30th of Eleventh Month, 1763
Today the Knowlton family came by in their wagon, on their way to the safety of Philadelphia.
Papa was away in the field. Mr. Knowlton said that when he comes home, he should pack us up and follow. The Delaware attacked another family last night, scalping all, even a two-year-old boy.
Mother raised her voice in anger. “I despise them! I despise them for bringing such terror down upon us!” she said.
Thomas, Eliza, and Baby Will all started to cry, and I took them inside and tried to divert them, until Papa came home.
After he comforted Mother, I followed him out to the woodpile where he had begun to cut logs.
“What is God saying to thee now?” I asked.
“The Almighty urges us not to fear rumors, Caty. The Almighty even urges us not to place the bar on our door tonight.”
I was so alarmed I was near tears. But Papa insists we must show confidence rather than fear. We must prove to the Indians that we trust them. We must not even draw the shutters!
So now our door is unlocked and our shutters are wide open, and everyone sleeps but me. I anxiously keep watch, “like a sparrow alone on the housetop.”
Papa believes a plain act of trust will save us. But I believe he is trif ling with our safety, and I am angry like Mother. Truly I am.
4th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Papa still does not lock the door. But Mother has exerted her will and not allowed Thomas and me to walk to school the last several days, for she fears we will be captured along the way. The path we take is over a mile long and much of it through lonely fields and forests, with no farm in sight.
So Thomas helped Papa stock the woodpile today while I fed the chickens. I try to have Papa’s faith, but I confess I jumped whenever the tree branches rattled in the wind or shadows shifted.
5th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Today I helped Papa, Cousin Ezra, and Thomas bind the sheaves and pile the hay. I stopped often and stared at the fields. It being foggy, I thought once that I actually saw figures creeping through the corn rows.
I rushed to Papa and reported what I saw. He became cross when I pointed to the empty fog and asked me why I have so little faith.
Now in the dark, I hear every acorn and hickory nut that falls upon the roof, and I think, Are Indians surrounding us?
I hear a creak of the ladder steps, and my scalp tingles. Is one now climbing to the loft with a hatchet?
I am fearful this will be my last night on Earth. But I am doubly fearful because my fear is not pleasing to God or Papa.
6th of Twelfth Month, 1763
I am still much frightened. But Papa seemed forgiving of my fear today and kindly told me to stay in the house and help Mother tend Baby Will.
Thomas has a toothache. Mother boiled corn-meal and milk, placed the gruel in a cloth, and pressed the hot poultice against his cheek.
Eliza is well now. We sat by the fire and I showed her how to string the dried pumpkin. Then we sat in the doorway, bathed by the golden light of the sunset, and I taught her to shuck corn. For a four-year-old, her fingers are unusually quick and nimble.
During daily devotions, Papa read Psalm 23 to bolster our courage, so that we will all fear no evil.
Still I prayed tonight he would put the bar on the door. But I think he has not.
7th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Everything was apples today. Mother, Eliza, and I made applesauce and apple butter and hung strings of apples to dry from the kitchen rafters.
Writing by the dim light of my candle, I still smell apples. The sweet scent rises from the dark downstairs and makes me feel unafraid — especially as I just heard Papa put the bar on the door. Hurrah!
8th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Cool and windy. Thomas and I piled corn high in the corncrib for the animals’ winter food.
Silas Jones came to our farm. He shall accompany Papa and Cousin Ezra to the Meeting House tomorrow to discuss the problem concerning the Indians.
After dinner Mother and I carded wool before the fire. Thomas made a corn husk doll for Eliza. Papa and Silas Jones talked about taking a trip to Philadelphia someday to see the Governor and discuss fair treatment for the Indians. They wish the English would make a formal land treaty with the Indians and, for once, honor all of its terms.
Before bed, Papa led us in prayer. He asked God to help us exert ourselves more to protect our red brothers, to wipe the tears from their eyes, and to comfort their aff licted hearts.
A bitter wind is leaking through the rafters. Soon the darkest day of the year will be upon us. I pray that the roaming Indian attackers have returned to their villages near the Susquehanna and now sit by their own fires with their own families.
Let there be no more fear and trembling, on either side.
10th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Fog on the fields early morning. But it was a sunny day. Mother and I baked all day and Thomas made candles.
Good news! Our prayers have been answered. Papa and Cousin Ezra and Silas Jones came back from the Meeting House this afternoon and announced that the valley is safe again.
A delegation of our Moravian neighbors has visited a council of the Delaware and reports that the Indians say they shall no longer attack white settlements, though they are still grieved over the recent encroachments on their land.
Mother was so relieved that she made a big dinner of ham, beans, squash, corncakes, and apple pie. And she said that Thomas and I could return to school tomorrow.
I pray the Indian scare has banished Jess Owen’s memory of my stupid remark about his “impudent tongue.” My face still reddens when I think of it. I must force myself to speak new words to him — to wipe away the stain of the old.
11th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Today Jess Owen smiled at me as if my words had been completely forgotten. Then he boldly stated that he had missed me. And I answered, “I, thee.”
I cannot believe I said that. “I, thee!” He must think I am the most daring girl in the country. He must think I am ready to marry him.
We studied how to divide the long numbers today and good news — I understand it! I have been afraid of this task for a very long time. I once peeked ahead at some problems in Master Collins’s sum-book, and I nearly fainted — I saw trillions divided by billions!
But now the dreaded lesson has come and gone, and I am no longer afraid of dividing the long numbers. This is one of God’s tender mercies, I suppose.
But—I, thee! How I dislike my impudent tongue.
19th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Weather raw and cold. We begin Christmas baking tomorrow. Over forty people shall come to our farm after Monthly Meeting, including Jess Owen with his mother and father. He will see me in my own house, with my family — and I will be frozen with nerves and embarrassment. Thus I am dreading the Holy Day. My vanity causes me to neglect its divine meaning.
Worse still, I yearn for a blue ribbon to wear when he comes. Only I would not want him to think I was wearing it for him. Not ever.
24th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Industrious days. We peeled turnips and potatoes. We baked johnnycakes, sweet biscuits, six loaves of bread, pumpkin pudding and squash pudding, and eight pumpkin pies. We grated corn and stewed dried apples. Then we cleaned candlesticks, churned butter, scrubbed, and scoured. Blessedly, I have been too busy to worry about Jess Owen — and now I am too weary.
25th of Twelfth Month, 1763
At first the sun shone unseasonably warm. Then it grew cooler, and the sky turned gray. By mid-afternoon, after Meeting, it was quite cold, and puffy snow clouds gathered.
As the carriages arrived, I tended a pack of little ones in the big field. We played tag, then flew Thomas’s kite.
I was racing across the grass, trying to make the kite soar, when I saw Jess Owen arrive with his kin. He had that “touch of a smirk” smile on his face. It was enough to make me lose all restraint and run like a wild ho
rse — in the opposite direction. For joy and fear I ran through the cold air, urging the little ones on.
Though Eliza called for me to slow down, I could not rein in my high feelings. So I kept going till I ran into the forest, and the kite was caught by the trees.
Thomas called for Jess to untangle the string.
While Jess climbed a tall oak, I escaped and ran back to scoop up Baby Will and the little Collins girl. I took them to the swing near the barn where I started pushing them madly.
Finally the dinner bell rang. I carried the babies to the spring and washed all the little hands presented to me. Inside, at the table, forty Friends were gathered around three wooden tables, and I myself was seated across from Jess Owen!
I could not look at him face-to-face, so I stared with uncommon interest at my sweet potatoes, corn, and roasted turkey.
It may have seemed to him that I was lost in myself. But in truth, I was lost to myself. Completely. I could not find even the simplest thought to share.
I thought the night would never end. But gradually the guests gathered their things to leave. As Jess and his parents started to go, he came near me and wished me a blessed Christmas. “I hope the New Year fares well with thee,” he said.
“I wish the same for thee,” I said.
“The New Year will be fine — if thee is a part of it,” he said.
“Thee is kind,” I said.
Then he climbed into his carriage, and as they drove off, it started to snow. I think for once I said the right thing.
My candle burns in the dark while the wind gently swirls the snow against the window.
Thank you, dear Almighty, for this perfect night and for the birth of Thy son, Jesus Christ, our Lord.
27th of Twelfth Month, 1763
Rain mixed with snow. A sad, swampy day.
At candlelight, Reverend Beckwell from the Moravian fort knocked on our door. He told Papa that yesterday a mob party had presented itself to the Conestoga Indians at Lancaster and threatened to murder them on the spot if they did not leave. The mob was revenging the deaths of the settlers in Eleventh Month.
These Indians, however, were innocent of those crimes. In fact, they were all Christians. Nevertheless, all of them, women and children included, were forced to quickly remove themselves from their camp. They even left behind their harvest.
30th of Twelfth Month, 1763
The Reverend wants Papa and other Quaker Friends to ride to Lancaster tomorrow and help protect the frightened Indians on their sad march to Philadelphia.
We passed the Sabbath in much silence and prayer. When Papa began to read, “The Lord preserveth all them that love Him,” he stopped and could not read further. I think his heart especially aches for the little Indian children.
For the first time in weeks, I am anxious again that the Indians might attack us. I do not want to lose the victory I have so recently gained: the triumph over my terrors. I pray passionately for peace for all.
4th of First Month, 1764
This rainy night is as dismal and black as my heart. Before Papa and others could go help the Indians at Lancaster, terrible news was reported to the Moravians. As the tribe prepared to flee to safety, a drunken party of white men returned and reviled them. Though the Indians begged for mercy, the mob murdered them, the small children included.
All day Papa was so sorrowful he could barely speak. His strong feelings afflicted us all. After a cold dinner, Mother made me take Eliza and Thomas up to the loft early, so she and Papa could be alone.
Eliza was tired and went to sleep quickly. But I heard Thomas sniffling, and I lit the candle.
I asked why he was crying, and he said he wept for the persecution of the Christian Indian babies, and he wished Papa was not unhappy and everyone would be safe.
I told him to close his eyes and find a calm place within himself. Then I stroked his damp, brown hair until he breathed peacefully in sleep.
Comforting Thomas has served to comfort me.
6th of First Month, 1764
At Meeting today, Papa broke the silence.
He told the Friends that the Indians have trusted the white men and we have forsaken them. He reminded them of William Penn and his great friendship with the Delaware. Papa recalled that a Delaware chief once said: Whenever Quakers are nearby, the Indians sleep in peace. The Indians have thought themselves happy in their friendship with us.
But now, the backwoodsmen are destroying the red men with liquor and smallpox and murder. There are many who believe the Indian has no more soul than a buffalo. Even many Quaker Friends think of them as “savages.” (Indeed, I have even heard Mother call them such.) Drunken murderers have fired and burnt to the ground Indian village after Indian village. Why can the Governor not try harder to protect the innocent? It is truth we must strive for, Papa said, not victory.
Papa’s voice shook, causing some Friends to stir. I believe he may have spoken with too much anger for their taste.
I pray that we will not be sent to school tomorrow. Could the slaughter of the Indians cause some to rise against us? Could bands of warriors be planning now to swoop down and avenge those who were murdered?
Perhaps at this moment, an Indian in the forest spies upon me and sees me write by candle. Perhaps he sees me mouth a prayer: “Examine me, O Lord, and prove me. Try my reins and my heart.”
Sadly, I am more frightened than ever. I must blow out my light.
7th of First Month, 1764
Dear God, save us. We are captured.
8th of First Month, 1764
Dear Papa, I hope these words will find thee. My captors stare coldly as I write.
9th of First Month, 1764
Papa, one grabbed my diary from me and showed it to the other three. They studied it, then returned it to me.
Now I tremble, but write quickly to explain. On the way to school four painted Indians came out of bushes. One caught me. Another caught Thomas and threw him across his shoulder.
Thomas fought. When he fell to the ground, I screamed at him to run. Two Indians chased after him, and all disappeared into woods.
Other two dragged me away.
Time Lost
Both Indians are painted red and black and have shaved heads. One seems quite old, but his grip is strong, and I cannot fight him.
Papa, I scribble a few words. Have lost track of days. I am so frightened I cannot think. I only obey them like a slave.
I write when I can, Papa. One day blends into the next. Now we are camped under a cliff. The old one tries to give me roasted meat. I choke and vomit. If they scalp or burn me alive, I pray God take my soul quickly. God save Thomas wherever he is.
Papa, Thomas is with me now. They brought him to our camp at dawn. I held him tight and told him to be strong. Holding him gives me strength. But strength for what? Our execution and torture? Where are we going? Help us, God.
I write whenever they sleep or are otherwise occupied. Only twice have they caught me — and then they seemed more curious than angry. They pointed to my book and spoke to one another, then let me alone.
Thomas is silent with shock, Papa. I gnaw my tongue in anguish. I fear they will kill him if he remains aff licted.
Papa, all day I gripped Thomas’s hand and willed him to walk. He never spoke, except for whimpers.
What day is it now? I have lost all track of time.
We camped in a clearing. The old man made a shelter of boughs while others hunted. I do not know where we are. Or where they are taking us. Is it even the same day as when last I wrote?
Will they murder us in a savage ceremony? I am so horrified, I am numb, Papa.
The Indians caught a deer, skinned it, and roasted it over the fire. Still unable to eat or speak, Thomas fell into a fitful sleep. It was good he slept and did not see what happened next. Two Indians took bloody scalps from a bag. They dried them and scraped them by the fire. They must have scalped victims on their hunt.
I vomited.
At
dawn, I could not get Thomas to stand. The Indians stared hard at him — except for the old man who seems not to hear or see us. I whispered urgently, “Thee must stand. Stand for Papa, Mother, Baby Will, Eliza. They want thee to stand.” When he stood and walked, I felt a horrible guilt, for I cannot promise him that he will ever see thee again.
We traveled footpaths all day, then camped under a rock shelter. They tried to feed us corn-meal, but neither of us could eat. We are cold and weak now. I think we will die soon, Papa.
Thomas lived through the night, but is very feeble. At dawn, he looked at me with hollow eyes. With all the might of God, I willed him to walk in front of me over the narrow path. Over and over, I whispered, “Thee must walk for Papa.”
The Indians watch Thomas like hawks. If he drops, I fear they will scalp him.
Thomas fell and lay lifeless. One Indian walked toward him with a hatchet. I screamed and threw myself over his body. I told them they must kill me first.
The old Indian looked at me with keen interest. He spoke to others, then crouched before Thomas and whispered to him.
Thomas opened his eyes and smiled. I think he was half-insane.
But the old Indian smiled back. He fed Thomas cornmeal from his pouch. Then he picked him up and put him over his shoulder and carried him.
The other three followed, and I came last, trembling and wiping tears.
Now all sleep. A wolf howls beyond our fire light. Lord, bear me up for the sake of Thomas.
Dear America: Standing in the Light Page 2
