Arrowmaker (Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Becky flitted about the house like a moth before a flame. Rob sat at the big table thrilling to each “Oh” and “Ah.” Any one of which would have made his labors worthwhile.

  The massive hearth held her attention as she examined the trammels, cranes, spiders, and andirons Rob had made. She peered up the chimney past the smoke shelf and saw iron rods guarding the flue against intrusion. She stomped on the slab-stone hearth and did the same on the thick pine floors. Rob’s crude table and stools seemed to her finer than Philadelphia’s best Chippendale, and she strove to imagine the hours of labor that had gone into their construction.

  She dashed up the stairs with Rob in pretended pursuit, and together they peered from each loophole and into each upstairs hearth.

  Rob explained how the upper floor could be partitioned into rooms after any possibility of attack had passed.

  Becky Shatto’s long wait had been worthwhile. Many a husband brought wealth or position to his bride, but few could prove their love through visible evidence in stone, iron, and wood through months and months of devoted preparation.

  The house proved handsomely livable, although with just the two of them the upper floor remained unused. They lived on the ground floor, making their bed beneath the stairs and spending their evenings before the fire.

  The important things in the house worked well. The fireplace drew with either large or small fires, and Rob thanked the tall chimney passing through the second floor for that. Doors closed tightly allowing few drafts, and the thick wood floor kept out the damp so common in a dirt-floored cabin. If there was a flaw in the house, it lay in the dimness of the rooms. Unless a door stood open, firelight or a fat lamp was needed to accomplish even the tasks of daily living. The loopholes barely helped but were a necessity of the dangerous times. When conditions permitted, they would bring glass from Philadelphia and let both light and air into their home.

  The Shattos settled into a routine with Becky working about the house while Rob labored out-of-doors. Indians appeared to trade for arrowheads, but a summer trading rush failed to develop. The lodges were moving west, and there was no living to be made Indian trading on the Little Buffalo.

  Often they left their chores, and Rob squired his bride across their wilderness estate. Becky panted to the ridge tops and poked enthusiastically through the hardwoods. She chose the sweeping hemlock as her favorite tree, and E’shan’s stone became her regular seat. She spoke of her visits to E’shan’s grave as, “Going to talk with E’shan for a while,” and it often seemed to Rob as if Becky had actually known the old arrowmaker. At times, Rob would close his forge or drive his ax deep into the block and climb the hill to find her seated contentedly looking across their bowl of woods and meadows.

  A message carrier arrived from George Croghan. He bore the note wrapped in eel skin and tied into the cleft of a forked stick. Without writing, the many tribes and villages could only communicate verbally through such message bearers. Couriers were greatly honored and never deterred even between warring tribes. Rob wondered if the whites would observe the tradition. He doubted it and pointedly warned the courier to have care of whites he might encounter.

  The runner had come north from Virginia and had been four days on the trail. Croghan’s message was long, and the courier chose to camp close by until Quehana prepared his answer.

  Rob labored over the trader’s difficult script, seeking all the meaning within the words. Croghan warned of serious trouble if Braddock failed to drive the French from Fort Duquesne, but that was already common knowledge. Croghan’s important message was that the English forces were in trouble. Croghan and Montour each commanded a force of Indian scouts that were to range ahead of the advancing army and act as eyes for the infantry struggling along their new road. Montour was about to give up in disgust, and one by one Croghan’s Indians were returning to their lodges.

  The English treated their scouts with such open disdain that the proud warriors left in anger. Soon, the army would lose its protective shield, and if the French became aware of it, they could strike Braddock while his column was strung and broken in the deep woods.

  Croghan asked for Rob’s help. The army was mired trying to move its heavy artillery and baggage forward. If Rob could come in June, it would be soon enough. If Sattelihu and Rob each scouted a flank while Croghan ranged ahead they might persuade the French and their allies that Braddock was alert to their scouting.

  At his evening fire Rob described his thoughts to Becky. If Braddock lost, there would be terrible war. Braddock was losing his scouting and so could be trapped and beaten. There were few on the frontier capable of matching an Indian in the forest. So, he was needed. Countering this argument was a single obstacle. He did not want to go!

  Becky wisely held her counsel, allowing her husband to reach his own decision, but she knew that but for her, Rob would help where he could. She thought he would decide to go to George Croghan’s aid. If she did not speak, and he never returned … would she forever damn her silence as cowardly? Yet, a request that he not go might stand between them forever, and that she could not stand. These thoughts would remain her private problems, and Rob would not be influenced by them.

  He rose and stood in the door staring into the darkness. Filling his own doorway, Rob looked so large and dominant that it was hard to imagine him lying dead from an arrow or ball in a distant mountain forest.

  He did not decide that evening, but she felt him lying awake and turning restlessly until shortly before dawn when he finally dropped into deep sleep. She believed he had chosen, and knowing her man, Becky resigned herself to their separation for the coming summer.

  — — —

  Military campaigns ended before winter set in and even with delays, Rob expected his part would be finished by September. He had planned to turn over his first fields during the summer and let the thick virgin sod break up during the winter months. That would have to wait.

  Thanks to the arrowhead business, Rob had money to buy things he might need, and his planting could be put off for another year. It was mainly his longing to begin developing his place that plagued him.

  Two months absence was tolerable, if it could quiet the frontier. Until that was done, not much could be accomplished anyway.

  Instead, he made charcoal. Always in short supply, charcoal was essential to his smithing. If Braddock settled the border troubles, Croghan would again be Indian trading, and Rob should also be getting customers from new white settlements.

  In May, hostiles had been reported as near as Robinson’s Fort, and Indian trade completely dried up. Rob rose one morning to see an Indian squaw come into view from the direction of the meadows. She wore the conventional wrap-around skirt and long blouse and carried a small pack. She seemed alone, and Rob cast about expecting to see her brave nearby.

  As she drew closer, Rob recognized Flat and hurried to meet her. His pleased greeting silenced as he saw tears welling in her eyes and, sensing her diffidence, fear for Shikee and his people rushed through him. He could imagine no happy circumstance that would bring Flat alone so far from home. He gathered her within his arms, called for Becky, and, taking her pack, hustled her to the house.

  Flat sat awkwardly, unaccustomed to chairs as Becky did her utmost to comfort the distraught squaw. Her story unfolded in bits. It was not as startling as Rob had feared, nor he supposed, particularly unusual. Shikee’s lodge had suffered a difficult winter. Without E’shan’s trade, Shikee had found it hard to provide for many mouths.

  In ordinary times, Fat and Flat would have found husbands following E’shan’s death, but the lodges had scattered, the beaver were gone, and men prepared for war. No hunters had come courting. Shikee made no complaint, but wolves had howled, and hunger had stalked the lodge.

  There were also too many women in the lodge. Red Bird had assumed her rightful place as the hunter’s woman, but there was constant bickering and disagreement. Fat and Flat had discussed their problem and decided that one of them
should leave the lodge of Shikee and seek shelter in the new house of his brother, Quehana, who had only one squaw and no children.

  They had chosen by throwing their sticks in the stream. Flat’s stick had fallen far behind, and she had packed her belongings and started for the Little Buffalo. Red Bird had begged her to stay, and Shikee had caught her a few miles along the trail. He, too, had asked that she return, but Flat resolved to return to Shikee’s lodge only if there were no place for her with Quehana.

  Rob translated Flat’s Delaware for Becky imagining the petty jealousies and bickerings carried on by the three women. E’shan had often said, “Go with two or go with many. Three squaws make only unhappiness.”

  As he translated, Rob tried to read Becky’s thoughts and was pleased by her obvious sympathy. How she would take to the idea of an Indian squaw living with them was another matter. He finished his translation, and the unasked question hung among them.

  Becky stomped her foot in exasperation. “Rob Shatto, don’t you dare think things like that about me!”

  “Huh?”

  “Flat is more than welcome here.” A bit vindictively, “Unless you do not want her to stay.”

  “Now Becky.”

  She put her arms around the older woman and said, “Now you tell Flat that she is part of our family and has a home with us as long as she wishes.”

  “All right, Becky!” Rob tried to sound surprised at Becky’s vehement acceptance of his old nurse, but his pleasure showed through. He placed his hand formally on Flat’s shoulder. “E’shan’s woman is welcome in the lodge of Quehana. Flat is Quehana’s sister.”

  Flat’s relief was plain, and Rob realized how empty her future must have seemed. Flat was no longer a young squaw. Indian women often aged quickly, and although very old squaws were known, many died quite young. He supposed Flat had been twenty-five or so when he had come to E’shan’s lodge back in 1749. That would make her at least thirty-one. She had been called Flat by all including E’shan for so long that Rob had to work at recalling her real name. He should never have told the irrepressible Shikee his secret names for the squaws, for Shikee had rushed to tell E’shan and the women themselves. Strangely, all seemed not only amused but flattered, and Fat and Flat were called nothing else thereafter. Rob thought the name no longer fit. Flat had filled into a strong stocky body and was no longer flat anyway.

  The two women were already gabbling together as Becky showed Flat the home. How they communicated in different tongues and across diverse cultures escaped Rob. He hoped Flat learned English quickly or all of his time would be spent translating. Flat had a rough trail ahead. Adjusting to white ways would be difficult.

  Rob felt a certain comfort in Flat’s presence. She tied his Indian life more closely to the present, and to Fat and Flat he owed his very life. She would be both a help and company for Becky. Flat’s presence strengthened his family, and he hoped that Shikee’s fared as well.

  23

  1755 - Braddock

  His new long rifle across his lap, Rob lounged against a tree. Thomas Reed had ordered the weapon from a Berk’s County maker, and Rob had found the piece to his liking. Far more accurate and much quicker to load, the rifle was far superior to his old Jaeger.

  Braddock’s army stumbled past on their crude road hacked from the virgin forest. Few of the overburdened infantry even saw his still figure beside the trail. Probably, the French troops were no better than English. He surely hoped not, for he had little confidence in the high-gaitered soldiery plodding ox-like they knew not where.

  Rob suspected that a few skilled woodsmen could pick off the hapless soldiers by simply withdrawing when they charged and closing again when they returned to the road. If it were not for Croghan and Sattelihu with their reduced bands of scouts, Indians friendly to the French would no doubt already be collecting the scalps of straggling grenadiers.

  After moving Becky and Flat to the safety of the Reed home, Rob had loped south to contact Braddock’s force. He heard the ring of axes and shouts of working men from afar. Expecting to find scouts between himself and the road-cutters, he approached with caution. No one intervened, and his appearance from the forest evoked little interest. Although the army, in terms of its worm-like progress, was still far from its objective, enemy warriors could easily reach the struggling column. Rob thought the situation lax and wondered where Croghan and Montour were with their scouts.

  He worked his way back along the hundreds of ax wielders and found the head of the military column resting along the road. He was directed further to the rear and found a group of braves, most of whom were Delaware, squatting in the shade of a chestnut grove. The warriors greeted Quehana with raised hands and grunted “Waughs.”

  Loud argument emanated from a field tent near the grove, and Rob recognized Sattelihu’s voice among others. Rob crouched with a number of braves he had long known. “E’shan said, ‘Loud voices in the lodge proclaim that the men are away.’“

  There was chuckling among the braves that stilled until a red-coated soldier had passed. A warrior said, “The red coats speak when they should listen.”

  Rob nodded agreement. “Is Croghan with Sattelihu?” He was, and Rob strode to the tent, followed by soft calls of Delaware encouragement.

  Rob was unsure of what went on within, but if he had come to be of service, Rob figured his place was within the council. There was no guard, and he swept the cloth fly aside and entered the tent.

  Conversation froze, and all eyes fell on him. A pair of red-coated officers were faced by three angry men. Croghan and Montour uttered pleased “Waughs” and gripped his hand. Sattelihu introduced the third man as Colonel Washington of the Virginia Militia.

  The Americans ignored the British until one rose, and Croghan hastened to introduce Rob to Major King-Gilbert of Braddock’s staff and his Majesty’s paymaster for the expedition. The haughty King-Gilbert barely acknowledged Rob’s presence as Croghan introduced the other soldier, and Rob found himself facing former Ensign, now Lieutenant Wheelwright. Wheelwright managed a nod and a sniff. Surprised by the man’s presence, Rob did little better.

  The heated discussion concerned payment for the warriors’ services. King-Gilbert insisted that payments at this time violated his Majesty’s regulations and no doubt if paid, the savages would disappear on the instant.

  Croghan and Washington argued that if the warriors were not paid regularly, they would drift away. The Indians expected regular payment for their scouting, and they explained that it was not Indian nature to look ahead.

  Rob and Sattelihu stood to the side, leaning on their long rifles and listening to the heated exchanges. Major King-Gilbert drew himself haughtily erect, but the taller Washington summoned his own imposing dignity, staring down his prominent nose, and King-Gilbert turned away.

  Unable to sway the paymaster’s stubborn adherence to regulation, the Americans fell silent. They stood uncowed but frustrated. Sattelihu attempted his own explanation of Indian ways, but cloaked by written regulation, the major remained adamant.

  Surprisingly, Lieutenant Wheelwright suggested that Mister Shatto give them his thoughts on the matter. Major King-Gilbert pointed his nose, and Rob found himself the focus of attention.

  Rob removed a hand from his rifle and gestured widely in the Indian manner. “I see only a small band of scouts. If there are no more, you cannot spare a single brave for there are already too few.”

  Croghan and Sattelihu “Waughed,” and Washington nodded agreement.

  “I have talked with the warriors. They say your soldiers have no eyes and walk like pregnant squaws. They are not sure that the English will win against the French, and who then will pay them? They say their women pine, and their lodges need hunters. They are poorly treated by the red coats, and they ask why they should stay. Major, I have no answers for them.”

  King-Gilbert flung his arms irritably. “Gentlemen, the King’s regulations simply do not allow …”

  Croghan interrupt
ed. “Major, it comes down to this. If’n ya don’t pay the Indians, they will leave. Me’n Montour have held ‘em as long as we can.”

  “You men assured me these Indians were loyal!”

  “An Injun is loyal to his friends. So far, these Indians ain’t been paid, and they’ve been sneered at by about every officer they’ve met. Might be they just ain’t sure who their friends be.”

  “Croghan, your Indians agreed to serve his Majesty until Fort Duquesne fell!”

  “Major, Fort Duquesne was supposed to have already fallen, and the way this here army is wallowin’, the warriors ain’t just sure it’s ever goin’ to fall.”

  Washington spoke up. “Major, could not scout payment be made “temporarily” from commissary funds under the condition that our scouts also hunt for the column when they can? Such an agreement would satisfy regulations, appease our Indians, and provide fresh meat for the common mess.”

  King-Gilbert swung to Lieutenant Wheelwright. “Ha, the first sensible suggestion we have encountered all day. What say you, Wheelwright? Would such an arrangement stand scrutiny by our accountants?”

  “Colonel Washington’s suggestion appears excellent, Major. An accountant might even see merit in securing wilderness rations without expending extra funds. Something for nothing, you might say, Sir.”

  Sitting by the roadside, Rob considered the meeting. It had resulted in keeping most of the warriors at hand, and, except for the arrogance of the English who insisted on treating the Indians with open disdain, other braves might have returned.

  With a dozen warriors under his lead, Croghan scouted ahead of the ax-men. Sattelihu and Rob each patrolled a flank with six Delaware. They scouted far or near as their instincts directed. An occasional brush with enemy scouts produced no casualties on either side but served warning that the column could not be approached without discovery. However, the shield was thin, and the frontiersmen recognized its inability to do more than give warning of nearby dangers.