Braddock's Gold

by Jay Heavner

  “Oh, alright, I’ll be the sacrificial lamb. Which truck?” Tom conceded.

  “Here’s the keys, Dad. Have a nice day,” Doug said with a chuckle in his voice.

  Tom walked out the door and to the truck. It was loaded, and the invoice for the water was on the seat. He started the truck and pulled it down the drive to Route 28. He waited for some traffic and eased the big truck onto the highway southbound. White Tails. It was turning into a very interesting day.

  Chapter 16

  Tom drove the truckload of bottled water through the little town of Short Gap on WV 28. As he neared the cut off to Frankfort High School, his growling stomach reminded him he hadn't had lunch. What time is it, Tom thought? He glanced at his watch, 1330. One thirty, no wonder he was hungry. Guess I’ll stop at Cindi’s again. She can get me a quick meal and then back on the road. As he passed Route 956, he glanced up the intersecting highway. There was the gap in Knobley Mountain the town was named for, the short gap to the Potomac River Valley in Maryland. Tom wondered how many Indians had traveled this way long before the white settlers came. And how many of the latter had gone through there on their way west. Back in the late 1700s, this whole region must have been busy with travelers going west.

  Oh, if the rocks could talk, what stories could they tell? By now, Tom was passing Father Frank's church. A good buddy that Padre. On he drove into Fort Ashby, passed the traffic light on a green, and he pulled into the lot at Cindi’s. Man, he thought, this parking lot is full. What going on in sleepy little Fort Ashby? Luck was with him. Two cars end to end were leaving the parallel parking spots, and Tom pulled the big truck in and took up both places.

  He got out of the truck and walked to the door. He said hello to the two old gray-haired ladies leaving the restaurant, and they returned his greeting. He was surprised when he got through the door. The place was packed. Cindi, the owner, came up to greet and seat him. "Hey Tom, back again so soon?" she asked.

  He smiled, “got hungry again. Why, what’s going on? Don’t think I’ve ever seen this place so full. What’s going on?”

  "Frontier Days at the Old Fort. It's open. They have re-enactors, colonials, redcoats, and Indians, and more. Didn't you know? Weren't you the head of the Sons of the American Revolution at one time?" she replied.

  “Wow! No, I didn’t know. I’ve been so busy with the water business. I stepped down a while back. Hey, can you get me something tasty quick? I’m on a special delivery run,” he asked.

  She took him to the overflow room and seated him. “I can get you a hot beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and covered with gravy in two shakes of a dead lamb’s tail. That be fast enough?”

  “Sounds super, Cindi. You’re the best. If I wasn’t married, I’d grab you up in a heartbeat,” Tom kidded.

  "Tom, someday I'm gonna swat you," she said with a smile. "You haven't been in this section for several years. You remember last time you sat here, a short older man was asking if I knew of anyone who knew about local history in colonial times. Do you remember that?"

  Tom's face went blank as he tried to remember, but it came to him. "Why yes, I had completely forgotten about that."

  Cindi asked, “were you able to help him? What did he want to know?”

  Tom searched the remote areas of his brain. "He said he lived down near Patterson Creek. Let's see. He said his name was Mike, hmm, Mike something. I remember, Michael Levy, and he wanted to know about," Tom paused, "Braddock's Gold. I can't believe it. That's twice today that topic has come up."

  “Must be an omen,” Cindi mused.

  "Yeah, weird ain't it? Hey, where's my lunch? I could eat a horse," said Tom.

  “No need for that. I have it here in a minute,” she said, and it was.

  Tom ate quickly. Ten minutes later, he was back in the truck heading for White Tails.

  Soon he was up and over Middle Ridge and heading down the other side toward Springfield. Tom went under the old railroad that the B and O RR had sold to the state of WV. The state was now keeping it up for the farmers in the South Branch of the Potomac River, who needed it for supplies. The tourist train, the Potomac Eagle, also used it to take people up through the Trough. It was like a wilderness. Here the river flowed between two parallel mountains. Tom and his wife had gone one day on it and seen American bald eagles there. What a great day we had, he though. He took a left on to the road to Green Spring. It went through a beautiful valley. Almost Heaven, West Virginia.

  Tom thought of the man named Michael he had talked to. It was strange how the same subject had out of the blue come up, Braddock's Gold. Tom did some of his best thinking behind a steering wheel, but today he couldn't make a connection. Oh well, some things in life are just meant to be lived, not explained.

  He slowed for the one-lane toll bridge across the Potomac River. There was no one on it, so he proceeded. I don’t want to know what the weight limit for this thing is, he thought. He paid the toll at the little toll booth and drove on into Oldtown, Maryland. There was so much history in this area. Here the Shawnee Indians had a village long ago. Here Cresap had his blockhouse trading post where young George Washington would see his first Indians. Braddock's Redcoats would travel through here before being defeated by the French and Indians in the Battle of the Monongahela near present-day Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. And through here again, they would go in retreat without the now dead General Braddock. Here also the skirmishes and battles of the Civil War that had taken place. Oh, if the rocks could talk, what stories they would tell.

  He got on Maryland Route 51 and headed east. Soon he was crossing back into West Virginia at Paw Paw on WV Route 9. He rode two miles to the sign that read Seymour Bottom Road. How ironic, he thought, a nudist resort on Seymour Bottom. Old Man Seymour and owned and farmed the flat land here where the Potomac River made long and wide horseshoe turns. He had heard of the nudists taking half-day trips on this isolated section of the river. He turned left and was soon at the gate of White Tails. The guard came out of his hut. "They called me and said you’d be coming. You got a load of water for the music concert this weekend," he said.

  Tom responded, "Yeah, I do. Hey, you were here last time I was here, only you greeted me in the buff."

  "Yeah, that was me. I only did it for three days. The bugs like to eat me up out here, and I got sunburned in places I don't want to talk about." He grinned. "I'm not gonna try that again."

  "Understood," Tom said. "This is the kind of place where when they say 'good to see you' they mean it."

  The guard chucked at that.

  Tom asked, “Do you ever get any celebrities here? Can you tell me?”

  The guard looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. "Yes, we do."

  Tom asked, “Anyone, you can tell me?”

  The guard began, “Well, I’ll not name names, but last weekend we had a female member of the President’s cabinet here. Boy, oh boy, did she have some thunder thighs. I wish I had never seen that. But you do kind of get used to it working here.”

  “Why do you work here?” asked Tom.

  “I need a job, and jobs are scarce now. The pays not bad, and they have good insurance that covers me and my family,” the guard replied. “Better get moving. There’s two cars pulling up behind you. Have a nice day.”

  “Be seeing you,” Tom kidded as he drove off.

  The guard grinned. Tom drove off to the warehouse, where he would drop off the water. He only got his eyes half full on the way. No Greek Gods out today. Just the usual big bellies and saggy well, whatevers. He backed up to the unloading bay. The manager was coming out, and he walked up to the truck. “Good to see you made it here okay, but where’s the rest of the water? That’s only half the load.”

  All Tom could say was, “What?”

  The manager continues, “I called and doubled the order about two o’clock. Didn’t you get the message?”

  “No, I was already on the road,” Tom said. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. All my trucks wer
e busy, and this is the biggest delivery truck I’ve got. I tell you what. If you can get this off my truck in 15 minutes, I can get another load of water and be back by six o’clock. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds good to me. I have someone here at six. I’ll be gone, so here’s your check for the full amount. I trust you. You’re an honest man. That’s why I deal with you. And your product is Number One,” the manager said.

  They unloaded the truck with the forklift quickly, and Tom was back on the road. This time he stayed on Maryland Route 51 all the way to Cumberland. There he got on WV Route 28 and headed to his bottled water warehouse. This route seemed a little faster. He would remember that. His truck was quickly loaded, and he was off again. He took the same way there, Route 28 to Cumberland, then to Paw Paw via Maryland Route 51. He got there at five minutes to six. The warehouseman was waiting. "I knew you could do it," he said.

  Tom's truck was swiftly unloaded, and he was off toward home. He pulled into the warehouse behind his house at seven-thirty. He was tired and hungry. It had been a full day. He wondered what tomorrow would bring? Tom let a short prayer go: Lord, You are my strength. How could I ever do it without you?

  Chapter 17

  George Washington's personal writings, June 1748

  These are some of the events that took place recently during my adventure in 1748 while surveying for James Genn. The gentleman sponsoring this project was Lord Fairfax. He was to oversee the surveying of lands in the valley of the South Branch of the Potomac he owned that he wished to sell for a profit.

  As I am only 16, I felt fortunate to have been asked to participate, though I received no pay, only sustenance during the time beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. I first learned the basics of surveying at the suggestion of my older brother Laurence who had become a substitute father to me after the untimely death of our father Augustine five years ago. He had suggested a career in the British Navy, but my mother had forbidden this. I was surprised when she consented to my going. Perhaps she realized I am nearly a grown man and knows she must soon let go of the apron strings she holds me with. I wish to do so much, but she will have her say until I'm twenty-one.

  Still, I believe I can see her point. Many mothers have wept when their young men went marching off never to return. I believe she felt I would be safe among the surveying party.

  We left Tidewater, Virginia, on March 11, 1748. Soon we were beyond the orderly plantations and came to an area on the Occoquan Creek that was only a step above wilderness. Mr. Genn met us on the road to Frederick Town that some are now referring to as Winchester. We traveled over the Blue Ridge Mountains and stayed at the house of Captain John Ashby. He operated a ferry on the Shenandoah River. There was much fertile land suitable for farming that Lord Fairfax owned, and he wanted it surveyed as soon as possible. Our main camp was in Winchester. As there are many high mountains between there and the South Branch, a roundabout route was chosen to circumvent the high mountains. We proceeded north to the Potomac near the mouth of the Shenandoah but found the river to be in flood stage, so we were unable to cross. The decision was made to proceed on the south side of the river to Warm Springs, also known as Bath. These springs were claimed to have healing powers, but we did not bathe in the pools.

  Near Warm Springs, we were able to cross the Potomac to the Maryland side. It constantly rained as we proceeded over what I would only describe as the worst road ever trod by man or beast. That day March 21, we were able to make it to Thomas Cresap's place. Cresap was a renowned frontiersman respected by whites and red men both. His well-stocked trading post at Shawnee Oldtown was half house and half fort. The next day we wished to cross the river back into Virginia, but the water was too high and dangerous. That day thirty Indians appeared at the trading post. Cresap inquired and found out they were a war party but had been chagrined as their expedition had not been profitable. All they had to show for their efforts was one scalp. Our party gave the Indians a friendly offering of liquor, which they gladly accepted. This raised their spirits. They built fires and prepared a dance. The dance was fascinating with all the shouting and jumping around. I have described it often for friends back home. One Indian's name was Black Wolf. He had a wine stain birthmark on his face and was ever so slightly pigeon-toed. Cresap had advised me to steer clear of him, as he had a foul disposition. I noted that his fellow warriors carefully and skillfully avoided crossing him.

  By March 25, the river had dropped sufficiently for the horses to swim across. The men used canoes provided by Cresap. We crossed at a point opposite Patterson Creek without incident. By nightfall, we arrived at the farm of Abram Johnston, where we were made welcome and spent the night.

  Early the next morning, something exciting happened. Out of the woods came a man dressed more Indian than white. I had been talking with Mr. Johnston when this took place. Mr. Johnston saw him coming and seemed to have no concern. Out of curiosity, I asked who that was. "Lightfoot," he responded. "His family was settlers west of here. The Indians took him as a child and raised him. You won't find a soul that knows more about these woods in any direction or about fightin'. I'm glad we're on friendly terms. I wouldn't want to cross him, but he's a pretty good guy once you get to know him."

  As he got closer, I could see he had three fresh scalps hanging from his side. He went with Mr. Johnston into the house where the others were. There he was introduced to the members of our survey team. They talked about their orders, business, the weather, and whatnot. Genn commented on just coming from Cresap's place and seeing a war party there. This interested Lightfoot. He asked if there were about 30 Indians. We said yes. He pointed to the scalps and said, "There used to be thirty-three. They knew better than to come to this area while I am here."

  This brought a laugh from the men in the room. At this point, Genn asked Lightfoot if he was interested in traveling with us to the upper South Branch. Surprisingly, he agreed. He was to be provided with food, power, shot, and rum for his pay. Just what Lightfoot was to do was never discussed, but he acted as a scout and protector. He earned his salt several times over. I learned much from him as I studied him intensely. Never had I met someone like him.

  We left the next day and traveled further up the creek to the home of Solomon Hedges. The following day we left the stream and went east into the South Branch Valley. We passed over several hills and then down a fair size stream with good fall. I thought it would make an excellent place for a future mill. At the creek's mouth into the South Branch, we were accosted by a peculiar and most vile man on the island in the stream. He bade us to stay away with the most wretched of language. Soon we reached Mr. Pearsalls. He asked how our journey was from Patterson Creek. We replied it most agreeable except for the odd man we had met a short while ago. Mr. Pearsall laughed and referred to the disagreeable man as Old Piss Pott. He was a cantankerous hermit that lived on the island and wanted no contact with other people. With that exception, we had a grand time at the Pearsalls.

  By the end of the month, we were at our desired destination and began our surveying. This took two weeks. We were deep in the mountainous wilderness. The valleys and streams all ran parallel between the mountains. Lightfoot kept a sharp eye for danger. Twice he disappeared into the woods for a day. Each time when he returned, he had a fresh scalp at his side. Everyone saw these. Nothing needed to be said about the dangers around us. We also saw a mother bear with two cubs, a mountain lion, deer, turkeys, and several buffalo. On the way back from our journey to Winchester, we stopped at the home of John Edwards near the Cacapehon, also spelled Cacapon River. It was a most beautiful area.

  While there on the grand adventure, we were wet and cold. The nights were long and smoky from campfires. But I saw much land good for settling. I learned to run a line in the wilderness. I camped out but must learn more on this as it was not to my satisfaction. I cooked food over an open fire, slept in the open, met Indians, and saw some of the dangers of the wilderness. I saw excellent western land, the frontier. We even we
re followed for two days by German settlers that spoke less English than the Indians. And I met Lightfoot, a man who would play an important part in my life, but for now, I did not know that. All I knew was I was glad to be home from my adventure. I thought it best to leave out the part about Lightfoot so as not to worry my mother. You know how a mother can be, and I did not need to give her any more issues.

  Chapter 18

  Spring 1754.

  Lightfoot stood over the body of the Indian he'd just killed, a Shawnee. Blood oozed from the dead man's wounds. A second dead Shawnee lay near, just over the ridge. They were following two British foot soldiers and a Colonial youth, all unaware of their Indian shadows. He had no love for Redcoats, but he didn't hate them either. The young man he knew as one who roamed the woods and trapped animals for fur. They met in the woods sometimes ago, camped and hunted together, and become friends and more. Lightfoot made him a blood brother.

  For this reason, he killed the pursuing Shawnee. He wouldn't take their scalps. Lightfoot had nothing to prove, nor were any of his people left to show his skills to. He didn't care if the dead men's spirits followed him. Too many bad memories and ghosts following him as it was. Two more only added a little to the long line. He'd take their food, guns, powder, ammo, and knives. These had value to him. The dead men had probably traded the weapons for furs the French wanted.

  For now, he would follow the three discretely as only an Indian could. He would protect them from any more attacks on the trail from Winchester to Fort Ohio and Fort Cumberland. And they would never know he was there until he wanted his presence to be known. He would do it for the young man. He would let the youth catch fleeting glimpses of him over the next day or so, then disappear like a bird in the forest. The youth was good, but he still had much to learn if he wanted to be a coureur de bois, a runner of the woods, as the French would say. He must learn to live, speak, and think like an Indian if he was to survive. He must learn of pain, both to the body and soul, and to be soft as fur and hard as a stone. But now Lightfoot would feast on the dead men's food and then rest. There would be no problem picking up the three men's trail, especially the British. Today had gone well for Lightfoot, the White Indian.