The Blooding

by James McGee

  Travelling north from Plattsburg to the border, the road passed through two settlements, both straddling rivers: Chazy and Champlain. The latter was situated three miles from the border and roughly eight from Lacolle.

  “What are you thinking?” Lawrence asked.

  “That we find a place to intercept, assess the column’s intention and its weakness, then carry the information to Lacolle as fast as we can.”

  Taking the knife from his boot, Hawkwood looked to Tewanias for confirmation and used the point of the blade to scrape a crooked line in the dirt. “Plattsburg, Chazy, Champlain, Lacolle, yes?”

  Tewanias inclined his head.

  “The border’s here.” Hawkwood drew a horizontal line severing the road north of Champlain. “Where are we?”

  Tewanias pointed with his finger to a spot due west of Chazy.

  “How many leagues from Plattsburg to Champlain?” Hawkwood asked.

  Tewanias’s eyes narrowed. “Seven.”

  “And Gaanundata to Champlain?”

  “Four.”

  Hawkwood leaned back and tapped the knifepoint on the dirt.

  “I see what you’re getting at,” Lawrence said. “We cut across, get to the road before them. You think it’s possible?”

  “Maybe.”

  Lawrence stiffened. “Damn it. There’s that bloody look again. You’ve thought of something else, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe while we’re at it we can slow them down a bit.”

  “Oh, yes? And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Same way we dealt with the Frogs in Spain.”

  “Remind me.”

  “With a little help from our friends.”

  Lawrence stared at him, then his eyes widened.

  Hawkwood grinned.

  “Well, you said you were here to recruit the natives. Now’s your chance.”

  The mood in the longhouse was sombre.

  The dozen or so warriors gathered around the fire listened in silence as Tewanias explained why they had been summoned to council. Seated on Tewanias’s right, Hawkwood watched the firelight play across their faces. Most of the men were Tewanias and Cageaga’s age, though a couple were slightly younger. Elders and chieftains from the three clans – Turtle, Wolf and Bear – their expressions ranged from stern to quizzical.

  When first assembled, there had been little emotion on display, but then Tewanias had called Hawkwood and Lawrence forward. As Hawkwood entered the circle, Tewanias had referred to him as Kahrhakon:ha. That had drawn an instant reaction. Heads had lifted and eyes had narrowed as he and Lawrence resumed their places. Hawkwood had been careful to maintain a neutral expression throughout.

  When Tewanias had finished speaking, it took only a second or two for the significance of the argument placed before the council to sink in.

  A sedate-looking elder, introduced as Sonachshowa, cleared his throat. “To consider taking up arms against the Yan-kees is a most serious matter. You tell us their soldiers do not march on us. If that is true, we have no need to raise our weapons against them.”

  “They do not march upon us today,” Tewanias said, holding the older man’s gaze. “But they will come. Sooner or later, they will come.”

  “It has been many winters since the Kanien’kehá:ka took to the war trail,” another gaunt-featured warrior pointed out.

  “That is why our young men grow soft,” a third warrior growled, a comment that was met with a chorus of low grunts, though whether in approval or opposition, it wasn’t easy to tell. “They would rather hunt than make war.”

  “And what is wrong with that?” another warrior asked. “If it stops us going hungry.”

  The third warrior showed his teeth. “It is the destiny of boys to become warriors. How can they prove themselves men unless they have known war? Peace will be the ruin of our nation. If young warriors are not given opportunity to test themselves in combat, they will lose their manhood and turn into women.”

  “If we strike against the Yan-kees now,” another warrior put in, “perhaps they will think twice about coming.”

  This statement was also met by muttering – though this time slightly more in agreement, Hawkwood thought – as well as a couple of thin smiles.

  “But if we extend the hand of friendship to the Yan-kees, will they not leave us in peace?” Sonachshowa enquired.

  “That is what the Jesus Delawares said,” Cageaga cut in sharply. “And look what happened to them. The Yan-kees destroyed their village and killed their women and children.”

  “Many years have passed since then,” the sedate elder said.

  “That does not mean we should forget,” Cageaga said. “The Yan-kees are not to be trusted. Remember Tippecanoe.”

  Hawkwood listened to the exchanges and held up his hand. “Have I permission to address the council?”

  The murmurs subsided. Hawkwood glanced at Tewanias. Tewanias nodded.

  “Some of you may know my name,” Hawkwood began. “I am Kahrhakon:ha, adopted son of Tewanias. As my father has told you, my friend and I are soldiers for the Great King beyond the Water and we are being hunted by the Yankees. We were making our path to Canada when we were attacked by scouts of the Oneniotèá:ka. Had it not been for my brother Cageaga, our scalps would, even now, be hanging from the lodge walls of the Yankees’ general.”

  He had their attention.

  “What Tewanias says is true; the Yankees will come.”

  “Even if we do not take up our weapons against them?” the sedate elder repeated.

  “It will make no difference,” Hawkwood said.

  “What if we were to side with the Yan-kees? What then?” someone asked.

  The question was met with several sharp intakes of breath.

  Tewanias shifted uneasily on his haunches. “We would be shamed for ever in the eyes of our brothers in Canada.”

  Hawkwood shook his head. “From what my father has told me and from what I know, whether you fight for the Yankees or the Great King will make no difference. The Yankees will take your land whether they win or lose. If they defeat the English, they will take not only Kanièn:keh but also the land of the Kanien’kehá:ka in Canada. If the English win, they will not take Anówarakowa Kawennote back from the Yankees. That means the Yankees will still be free to take Kanièn:keh and they will send you to live on reservations.”

  At the mention of the word, heads lifted. Hawkwood saw foreheads crease and eyes darken.

  “The old ways will be lost for ever,” Cageaga said. “Not only will they take our land, they will make us pray to the white man’s god.”

  “The English will not take your land. They will grant you land, as they did before,” Hawkwood said. “In Canada. Do not doubt my words. If the English win, you will have homes. If the Yankees win, you will not. But in exchange, the English want your help.”

  Several of the elders turned to each other and spoke in hushed asides.

  “The man who sits at my side is an officer in the army of the Great King,” Hawkwood said. “He has told me that Kanien’kehá:ka warriors from Ohswé:ken and Kenhtè:ke and the other villages in Canada are, even now, fighting at the side of English soldiers. With their help, great victories have already been won on the Ne-ah-ga and at Mackinac.

  “Nor are the Kanien’kehá:ka in Canada the only nation to take up arms against the Yankees. In the west, Tecumseh of the Shawnee also fights for the English king. If the men of Kanièn:keh join the English they will fight alongside their brothers from Ahkwesáhsne. Like some of you, the Ahkwesáhsne did not want to fight. But two months ago they were attacked by the Yankees who stole many gifts given to the Ahkwesáhsne by the English. They threatened to burn the village and they built a blockhouse – une maison en bois – so that they could control the Ahkwesáhsne. Is that what you want? The Ahkwesáhsne asked for help. English soldiers went to their aid. They forced the Yankees to surrender so that the Ahkwesáhsne could be free to choose their friends.”

  “Perhaps the
Ahkwesáhsne fought with the English out of fear,” a long-haired warrior suggested.

  “It was only because the Ahkwesáhsne land lies on both sides of the great water that the English helped,” put in the elder sitting next to him. “If the Yan-kees take the river, the English will not be able to keep their army fed. They were thinking of themselves.”

  Cageaga raised his hand. “All here know the Yan-kees fear the Kanien’kehá:ka. If the western tribes and our brothers in Canada have taken up arms, how can we stand by and do nothing? We must consider what our brothers and Tecumseh of the Shawnee would think if those gathered at this council chose not to fight the enemy of our race. I do not want to be thought a coward by the Shawnee.”

  Before anyone could react to that, Cageaga went on: “Do not forget that the Stone People march with the Yan-kees. It was the Oneniote’á:ka the Yan-kees sent after our brother.” He indicated Hawkwood. “There are those here who have suffered under their knives. By joining with the English, we can avenge those who have died and bring honour to their memory.”

  Hawkwood could see minds at work. Avenging the murders of friends and loved ones was difficult in peacetime, but in times of war it was considered a legitimate enterprise.

  “But we are too few in number,” another elder interjected. “The Yan-kees are many. We are surrounded.”

  “You would not be facing the Yankees on your own,” Hawkwood said.

  Lawrence leaned in close to Hawkwood’s side. “Would it be all right for me to speak to them, if you translate my words?”

  “Speak slowly and I’ll try.” To the gathering, Hawkwood said, “My friend, Lawrence – Roren – wishes to address the council. He speaks for the Great King beyond the Water.”

  A few of the elders swapped glances but no voices were raised in objection.

  “You have the floor, Major,” Hawkwood said.

  Lawrence eased his crossed legs into a more comfortable position and looked around at the warriors gathered before him. He took a calming breath.

  “The Great King knows well that the Mohawk are fearless warriors who have fought bravely on the side of the English soldiers against the French and the Americans.” He paused, allowing Hawkwood to relay the message. “That was many years ago. Once again the Great King is asking for help from his Mohawk brothers, against an old enemy who now seeks to drive both the English and the Mohawk from their homes. The Great King believes that if our peoples fight together, as one army, we will defeat the Americans. In exchange for your help, the Great King will see you rewarded with food and clothing, as well as blankets, hunting supplies and tools—”

  “And guns?” The query came from a hard-faced warrior with a silver nose ring and a shell gorget around his neck.

  “Yes, and guns, too. The army will also pay wages to any warrior who fights for the Great King. War chieftains will be given the rank of captain and receive officers’ stipend.”

  “The English have smooth mouths,” Cageaga cut in. “We have heard white men’s promises before.” Speaking in Mohawk, he glanced towards Hawkwood. “Why should we trust the English any more than we trust the Yan-kees? Did they not betray us when they placed their mark upon the last treaty?”

  Hawkwood did not react, knowing that in posing the question, Cageaga, despite his clear allegiance to Hawkwood and by association Lawrence, was playing devil’s advocate, and in the process cementing his reputation as a sceptic, in case Hawkwood’s request for help was rejected. It was a shrewd move.

  Hawkwood translated Cageaga’s words into English.

  Lawrence continued. “I know that many times the whites have promised much and delivered little. The Great King knows this and he is deeply sorry. When that treaty was signed between the English and the Americans, the Great King made his mark in good faith, believing the Americans would honour their mark. It was the Americans who broke the treaty. My friend Matthew has spoken of how the Americans will take all Mohawk land for themselves. The Great King has agreed, by signed treaty, that all land he grants to the Mohawk nation will remain Mohawk, for all time. This I promise.”

  Hawkwood looked around the faces of the men present. “My friend, Roren, does not lie. I say this not as a soldier of the Great King but as Kahrhakon:ha, adopted son of Tewanias, war captain of the Kanien’kehá:ka. I swear on this, the totem of my father.”

  Hawkwood pulled aside his collar, his fingers brushing the ring of bruising round his neck.

  The amulet had yellowed with age and had been worn even smoother by years of constant handling. Hawkwood saw the expression on Tewanias’s face as he held it in front of his throat. It was a look that he would never forget.

  Concealed beneath his shirt, the bone carving had rarely seen the light of day. When it had, those that commented upon it or queried its provenance had soon learned to curb their curiosity. Soldiers of all ranks carried a talisman; a medallion or a coin, even a musket ball that had been dug out of a wound and placed in a pocket. The turtle amulet had become as much a part of him as the scars on his body and the stiletto concealed in his boot. Whether, like the knife, it had protected him over the years, he did not know and would never know, but many a time on the eve of battle he had found himself manipulating it between his fingers in the same way a God-fearing private might touch a crucifix or a priest his rosary.

  He tucked the amulet away.

  Emboldened by the reaction to Hawkwood’s intervention, Lawrence said, “And if other tribes see that the Mohawk have joined with the English, they too will fight against the Americans, which will also assist the Mohawk. When the English win, all, including the Mohawk, will celebrate a great victory.”

  “Never forget,” Cageaga said, “it was the Yan-kees who took our land. It was the Yan-kees who were responsible for the breaking of the Rotinonshón:ni. For those reasons and because the English gave sanctuary to our brothers, we must answer the call of the Great King. There are some here who would want us to lie still and hold down our heads, but I am Cageaga of the Kanien’kehá:ka. I will paint my face and be a man and fight the Yan-kees as long as I live!”

  Cageaga’s eyes blazed as he placed the flat of his hand on his chest. The gesture, by common consent, brought the respective arguments to a close. As discussion broke out around them, Tewanias turned and said quietly to Hawkwood. “Go now. Prepare for your journey. The council will make its decision.”

  “What do you think?” Lawrence asked as he slipped his shoulder through the musket strap. “Will they help us?”

  “Hard to tell. The war captains and the peace chiefs will have their say. It may be put to the families and the clan mothers.”

  “The clan mothers? The women have that much influence?”

  “It’s the women who rule the clans. They help elect the chiefs. When a man marries, he joins his wife’s clan, not the other way round. The tribe couldn’t function without them.”

  “I’m learning something new about these people every minute,” Lawrence said.

  Hawkwood smiled. “There’s another thing that might surprise you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If it wasn’t for the Iroquois, the Rifles might never have seen the light of day.”

  Lawrence looked at Hawkwood askance.

  “It’s true. Sixty years ago, we were out here fighting the French. Some Iroquois fought on their side. That’s where the name comes from, by the way: Irinakhoiw – it’s Huron for ‘black snake’. Only the Frogs couldn’t pronounce it correctly. They knew the Indians’ value, though: these were warriors who were at home in the forest, they could travel light and they could live off the land. They were a bloody sight better shots than the regular troops, too. The French used them to harass the enemy flanks and pick out and kill the officers. Sound familiar? It’s one of the reasons our light companies were formed. John Moore and our other commanders realized the benefit of irregulars who could move fast and fend for themselves, without supervision.

  “Over the years, skills were honed, uniforms
changed colour, muskets were replaced. The Rifles were the end result. They fight in small groups, hitting the enemy hard and moving on before it can retaliate. They spread panic. It’s what the Indians do and they’re experts at it.” Hawkwood smiled then. “And you know the best thing about using them?”

  Lawrence shook his head. “What’s that?”

  “They don’t need training.”

  It was more than an hour before Tewanias reappeared, Cageaga at his shoulder. They approached, their faces grave.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Lawrence murmured softly.

  Cageaga was the first to speak. “The council has spoken.”

  Hawkwood waited. In truth, he’d been expecting the deliberations to go on for a lot longer. The early verdict did not bode well. He prepared for the worst.

  “We are with you,” Tewanias said.

  15

  The troops left Plattsburg well before first light, without fuss or ceremony. From the town, the column skirted the curve of Cumberland Bay, crossed over Dead Creek bridge and turned north on to the Chazy road.

  Harlan Quade, riding just behind the van, hunkered into his coat, massaged his right thigh and wished he was somewhere warmer; Tripoli, for instance. Though he recalled that during the march across the desert to Derna, the heat and the flies had been ferocious, while the nights had been as cold as the proverbial witch’s tits. Here, at least, there wasn’t that much disparity between day and night-time temperatures. There weren’t any flies either. Perhaps he should be thankful for what he had. He was in his own country, after all; for the time being, anyway.

  And at least there was a road. They didn’t have to forge a path out of the wilderness, which, only a few years ago would have been a requirement. In this country, where even a cart track was considered a godsend, good roads had become lifelines, especially in times of war.