by Lori Benton
Their gazes held, William’s blue eyes vivid in his sun-browned face, and the moment stretched taut with fragile promise before a shout was heard, coming from across the fields of knee-high corn. Breaking clasp and gaze, they turned to see Daniel Clear Day coming down the track from the creek.
Over the past year, the wiry old warrior had made more than one journey to Fort Niagara as part of Oneida peace delegations, in the hope of convincing the Haudenosaunee nations to cease their warring. Such efforts had thus far come to nothing. He’d been late in returning from one such trip when the rest of Good Voice’s family made the journey east for the wedding. They’d come with worry for him. Though he’d missed the wedding, Reginald felt relief to see him. But as the man drew near, he read something in the creased and leathery face that caused his heart to skip a beat.
“There is news out of Niagara?” he asked, striding toward Clear Day to meet him in the yard. But the man shook his head.
“I do not bring news about this war but about that one who gave his life for you.” Clear Day looked from Reginald to William. “About that one who was your father.”
Stone Thrower.
William lurched forward and took his father’s uncle by the arm. “News? What news could there be?”
And could it be anything but evil? Reginald suddenly wanted to stop the old man’s mouth. If he’d found out the gruesome details of Stone Thrower’s death last autumn at the hands of those Seneca warriors, this was surely not the day for sharing it.
Clear Day caught the alarm in his gaze and again shook his head. “No. Of his dying I will not speak, only this. While in Niagara, I saw that one who took you captive in the battle. That one who chose my nephew over you and spared your life.”
Blue-Tailed Lizard. The old Seneca warrior who had once professed himself a follower of Samuel Kirkland’s God.
“The one who killed my father?” William asked, his voice tight with sudden pain. “You saw him? Spoke to him?”
“I did both of those things,” Clear Day said. “And I have this from him. It is for you and for your mother.”
From beneath his shirt, the old warrior pulled out a corded, bead-worked pouch and took it from around his neck. Reginald saw a light of recognition in William’s blue eyes as he took it, then a rush of longing. He held the little pouch his mother had beaded and Stone Thrower had worn for months against his heart to his own chest a moment, then to his nose. He quickly opened it and removed the tiny oval portrait of himself.
None of them spoke for a time. Strikes-The-Water had crossed the yard to join them, Autumn Moon in her arms, and fetched up now beside William. She peered in silence at the miniature, then up at William’s face, something of awe in her expression.
“I also have a story to tell, but where is my nephew’s wife and your brother?” Clear Day asked William, for all his sober countenance a sense of anticipation thrumming through him, almost palpable. “They must hear it too.”
All three started to explain in haste where everyone else was at present and what they were doing, but before they could finish, Anna came out of the house. Her hair was disheveled, her wedding gown changed for a workaday one. “Papa?”
Sight of her sent a jolt through Reginald like a dash of cold water. A hand took hold of his shoulder as if to steady him for whatever was to come. It was William’s hand.
Seeing it, Anna broke into a tired smile. “We’re all finished. Lydia’s well, and so is your son. They’re both very well.”
Reginald felt his knees go out from under him, but William was there, supporting him until he found them again. He tried to speak. Couldn’t.
Anna laughed. “Don’t you want to come see him?”
He broke free of William’s hold, limping toward his dear girl, who laughed again as he enveloped her in a hug. Then he was hurrying through the door, hearing her call out to those he’d left in the yard, “And you, Bright Arrow. And Strikes-The-Water. And Clear Day—you made it after all. Wonderful! Lydia is requesting everyone’s attendance.”
While they gave Reginald and Lydia a few moments to themselves, Clear Day, with lips that sometimes trembled thinly over the words, told them of his meeting with Blue-Tailed Lizard, who had seen him among the delegation of Oneidas at Niagara, approached him with caution, and taken him aside to tell him an astonishing thing.
“That one who chose my nephew as his prisoner, who stood by and allowed him to be killed, later had a thing happen to him that he did not foresee coming.”
Good Voice drew a breath in deep, searching the face of her husband’s uncle. She had seen the little portrait of Bright Arrow he had brought them, the one her husband had cherished and that her firstborn had hung around his neck. Now the old man’s glance held hers, asking was she ready to hear what more he brought them.
Nodding, she braced herself.
“That one went back to his home at Ganundasaga, to his women there.” Clear Day continued, “Instead of a captive, he brought them the story of my nephew, the things he said in that clearing, and how he died. And do you know what happened then? They began to weep, those women of his clan. They began to talk about what sort of man would do such a thing and why. They began to remember, not just things about my nephew when he lived among them, but about Kirkland and what he said to them, things they had once professed to believe—that they had opened their hearts to Creator through the blood of Jesus-on-the-cross. And now here is the thing about all of that: they have come back to believing. They walk the Jesus path again. Even that old lizard has found the path he once lost and is walking it again. This because of my nephew and what he said and did.”
They were all in tears now, speechless, each grappling with thoughts and feelings. It was Two Hawks who gained possession of both first, and his face grew radiant as he slid his arm around Anna Catherine beside him. “Uncle, I am glad to know this about my father, that such good came of what he did. I am glad to have this news this day—though I would rather have him with us again.”
“Amen,” Good Voice whispered, standing there with the precious daughter her husband never had the chance to look upon held against her heart. Tears of joy and sorrow streamed onto her baby’s head. “We will always wish him with us until we go to be with him. But here is a great good Heavenly Father has done through this thing that is still hard for us to bear. We will also remember our blessings. Both my sons are safe. Today one of those sons has a wife.” She offered Anna Catherine a smile of welcome, thinking of her calm and steady presence in the room beyond, and all that had just happened. “Now a son is born to the family of that wife. Today we will have good thoughts, thoughts of peace, thoughts of hope for our future. So come, let us go and see this new son and tell his parents there is more good to be celebrated on this day.”
They all filed into the room freshened now with clean linens and the window thrown wide to the warm June air. Sunlight streamed in, falling across Lydia, propped on pillows, hair streaming in dark banners around her face, a tiny swaddled infant asleep in her arms—and an ecstatic father sitting on the bedside near them, radiating pride and looking younger than any in the room had seen him look in a very long time.
Good Voice made room for Bright Arrow, Anna Catherine, Two Hawks, and Clear Day. Rowan and Maura Doyle squeezed in. Strikes-The-Water hung back at the doorway but came farther in at Bright Arrow’s beckoning.
The full story of Stone Thrower’s unexpected legacy among Blue-Tailed Lizard’s family was told again at Lydia’s request, then Reginald Aubrey, once he had gained mastery of his voice again, stood and with tears in his eyes said, “On this day that has been thrice blessed, by marriage…” He showered Anna Catherine and Two Hawks with a tender glance, then turned a similar one upon Bright Arrow. “By grace. And now by birth…I wanted all of you here to witness a thing.”
“What will you call him, Papa?” Anna Catherine interjected. “Lydia wouldn’t tell us.”
“That’s what we mean to tell you now.” Reginald Aubrey’s gaze tr
aveled around the room, taking in each of them, but he couldn’t keep his gaze long off the scrunched little face cradled in the crook of Lydia’s arm. “We’ve decided to name him after the greatest man we know, a warrior both in body and in spirit.”
Reginald bent to take up his newborn son from Lydia. He straightened, turned, and placed the baby into Clear Day’s arms. As the old man raised startled eyes to him, Reginald said, “Will you stand in the place of one we wish was here with us?”
Beside her husband’s uncle, Good Voice leaned close, looking eagerly at the baby’s face, while Autumn Moon looked at the faces of the adults around her with wide, wondering eyes.
“His name is Caleb,” Reginald told them in a voice gone husky.
Good Voice caught her breath. It was custom among the Haudenosaunee to requicken the name of a dead one, bestowing it upon another who would take his place in the clan—and his spirit. She knew that wasn’t what was happening here, that her husband’s spirit wasn’t waiting to enter a new life but was safely worshiping in the presence of Jesus. Even so, the naming of this new child touched her more deeply than Aubrey could know.
“Caleb Aubrey,” Anna Catherine said, smiling through gathering tears. “Papa, it’s perfect.”
“Iyo,” Good Voice said, and in her eyes joy and sorrow mingled. “It is a strong name.”
“Iyo,” Two Hawks whispered and shared a look with his brother, who had been staring at the infant’s tiny face, a lifetime of wondering in his gaze.
Eyes lowered to the baby in his arms, Clear Day said, “I speak for my nephew when I say that we will teach this little one, all our little ones, to walk a good path.”
“We will point the way for them,” Good Voice said. “And for their children, should we live to see them, then trust their way to Heavenly Father’s guiding.”
“For seven generations?” They turned to see Lydia watching from the bed, blue eyes ringed with the shadows of her labor but shining all the same.
Good Voice looked down at the newborn in Clear Day’s embrace, and the sorrow fled her smile. “For as long as our names last on this earth,” she said, then raised her gaze from her husband’s namesake and fixed it on Reginald Aubrey, “your God shall be our God, and our blood shall be one.”
AUTHOR’S NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Oneida Nation’s contributions to American independence didn’t end with the Battle of Oriskany. British and pro-British Indian raids continued on the New York frontier long after August 6, 1777. Settlements at Schoharie, Cherry Valley, German Flatts, and everywhere in between were devastated. Though by spring of 1780 the Oneida town of Kanowalohale still stood, its inhabitants knew its threatened destruction was inevitable. That summer the town was abandoned. Elders, children, women, and those warriors not busy scouting for the Continental army moved what could be carried and what livestock could be driven to Fort Stanwix, abandoning most of their possessions, homes, and crops. Soon after, Joseph Brant led a party of three hundred warriors to Kanowalohale, burned the town, then advanced to Fort Stanwix, where the Oneidas took refuge inside the fort. After briefly firing on the fort, Brant’s warriors rounded up the livestock outside its walls and left. Still committed to the Patriot’s cause, the Oneidas chose to relocate temporarily to Schenectady, farther from the troubled frontier. While warriors assisted the Continentals, or risked roaming the wilderness hunting for desperately needed meat, their women and children lived in an old barracks in town, lacking firewood, their clothing in tatters, traumatized by loss and destitution. Unable to face a harsh winter with no provisions, many Oneidas moved again to Saratoga for the winter of 1780–1781, where at least they could obtain food, shelter, and warmth.
General Philip Schuyler tried to help. Due to widespread raiding in the Mohawk Valley, food was in short supply, farms ruined, livestock slaughtered or stolen. The year 1781 saw Schuyler personally funding purchase of food and clothing for the people. Through all this hardship, most Oneida warriors remained true to the Continentals, gaining exemplary reputations among Patriot soldiers. Here are just a few of their contributions post-Oriskany:
September–October 1777: Oneida warriors joined the Continentals to fight Burgoyne’s army at Saratoga and Freeman’s Farm, culminating in Burgoyne’s surrender on October 17.
Spring 1778: At George Washington’s invitation, Oneida and Tuscarora warriors joined his army at Valley Forge, near Philadelphia, as scouts and skirmishers, bringing a supply of corn to share with the starving American troops.
May 1778: Under the command of the Marque de Lafayette, Oneida warriors fought in the Battle of Barren Hill, to great praise from their commander. Six warriors gave their lives.
September 1778: Oneida and Tuscarora warriors raided the British/loyalist frontier stronghold of Unadilla while Joseph Brant and his raiders, who used Unadilla as a staging ground, were destroying homes along the Mohawk at Fort Dayton.
Despite devastating material losses and deep emotional scars sustained over breaking with their Iroquois brethren in their loyalties, Oneidas would continue to risk their lives and their families’ safety to support the Continental army as soldiers, scouts, and guards until the war’s ending. Notable individuals encountered in my research, like Skenandoah, Louis Cook, Two-Kettles-Together, and Ahnyero/Thomas Spencer, were far too many to list, much less to have worked into a novel of this limited scope. For readers interested in learning more about this pivotal time in history and the role the Oneidas played in it, I’ve provided a list of my most helpful resources at the end of this section.
Speaking of historical characters, the dialogue attributed to recognizable individuals in these pages was taken from many sources—journals or recorded words wherever possible. Where dialogue is of my own creation, I’ve taken care to put words in the mouth of an individual I felt they would have said under the circumstances in which they appear. That being said, this story left the fate of some historical characters hanging post-Oriskany.
General Nicholas Herkimer, gravely wounded in the battle, reached his home at the Little Falls Carry on the Mohawk River, where his injured and infected leg was amputated. The operation was poorly done; Herkimer died of his injury on August 16, 1777.
Captain Stephen Watts was left for dead in the western ravine but survived, his wounds untreated, for three days before he was found by a patrol and brought to St. Leger’s siege camp. He also lost a leg but recovered to serve in a limited capacity during the rest of the war. He died in 1810.
Kanowalohale was rebuilt and reoccupied, in conditions described as deplorable, in 1784, after the war had ended. Soon after, like the Haudenosaunee nations that supported the British, the Oneidas began to lose their homeland piecemeal to white settlement pressures and their own attempts to adapt to European ways of living. Beginning in 1823, Oneidas purchased land in and relocated to Wisconsin, until what once had been a near six-million-acre homeland in the new state of New York dwindled to thirty-two acres. In more recent decades, Oneidas have begun reclaiming portions of their ancient homeland through land purchases and court battles. The Oneidas now encompass three distinct groups, the Oneida Tribe of Wisconsin, the Oneida Nation of the Thames (Ontario, Canada), and the Oneida Indian Nation of New York.
The great rift in the Haudenosaunee was slow to mend, but mend it did. In the early 1800s the council fire was rekindled among the Six Nations survivors, and the Iroquois League was reformed. The Central Fire now burns among its traditional keepers, the Onondagas, and each nation sends their representative sachems to the council. The Haudenosaunee are sovereign nations and have fought as such in nearly every American war since the Revolution—as allies of the United States and warriors protecting their homeland and people.
An additional historical note: During the Revolutionary War, Fort Stanwix was renamed Fort Schuyler in honor of General Philip Schuyler, in command of the Northern Department of the Continental army during most of the period this novel covers. After the war the fort reverted to its original name
. To avoid confusion, I chose to stick with its original name of Fort Stanwix.
As for that flag hoisted inside the fort during the siege, legend has it that it was the first time what became known as our national flag was flown. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. I chose to portray it so.
For details of the Battle of Oriskany and the events of the months leading up to it, I drew upon many written sources, which sometimes disagreed on dates, times, participants, and other particulars. I chose to follow most closely the account found in Rebellion in the Mohawk Valley by Gavin K. Watt, because his prose most excited my imagination and helped me see the events of history from an emotional as well as historical perspective—important in the writing of a novel. But many other resources contributed to my vision of the New York frontier of 1776–77. Most helpful were:
Forgotten Allies: The Oneida Indians and the American Revolution by Joseph T. Glatthaar and James Kirby Martin
With Musket & Tomahawk by Michael O. Logusz
The Battle of Oriskany and General Nicholas Herkimer by Paul A. Boehlert
Liberty March: The Battle of Oriskany by Allan D. Foote
Fort Stanwix: Construction and Military History, Historic Furnishing Study, and Historic Structure Report from the Office of Park Historic Preservation, National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior
Days of Siege: A Journal of the Siege of Fort Stanwix in 1777, by William Colbrath and Larry Lowenthal
Along with my heartfelt thanks to the authors of the above works, and to the Oneida Nation, I’m grateful once again for the team I’m blessed to work with at WaterBrook Multnomah, the many people whose keen eyes and dedication to their craft helped make this novel what it is—Shannon Marchese, Nicci Jordan Hubert, and Laura Wright, my talented and hardworking editors.
Kristopher Orr, you created another gorgeous cover, bless you!
To Wendy Lawton, my agent—thank you for being a friend and prayer warrior as well as a cheerleader and shepherd of my writing career. I’ve lost count of the times you’ve done exceedingly abundantly above all I could ask or imagine.