning Mystery.
“Great Mystery, Giver of Light, who has made the earth and everything therein, may you hear our prayers and bless this council. Send wise thoughts and good words to guide us. Clear our minds; open our hearts and give us direction. We ask that you make us one, Great Spirit, for we are your people.”
Though she couldn’t hear his words, Nebah Kohum knew her husband’s voice well. It had a variety of tones and modulations that could arrest his hearers, as was shown by the gravity and attentiveness on their faces. When he spoke, Pontiac looked at each of his listeners, as though he were speaking to each one personally.
“The bonding of our many tribes into a single nation must first begin in our minds,” he told them. “We must think of other tribespeople as new wealth, so that our knowledge and wisdom may be enriched. Red people already know themselves to be one. Who will say that there will never be a nation of tribespeople? Not those who feel the life of their ancestors stirring in their blood.”
Pontiac’s words were accompanied by handsigns so direct and natural, that Nebah Kohum had no difficulty following what he was saying. She too was under the spell of her husband’s simple faith. He was frightened by nothing, sure that all things he undertook would turn out well. While watching the setting sun purple the horizon, she reflected that in some ways he was her opposite.
“Friends,” Pontiac signed, bringing two fingers upward until they reached as high as his head. “There is wisdom in aligning ourselves with one another in a way that's fair and just, where there is equality and protection for everyone. Our tribespeople will prosper by this unity, moved by the love and respect built within it. This unity will grow as we let our inner thoughts become our outward realities.”
Pontiac held up many wampum belts.
“All these are speeches in my hand from all the different tribes that compose our alliance, assuring us of their support,” he said, sending the wampum belts around the circle for all the council to see.
"See how the Creator animates us with one mind and one heart. And the number of tribes wishing to join us grows and grows. This brings me to the reason I asked Ninivois to summon us all together. It is to tell you of my recent travels among the Shawnee.”
Nebah Kohum could see from afar that these words brought discomfort to some of his listeners. The Shawnee were the enemies of the Anishinabeg and others of the tribes. Only someone with the courage and audacity of the pipe-keeper would have dared to undertake such a journey.
“I ventured to Shawnee land to tell them of the vision I was given. I told them it was the Creator's will that all the tribes of the Great Lakes should live in peace. I asked them to join us in burying the tomahawk and let go of the anger and vendettas we have lived with for so long.”
He rubbed the toe of his moccasin in the earth, letting his words sink in. “I'm pleased to tell you that the ears of the Shawnee chiefs were open to my words. They took my hand in friendship and said they were willing to agree to a truce for the duration of a year. At the end of that time, if the truce has not been broken, they would extend it and continue to extend it.
“Friends, the path of peace has been choked for many generations with thorns and briers, so that no one could pass. I've now cleared away all those obstructions and made a broad and smooth road that we may all freely walk. In this way, peace can be planted like an acorn which will grow into a mighty tree. This will happen when we learn to trust one another and see ourselves as relations.”
This was indeed big news and seemed to please some of the council members, who grunted their satisfaction. Wasson however heard these words with a critical mind.
“How is it that the Shawnee let you come among them and speak to their council?” he asked. “I thought they'd kill us before we could open our mouths.”
“I came among them with my peace pipe held up high and my brave wife beside me,” Pontiac replied.
Nebah Kohum was pleased. He used the handsign for wife by bringing his fingers to his head, as if combing the hair.
“The Shawnee saw that we had no evil intent," he was saying. "Knowing we came in peace, they accepted us into their village and opened their minds and hearts to my words. When I told them that I brought a message from the Great Spirit, they called a council to hear it. I tell you all truly that the path to the Shawnee is now open. There is no longer a reason to fight them.”
Wasson still could not understand how this could have happened.
“Why are they willing to make peace all of a sudden?” he wondered. “Surely it was not anything you said that convinced them."
"No, it wasn’t only my words that convinced them. Peace is in our mutual interests. We considered the possibility of peace among all the tribespeople. We agreed that no alliance would be complete until all the red nations agree to unite.”
"I don’t trust the Shawnee," Wasson spat. "I think this is the same deceit and lies that we’re accustomed to getting from them, since the days of our ancestors. They want us to relax our guard, and then they’ll strike us when we’re unprepared. They are snakes, I tell you! Even when they speak, they sound like snakes.”
“Why despise someone because he speaks a different tongue?" Pontiac asked. "Did not all our ancestors speak with the same tongue before they spread over Turtle Island? And why hate a Shawnee who has done you no harm because another Shawnee killed one of your family?"
The council members were looking skeptically at one another. No one ever attempted to unite the tribes like this before. No one would have dared do it except Pontiac. As pipe-keeper and spokesman of the vision-seekers in all the tribes, his prestige gave him entry into every village. He alone could preside over councils with such men as these, who were sworn enemies only recently.
"I've sent wampum belts to the tribes of the east, to the Senecas and the other five nations of the Longhouse People. Another belt went to their enemies to the north, the Hurons. I sent belts west to the Fox and Sauks, the Iowas, the Michegameas and Peorias. All these tribes I have visited. They've all agreed to imagine with us the birth of a single red nation."
Nebah Kohum had crafted the wampum belts he sent. They were made of small shell beads on long strings and threaded in symbolic designs. She had first learned by making black belts of wampum for widows, thirteen rows deep, to wash away the tears. The belts she made for her husband's purposes had many circle and spiral designs.
“We must continue building our alliance until it includes all tribespeople,” Pontiac said. “My visions warn that there is a growing danger. It may not be visible as yet, but it approaches with a steady step. I'm not speaking of cold and hunger that can gnaw on our bones and empty our bellies, and which we learn to endure. This danger doesn't permit a slow and gradual change to keep the roots strong or for new growth. It threatens our way of life.”
“There’s no need for any vision to know what you’re talking about,” Neolin scoffed. “The danger is the white man!”
It was true. For some time, the Anishinabeg had seen footprints in their woods made from shoes, not moccasin tracks. There was the unmistakeable scent of white men in the air. Everyone knew that many of the tribes to the east had been killed off. There was no reason to think the white men would treat other tribes any differently. Surely, they would want to take their possessions, as they did with these others.
Everyone realized that uniting in one great alliance would greatly help in resisting further white encroachments. For no one tribe was strong enough to resist by itself. The Ottawa pipe-keeper was offering a solution, based upon his visions and the teachings of the sacred pipe.
“This is what I was told to say. We are to know that this land was given to us by the Creator. It is his will that the red tribespeople should keep it forever. The bones of our ancestors lie beneath our feet, and the unborn too are lying there. If we are to do what the Great Spirit wishes, we will not sell or part with any of our lands.”
Pontiac looked around and read strong agreement on the chiefs’ faces.
“That is why we must keep our minds open to an alliance, even with those who were once our enemies. By agreeing to follow the path of the sacred pipe, we deny to ourselves retribution for all past misdeeds. We must clear our minds and hearts with one another. Living in peace must be our common purpose.”
“That’s fine when it comes to us tribespeople,” Wasson snorted. “But there is no living in peace with the white eyes! I support the alliance only because it’s the best way for us to wage war against them.”
Many agreed with this, but Pontiac shook his head.
“I have come to find good people among all those I’ve met in my travels. Whatever the difference in languages or customs, I’ve always been able to see the workings of the Great Spirit in them. If the human journey is to walk in the sun, so that the spirit might grow in the flesh, who dares kill someone before that spirit has made full use of the earth and its wonders?”
“That's all very well when applied to us but not to the white man!” Neolin insisted. “With the white man, there can only be war.”
The Delaware Prophet was well known for his hatred towards those who had stolen his people’s homelands.
“The visions I receive from the Creator tell me to end all the killing,” Pontiac replied. “Killing only leads to more killing, and vendettas and acts of vengeance always follow. I see no need to shed blood. I see us as a single nation, standing face to face with the white man and calling him brother. I also see us strong and determined to protect our families and way of life.”
“You're a fool,” Neolin snapped peevishly. “We have no other choice but to wage war against the palefaces.”
“I agree with the pipe-keeper,” said Atawang, an Ottawa chief whose village was near to where Pontiac and Nebah Kohum lived. “I am in favor of following the teachings of the sacred pipe that we are being offered here. Its teachings have a wisdom we are in need of."
"Making peace with the white man must be tried," Pontiac said. "It may be a slow process and may not be direct, but it is the path we should follow.”
He looked around to be sure everyone agreed. Though Neolin and Wasson were both frowning, neither one objected.
“Let us bury the tomahawk and take hold of the chain of friendship,” he said. “Peace is more than just not making war. It means acting with fairness and justice towards one another. Peace is like a clear sky and war is like a dark cloud. So let us agree that there shall be peace and that our alliance shall grow. We have traditions and wisdom to share. And the ones who will benefit most will be our children."
Nebah Kohum watched as all the chiefs nodded.
“What would such unity of purpose feel like?" Pontiac asked. "It would feel like a light shining inside our minds and warming our hearts. We would sense the invisible web strands that bind us all together. We two-leggeds are but one body, and perhaps the red nation is the heart.
“Let our collective wisdom be kept alive to be carried from generation to generation. We wish well for our sons and daughters and those yet to be born, that they may enjoy things as they have always been. I would have us join hands, while the sun is still here and before the sky grows darker. If the spirit of kinship moves among us, the bonds that tie us together will hold. We will feel our power and our fire! And the blaze of that fire will be seen from far distances.”
Nebah Kohum watched to see how the chiefs were responding. There were many enmities to put aside. Ojibwas had fought against Menominees, Ottawas against Hurons, Potawatomies against Mingoes, and others against the Shawnees for untold generations. The chiefs looked around with wary eyes, wondering how such an alliance was possible. Only the pipe-keeper never faltered in his belief that unity would prevail.
Nebah Kohum realized that her husband had already achieved much, though only Atawang and Ninivois gave him credit. He had visited all the tribes, speaking the same message and receiving encouragement wherever he went. And now, even the Shawnees were willing to smoke his peace pipe. When had such a thing happened before?
When it came time for the council to vote on accepting the offer of peace with the Shawnees, the decision was almost unanimous. Only Wasson and Neolin objected.
“I know too much about that nation of cowards to ever turn my back upon them!” the Delaware Prophet sneered with his negative vote. "I'd rather fight the white man by myself than with them as an ally.”
“Our purpose isn’t to fight the white man," the pipe-keeper repeated. "They too are our brothers. Our skins are colored by the same sun. We are more similar than we are different. Those of us who are just will live in the same spirit-world. See how the Creator places a blue canopy overhead, so that all may live together in a world with space for all.”
“Ha, the Creator made the rattlesnake too and set the same blue canopy over him!” Neolin scoffed. “The white eyes are worse than rattlesnakes.”
“The white men have been in my country for forty winters," Flying Goose said. He was the chief of the Weas who lived west of the Wabash and along the Great River.
"We have never had a problem with them. They mingle easily and some are married to our women. Some I consider my friends.”
“You're speaking of a different kind of white man,” the Delaware Prophet corrected. “The ones you know are French, who have no interest other than trade. They come with no wives or children. The ones we must fear are the American colonists who want to steal our lands, and their English masters who help them do it. They have no desire to mingle among the tribes as the French do.”
“I've heard rumors that there is a war starting between the French and English,” said Manitowby. “Perhaps they’ll kill each other off and give us no further problems.”
“Rumors are like chirping birds,” Neolin sneered. “The truth is that the English will want to send their redcoat soldiers to capture the French trading posts in our territories. We've been warned to be vigilant and to not let down our guard.”
“Only the structures of trading posts belong to the French,” insisted Talking Bird, whose people lived closest to the Allegheny Mountains. “The land beneath the structures belongs to us. I know of no instance where it was sold.”
“It’s true that the land belongs to the tribes,” Neolin replied. “But who’s to say that’s how the English and their colonists see it? How many trading posts are there?”
He began to enumerate them on his fingers. “One is among the Weas on the Wabash; another is among my people on the Monongahela; another is among the Miamis on the Maumee; more are in the lands of the Anishinabeg. If the redcoats should ever capture them, the settlers would not be far behind.”
“If they ever tried to do such a thing, they would provoke a bigger war than they have with the French,” said Shamindawa haughtily. “I'd hope that all the tribes would fight together if that occurred.”
“We don't want a war,” Atawang stated with emphasis. “That’s why we must join together, as the pipe-keeper tells us. If the English and the colonists see that we’re united and of one mind, they'll think twice before trying to take the trading posts without our permission.”
“Never trust the palefaces!” Tessecumme declared. “They have never been known to tell the truth. Their tongues are as forked as a snake's."
"They have little interest in peace," Pisquetomen added. "They want possession of our lands. First the white men ask for a little, and then they ask for a little more. Soon, they will want everything and will leave nothing for us.”
“I listened to a white man in a long black coat, one of their holy men, speaking to his own people,” Naranea recounted.
“I was just standing there when he asked me what I was doing and what I wanted. I said I couldn’t understand why he spoke so much, and why no one else was allowed to speak. I tried to tell him of our own spiritual observances, but he called me an ignorant fool. But the ignorant fool, I told him, is the one like him with no observances.”
"You must realize that they are trying to eliminate us," the Delaware Prophet said. "They want to make us forget who we are. They want to put us all on little pieces of land where nothing grows."
“Are we all agreed that we must keep the white men on their side of the mountains?” Pontiac asked. Each of the council members nodded his agreement.
“The visions I receive tell me that as long as we stay united, we will sign a treaty with the white men that will keep settlers out of our lands," he said. "As for any war the two white brothers might fight, I advise that our warriors stay neutral and not get involved, favoring neither side.”
“I still have many doubts,” Neolin objected before the council ended. “If soldiers try to enter our lands, pipe-keeper, will you fight? The teachings of the pipe don’t prohibit us from defending ourselves, do they?”
“No,” Pontiac replied. “Who wouldn’t fight to protect their homes from invaders? What we need do is to speak with the white man as equals and make him understand that only the Creator owns Turtle Island.”
At the end of the council meeting, Pontiac was delegated to go back to the Shawnee chiefs and forge a truce along the lines he described. Nebah Kohum rose and met him on his way to their wigwam. She wrapped her arm around his waist and planted a kiss upon his cheek.
Soon afterwards, they journeyed to the Shawnees and made them part of the alliance of Great Lake tribes.
2.
A small way-station on the Cumberland road along the western frontier of the colony of Pennsylvania was destined to play a large role in the coming war between the French and the English. The sign over the door identified it as The Golden Goose, a pub owned by Phineas D. Maxwell and established in the year 1749. It was the only pub for many miles, equally distant from an English courthouse and an Indian village, teetering precariously between civilization and barbarity. That was how Phineas D. Maxwell wanted it, being himself half civilized and half savage.
He had built the establishment with his own hands after clearing five forested acres with an ax and a pair of oxen. With hammer and saw and a fervid determination, he constructed a rude log house with a pub and dining area below and two rooms above, which served him as a home. Behind the pub he built a stable and a workplace with a forge to work as a blacksmith.
Phineas' chest was round and his arms were burly. He was massively built with wide shoulders, unruly black hair, bushy eyebrows and an expansive beard. Usually his Indian wife took care of the pub while he did the blacksmithing. On this day he had fixed two wagon wheels, straightened an axle, mended a musket and shod three horses and a mule for passing travelers. He was tired and was hoping he could close the pub early that evening and go to bed.
Then two travelers suddenly arrived at separate intervals. They clearly knew each other for they sat at the same table and began to converse. The lumbering proprietor brought two mugs of ale and two glasses of rum to their table. One of them the proprietor didn't know. He wore the brick red uniform of a British army officer with black tricorne hat, crimson coat with white lapels and shoulder epaulets, white trousers, a red sash and sword and black riding boots.
The other man Phineas recognized was George Croghan, a fur trader who employed many men including the nephew of Phineas' wife. She knew Croghan better than he did, but she told Phineas much about him.
Croghan was about twenty-eight, a good-looking bachelor. Orphaned as a youngster in Ireland, he drifted from one workhouse to another, while learning to read and write. He liked nothing better than to sit near the wharves of Dublin and listen to the seafarers tell stories of America and the red people who lived there.
The boy was fascinated by the tales of trackless forests, unexplored wildernesses and savages. By the time he was fifteen, famine swept across Ireland. No longer was it possible for him to eke out a miserable existence. In desperation, Croghan stole aboard a clipper ship as it was about to set sail for the American colonies.
He was discovered after three days at sea, and fortunately the captain took a liking to the stowaway. He remembered seeing the lad alone on the wharves, looking poor and hungry. He made him his orderly to work for his passage across the sea.
Croghan became enthralled the moment he saw America’s shores. Everything was different from the Old Country. Everyone he met wanted to become wealthy and seemed aware of different possibilities to do so. Disappointment came when he realized that the colonists retained the same inflexibility and intolerances as the people they left behind.
Good fortune came when Croghan was introduced to a merchant named Edward Shippen, who traded with the Indians beyond the mountains in the Susquehanna and Ohio Valleys. He was hired as the owner’s assistant and quickly learned the fur trading business. By age twenty, he was well known and liked among the tribespeople living beyond the Alleghenies.
Croghan visited villages with packhorses loaded with white men’s merchandise. His share of the profits was fifteen percent. Being naturally thrifty and managing his money well, he assumed full ownership of the business when Shippen fell ill of typhus. He owned wagons and packhorses on which to cart his goods into the wilderness.
At last Phineas brought supper, carrying a bowl of stew in each hand.
"Thank ye, my good man," said Croghan, faking an Irish brogue. "Where may the missus be tonight? I miss the good woman sorely. Tell her I recently visited her Delaware people."
"Ah, she's upstairs having a goddam baby," the proprietor grumbled. “That's why I gotta do all her work as well as my own.”
"A baby is it!" Croghan responded with delight. "Congratulations, my good man! Ah, 'tis a wonderful thing to have a child," he said, warmly patting Phineas on the arm.
“Ah shit, ‘tis only another mouth to feed,” the proprietor swore, setting the bowls of stew clumsily on the table.
Both men had ordered the mutton pie which was listed on a chalk board as Monday's specialty. But they had to settle for Sunday's stew instead; it was that or nothing at all. Croghan was agreeable but the man in the red uniform seemed less so, frowning when he was told that he didn’t have any choice in the matter.
The officer was Lieutenant Colonel Henry Bouquet who was Swiss-born and spoke with a thick German accent. He had fought in the ranks as a common soldier and was commissioned by King Emmanuel III at the age of nineteen. During the War of the Austrian Succession, he had fought on the side of England, Austria, Russia, Saxony and Sardinia, opposing the armies of France, Prussia, Spain and Bavaria. When the war ended in victory, Bouquet was a lieutenant colonel of the Swiss Guards.
Not long afterwards, the British government decided to form a new regiment of regulars in the American colonies to relieve its treasury of the expense in maintaining English soldiers so far from home. Because there were many German immigrants in the colonies, men who could be recruited but who didn’t speak English, there was need for German-speaking officers. The regiment was called the Royal Americans, and Bouquet was given command of one of its four battalions. He was thirty-seven with twenty years of military experience.
It was Colonel Bouquet who had asked to meet with Croghan, allowing him to choose the location. He would have preferred a more congenial place than the Golden Goose. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the dining table while Phineas stoked the fire, he waited until the proprietor climbed a ladder to the living quarters upstairs. After he was gone, the colonel returned to their interrupted conversation.
"You are not to breathe a word of what I'm about to tell you," the colonel warned in a whisper. "Ach, we live in troubled times, my friend, and there's no telling who might be a spy."
"Spy?" Croghan repeated with a touch of amusement. He looked around, seeing no one in the pub.
"You mean Phineas? Why, he's no more a spy than the cob you rode in on!"
"Nevertheless," Bouquet cautioned with the wag of his finger. "I know the people out here on the frontier and I know how they live. Life is precarious for them. They have to get along with the savages as best they can."
He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "There’s a rumor that this man might be selling rum to the savages and repairing their firearms. We can’t trust people like that. Who can be sure that he'll abide by governmental policies, when he's this far removed from civilization? I wouldn't want word to leak out about what I'm about to tell you. Is that clearly understood?"
"Are you speaking about this new venture on the part of the army that everyone’s been gossiping about for the past month?" Croghan asked with his robust Irish wit. He disguised his smirk with a pull on his mug of ale, wiping his lips appreciatively with the fringed sleeve of his buckskin jacket.
"Unsinn!” Bouquet snapped peevishly. “Nonsense! This is not a venture. We are speaking of a military expedition into the heartland of the Ohio valley. We intend to take Fort Duquesne from the French. General Braddock is organizing the attack and will lead it personally. Perhaps you are not aware that England is at war with France."
"’Tis always a war with them! Sure, there’s nothing new in that," Croghan replied dismissively. "But I don't see what all this has to do with me."
“You know the frontier better than anyone else, George. You know the savages out there better than any other man and they trust you like no one else.”
“Oh hell, they’re not going to bring the tribespeople into European wars, are they?”
“Nein,” the colonel assured him. “We want to keep the savages out of the war. The less trouble they give us, the better. I’m speaking to you entirely as a businessman. Forget my uniform."
"Ah, it's hard to forget your uniform, Henry."
"Begin by telling me about your fur trading business. You said you were recently among the Delawares. Tell me about that. What did you bring them?"
"Hmm," Croghan murmured, as though trying to recall. "Let's see. I brought them linen, china and cutlery, steel knives and hatchets, pewter tankards and basins, tin pans, candlesticks, ironware, beads, blankets and mirrors, vermilion, brightly colored calicos, lace, thread, garters, ribbons, stockings (the squaws prefer red and yellow), clothes, brass kettles, traps, axes, hoes, brass wire, files, awls, casks of nails, needles, buttons, combs, bells, whistles, rings and silver jewelry."
He took a deep breath and another quaff of ale.
"I see," the colonel said. "I'm impressed. Tell me what you get in return."
"Henry, that's a secret!" Croghan replied, as though mildly shocked.
"Oh well, I don't mind telling a friend. In return I load my wagons and packhorses with furs and hides, mostly buffalo, elk, deer, bear, beaver, raccoon, fox, muskrat, mink and fisher. I admit it's a handsomely lucrative trade. The tribespeople look forward to my visits with anticipation. They're the best of customers."
"What are your prices?"
"My prices? You're getting mighty nosey! All my prices are based on a male deer's hide. One buck's hide is worth the skins of two does, three fishers or four otters. Three bucks buys a pint of gunpowder, a hundred glass beads or a steel knife. Woolen blankets cost five bucks and a fine English match-coat costs seven. I don't bring 'em whiskey. The chiefs don't want it."
"And for that they consider you a good friend and someone they can trust," Bouquet said as a compliment. "That's why I asked to meet with you, George. There's something I want to speak to you about."
"I figured you didn't just want to buy me a meal, Henry."
Again the conversation was interrupted by Phineas' reappearance. After descending the ladder, he brought them more ale and two pieces of pie. Croghan had a book which he picked up from the table to make room for a plate.
“I suppose you don’t have many customers carrying books,” he said with a laugh.
“I don’t have any customers who can read,” the proprietor said without expression.
He pulled a cinder-box with a flint and steel from his pocket to light the candles, and there was silence in the room until he finished. Then he returned upstairs.
"You own wagons and mules and packhorses that would be invaluable to the army," the colonel said when the proprietor left. "You know your way through the mountains and wilderness like no one else anywhere on the frontier. That makes you indispensable to General Braddock.”
“Indispensable to him, am I?” Croghan shook his head.
"Ja, you are indispensable and I'm going to be quite candid with you," the colonel said, lowering his voice. "Fort Duquesne is merely a tactical objective. The strategy is to drive the French out of the Ohio territory. Once that happens, they will be out of the fur trade altogether. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how profitable their absence would be to a quick-minded investor like yourself."
"Now that we're talking about money,” Croghan said, “I don't know how much I would gain from this enterprise. But I can imagine that the merchants of Virginia might turn a coin or two as a result. Does Colonel George Washington of the Virginia militia have anything to do with this?”
Colonel Bouquet couldn’t deny it. With his older half-brother Laurence, Washington was heir to a large estate. He belonged to one of the richest families in the colonies and his wealth bought him a commission in the militia. Colonel Bouquet had no use for him. Any officer in the regular British army considered himself superior to a militiaman.
“But we’re not talking about all that!" the colonel replied. "The military facet is the most important aspect of what General Braddock is about to undertake. If the army can establish itself on the upper Ohio, a vital link would be broken between Canada and Louisiana. That’s the military objective, you understand. The possibility that it might prove beneficial to Virginia businessmen should not give you scruples. Remember, it’s the French and not Virginians who are our enemies.”
"Well, I’m not one to be overly bothered by scruples when there’s money to be made. But if you want to sack Fort Duquesne, why not do it by ship? Why take a whole army over high mountains and through miles of rough terrain without any roads, bridges or even maps? It doesn't make a bit of sense to me. Tell the general to go by way of Fort Niagara.”
“What do you mean?”
Croghan ate a mouthful of stew before explaining. “I’m suggesting that General Braddock sail his men out of New York, go up the Hudson River, veer west along the Mohawk and on to Lake Oneida. Then he can head to Lake Ontario by way of the Oswego till he reaches Niagara Falls and Lake Erie. He could then take Fort Duquesne from the north. He also would have the advantage of going through friendly Iroquois territory most of the way.”
“But that would mean of course that we’d first have to take Fort Niagara from the French,” Bouquet argued.
“Aye, that it would,” Croghan readily agreed. “However once that fort is taken, then all communications and supplies to Fort Duquesne would be severed. It would fall like a ripe peach into your hands."
Bouquet couldn’t help but be impressed by his friend. Croghan's tactical insights were unchallengeable and his mastery of geography was superb. However, his political acumen was not so keen.
The course of action he outlined was exactly what General Braddock had proposed. But his plan was overruled by the London Board of Trade, which had supreme authority over such matters. The wealthy Virginia businessmen and land speculators influenced the Board of Trade's decision to adopt this other plan.
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the reasons why the decision was made to go by land rather than water," the colonel said evasively. "My question to you is whether you are willing to keep the army supplied, as it makes its way across the Alleghenies and into the Ohio Valley? I guarantee that you will be well compensated for doing so."
"Well now, that depends,” Croghan replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What size army are we talking about?"
"Two thousand troops, more or less."
"Two thousand troops! Gawd almighty, man, why so many? The French garrison at Fort Duquesne isn't even a tenth that size! You could take it with a couple of hundred men and a few cannons. Besides which you’ll never be able to get two thousand soldiers through the forest. It’s so dense in places that a horse can hardly pass."
Croghan spoke loudly in his surprise, so the colonel put a finger to his lips.
"Shh. We're going to build a road!" he confided.
"Build a road? Through the mountains! What kind of road?"
"A road has been thoroughly planned by our army engineers. We intend to lay down logs in corduroy fashion, starting from Virginia all the way into the Ohio valley. When we come to any streams or rivers that can’t be forded, we plan to build bridges."
Suddenly, Croghan understood everything. Taking Fort Duquesne wasn't all that important in the scheme of things. The road to be constructed had another purpose. Once built, it would expand Virginia's fur trade a hundred-fold, giving the colony easy access to the rich Ohio Valley.
Clearly the merchants and land speculators wanted a road and were finagling the army to construct it. It would cost them nothing and allow them to get around dangerous and unreliable water routes they presently had to contend with. Colonel Washington and his business partners no doubt had pressured the Board of Trade to have the road built, even though it went against all military logic.
It took a moment for Croghan to think all this through. He took another mouthful of stew and chewed slowly. A wall clock ticked noisily in the nearby room, and upstairs he could hear the heavy stomping of Phineas' feet.
The plan was as audacious as it was ill-conceived. He tried to visualize two thousand troops entering a trackless wilderness where there were grizzlies, mountain lions, snakes, mosquitoes and countless quagmires.
"Henry, I think it's a damned fool idea," Croghan said at last. "I would advise telling General Braddock to take the fort by ship! It’s the safest course and you won’t rile up the tribesmen by entering their homelands. They might go on the warpath if you invade 'em like this."
Bouquet waved aside his words. "Everything has already been decided, George. We are going across the mountains and we are going to build a road. Nothing will change the plans. So I'll ask you once again. Are you in or not? I exhort you to undertake to supply this expedition. I can assure you that you’ll be handsomely recompensed."
Overhead they could hear rhythmic pushing on a bed, and the thumping of Phineas’ boots.
"Who's going to be the guide for the army?" Croghan asked, looking up towards the ceiling. "Is there anyone familiar enough with the terrain not to get lost?"
"Colonel Washington will be our guide," Bouquet said stiffly. "He knows the terrain reasonably well, although not nearly as well as you. I understand he’s led an expedition across the mountains once before."
Croghan chuckled as he raised the mug to his lips. “He did indeed lead an expedition over the mountains - to disaster! I went with him and four hundred other idiots. We went to capture Fort Duquesne a few months ago. Colonel Washington refused the aid of any tribesmen, because he thinks them equal to his own black slaves. He had us build a fort which we jokingly called Fort Necessity. The French attacked and after a day of fighting, we surrendered. Ah, ‘twas an ignominious defeat!”
Croghan put a hand to his forehead at the memory.
“It sickens me to think of it. ‘Tis only because of his wealth and political influence that young Washington wasn’t drummed out of the militia! By the way, Henry, I’m owed over sixteen thousand pounds sterling by the army for the merchandise I lost.”
“Himmel! The army owes you sixteen thousand pounds! For what?”
“The army contracted for me to provide the expedition with seventy mules and a hundred packhorses loaded with food and provisions to the value of sixteen thousand pounds. I haven’t yet been paid for the loss and my creditors are hounding me. I’ll tell you frankly, it’s affecting my love life.”
“You don’t mean you’re thinking of getting married!”
“Now I didn’t say that, Henry!” Croghan assured him. “But what kind of woman would have me, owing creditors thousands of pounds?”
“I suppose someone might run you down the altar,” the colonel said, smiling for the first time. "You're reasonably handsome, George."
“I suppose someone might marry me. I think I’d be a tolerably average husband. But about this money the army owes me...”
"I don’t know anything about any money, mein Freund. But being a part of this expedition might help matters in that regard, although of course I can’t promise that.”
“Well, I hope I don't have to wait long to get my money from the army," Croghan said, pushing his bowl aside. "But let's get back to this other matter. So, it's the brave Colonel Washington who will be the guide, you say. And General Braddock is leading. Who's the second in command?"
"Colonel Gage."
"Oh Gawd, Tom Gage doesn't know his arse from his elbow," Croghan remarked sarcastically, pushing his chair back. "He does everything by the book. He knows almost nothing about wilderness fighting."
"You may be right and you may be wrong, George. In either case, I didn't come here to ask for your advice on these matters," Bouquet said, showing a trace of annoyance. "I want to know if you'll undertake to supply the army. I know that you still have wagons, mules and muleteers in your employ."
"Aye, I do. Until the creditors take 'em, unless the army pays me what it owes."
"If you need any more, just purchase them and the army will reimburse you."
"That'll be something we'll need to negotiate, Henry. How I'm to be reimbursed."
"It won't be a problem," Bouquet assured him. "You’re indispensable to us in other ways. You know the terrain better than anyone. You're friendly with the savages and that would be an invaluable help in keeping them pacified. I have assured General Braddock that he can trust completely in your abilities. So I'll repeat my question. Are you willing to take the job?"
"I'd consider it under certain conditions,” Croghan said, after a pause for reflection. “I'd want to bring some tribesmen along as scouts, ones that know the country well. They would ..."
Bouquet held up his hand to stop him. "I must tell you the army's attitude towards the savages, George. General Braddock and Colonel Gage are refined English gentlemen and want nothing to do with them. I personally find them somewhat distasteful myself. Be advised. If you bring any savages, you must not let them anywhere near the general or his staff. Are you agreeable to that?"
Croghan hesitated. Supplying two thousand men was bigger than anything he'd ever done before. Failure could mean even greater financial disaster. Also, the tribespeople were his friends whom he had known for many years, trading to everyone’s satisfaction. Being part of an army expedition into their territory might jeopardize that friendship.
Hard thumping sounds came from the room up above, followed by curses as though Phineas was assisting in his wife's labor.
"Push, goddam ye, push!" the proud father was yelling, as his three little children screamed in sore distress.
Bouquet closed his eyes and put a hand to his brow. "Ach, what a barbarous place this is," he muttered. He had yet to taste the stew.
"If the army is smart, it'll try in every way to be on good terms with the tribespeople. Don’t you think?” Croghan asked. “It would be awfully short-sighted of the army not to have some tribesmen along, acting as intermediaries as well as scouts.”
“Not everyone is of that opinion, George. Just keep them out of our way if you bring them along. Now, are you with us or not?”
“It may be the only way I’ll get the army to pay me my sixteen thousand pounds.”
“That’s something only General Braddock can decide,” Bouquet said. “The process can be slow at times. But should you agree to help with the expedition, it would stimulate things. No doubt! Kein Zweifel!”
“If I accept, I'll need to be paid in advance for the provisions and other merchandise I’ll be hauling. I'm not gonna do it if I'm only paid on delivery! I did that once before and the army owes me. I’d need to be paid up front.”
Bouquet nodded. "Alright, you will be paid in advance. It is against regulations but we can bend the rules. There will be no need to put your money up front as before."
"Good, Henry! If it’s all put in writing clear and legible, especially the part that says I'll get the money up front, I'll see that the army's kept supplied."
Bouquet looked relieved and extended his hand. "Is it a deal? Shall I tell General Braddock that you'll do it?"
Croghan grasped the hand reluctantly. "I'll do it even though I think building a road through the mountains is a damned fool idea."
Overhead, a new-born baby's cry filled the air.
Chapter Two: 1755
1.
War broke out between the French and English in the wilds of America, just as the tribespeople had feared. The war was extremely broad in extent, its destruction felt on a worldwide scale. Known as the Seven Years War in Europe and the French and Indian War in America, it was fought between England, Hanover and Prussia against France, Russia, Sweden, Saxony and Austria, the first conflict in human history to be fought around the globe. Among the tribes of America it was called the War between the Two White Brothers.
The English were intent upon undertaking an expedition into the fertile Ohio valley. Besides being an ambitious military initiative, it was a scheme by Virginia merchants to gain possession of the lucrative fur trade and hundreds of thousands of acres of rich and valuable Ohio farm land. The trackless forests and imposing heights of the Allegheny Mountains formed a natural boundary, separating the colonies from the interior part of America.
Ever since the first colonial settlements were established, these mountains inhibited all but the most intrepid and resourceful pioneers from migrating further west. Only an Indian could keep from being lost. There were snakes, bears, wildcats and predators of all kinds lying in wait for the unwary traveler. Even the most desperate immigrants, who had overcome great obstacles and crossed the Atlantic to escape the deplorable conditions in Europe, were daunted by the challenge of going over these mountains.
General Edward Braddock was the man assigned the task of leading an expedition across the mountains and into the Ohio valley. Braddock was sixty years old, soldiering since the age of fifteen. The son of a general, he served in both Flanders and Gibraltar, but had no battle command experience to speak of. Promoted to major general and appointed as commander-in-chief for North America, he arrived with two regiments that were both under strength.
In New York, the general made plans to carry out orders to build a road from Fort Cumberland on the Potomac through the Allegheny Mountains to Fort Duquesne on the Forks of the Ohio. It was a prodigious task, stretching a hundred and ten miles through uncharted and rugged terrain.
A large near-sighted man with a red nose and white hair, the general was known to consume large amounts of cognac. He sat in his book-lined study, writing his weekly report to Lord Cumberland, the second son of King George and supreme commander of all British forces
Lord Cumberland insisted that his commanders keep him informed on a regular basis, not that he did much with the information. The general lamented to his confidantes that Cumberland was a bungler and a blockhead. Nevertheless, he kept him dutifully informed with lengthy dispatches.
Braddock had worked on his report all morning and wanted it ready to be on the ship which sailed from New York to London every Saturday. He was almost finished when there was a knock upon his door. It was Colonel Gates, his adjutant.
"It's time for lunch, General. May I accompany you to the dining room, sir?"
"Is it noon already?" Braddock fumbled for his timepiece hidden within his red tunic with gold braid and decorated with ribbons and medals.
"Twelve o'clock sharp, sir," Colonel Gates replied crisply. “I’m sure I needn’t tell you, general, that this is an important day.”
"It is? Harrumph. What in the world can that be?" Braddock said, squinting at his timepiece. He was too proud to wear spectacles, thinking it not becoming for a soldier to wear such things.
“I’ve been told by a reliable source that today is your anniversary, sir. You and your wife were married forty years ago, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Is that today? Well, so it is. And I’m here and she’s in England. Remind me after lunch to write her a letter, will you? I don’t want her to think I forgot our anniversary.”