Song of Blue Moccasin (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Youthful eyes grew round, and a boy uttered a soft "Waugh" of astonishment. Hearing, Quehana hung and sought their eyes. Then, he freed a hand, and without change of expression, flexed the single arm holding him so that one-handed, he rose, seemingly as easily as before, into a full chin. Quehana's hunting shirt strained at the bicep, and the swell of muscle stretched back and shoulders.

  Awed, the boys' mouths hung. Quehana lowered himself gently, and his hard features broke into a grin as boyish as their own. His teeth shone white, and his voice addressed them directly.

  "The warrior could chin two hands of times with either arm while gripping a great stone between his knees."

  Quehana nodded to assure them of the truth and dropped to turn is attention to the elders.

  Laughing, Esther shooed the children away. They fled, calling excitedly. Soon most were gathered beneath a tree limb where they vied, unsuccessfully to manage a one-handed chin.

  A man said respectfully, "Mighty is the strength of Quehana."

  Rob flexed his arm gingerly and answered, his expression rueful.

  "And lame will be the arm of Quehana who seeks to impress young boys."

  The people chuckled, more comfortable with Quehana who, after all, was much like themselves.

  8 Esther

  Esther Montour could read and write. Her spoken English was missionary correct. Yet, she and her sister Katherine had turned from white ways. The Montours preferred the freedoms of Indian society to the laced and limited confinements of English womanhood.

  Esther enjoyed being addressed as Madam Montour and was especially pleased by those who chose to call her Queen Esther. In white society, neither accolade would have been possible. Educated Indians were a curiosity among whites. In English/American civilization, they could be little more.

  With her quick, perhaps brilliant mind and ready understanding of white ways, Esther's opinions were valued. In ways a matriarchal society, the confederacy traced lineage through the female and placed women in positions of importance. Although her personality could be mercurial and was occasionally marked by bizarre behavior, families and individuals looked to Esther Montour for guidance.

  When her following grew large, Esther established her own village. As a sign of independence, her town lay outside the Iroquois gate at Tioga. Yet, Queen Esther spoke at Iroquois councils, and her place was recognized at fire circles. She ruled her village with uneven benevolence and gradually severed ties with the whites.

  Esther stood as tall as most men. She was broad shouldered and deep breasted. Thick and crow black, her hair when loosened fell to her thighs. Madam Montour laughed readily, rode astride her fine horses, and allowed no doubt about who ruled in Esther's Town.

  When only she, Blue Moccasin, and Quehana remained, Esther signaled her son to join them. Proud of her only boy, Esther groomed him for leadership and included the young man in discussions.

  Esther spoke in English. The choice surprised neither Quehana nor Blue Moccasin. Esther Montour preferred Indian ways, but her knowledge of the white world was thorough.

  Even in English, graceful Indian wording flavored Queen Esther's speech, and Rob thought the language better for it.

  "It has been long since I have visited the Little Buffalo, Rob."

  "A dozen years, Esther. Becky and Flat send their greetings."

  "What of your people? We have heard little."

  "Well, Flat is widowed. Will died naturally a ways back. Nothing new over at Robinson's. Robert came this way a summer or so back, didn't he?"

  "Perhaps five years ago."

  Rob was surprised. "Time gets away, lately."

  She turned to Blue Moccasin. "And look at you. I could believe that Blue Moccasin had never left the Endless Hills." Esther smiled almost sadly.

  "It is good to hear again the voice of the massage carrier. When you spoke the voice of Big Tree the Oneida, I could almost see him."

  "Big Tree has been with Washington this winter. He seeks to keep his people neutral."

  Esther murmured, "Big Tree is always neutral. His only decision has been to make none at all. If offered two foods, Big Tree would starve to death for his mind could not decide which to eat first."

  The men laughed, and Esther was pleased that her son joined in.

  Rob said, "Big Tree is careful, Esther, but he is not alone. Many wish to avoid the white's war. Red Jacket speaks against it, and he is not a peace lover."

  "Red Jacket." Esther's voice held surprising disdain."

  Blue asked, "Are not the words of Red Jacket welcome at the fire circle?"

  "They are heard but not listened to. Joseph Brant says the time is ripe to strike whites and drive them from our borders."

  "Joseph Brant's belly is raw with hatred. His pain blinds his thinking."

  "Tell him that when you visit Oquaga, Blue Moccasin. He should be there this moon."

  Rob put in. "Oh, Blue will tell him, Esther, but when you are weighing war words, give thought to whether Brant or James Cummens would likely know the most and choose the wisest."

  Esther chose to change the subject.

  "Do your many ships still sail, James?"

  "Yes, though not to ports held by the English. They are quick to appropriate cargoes and are not above claiming a ship, if it suits them."

  "You side with the rebels? Will not the British hear of your journey among the Iroquois? Will they not be waiting with chains for your return?"

  Blue's eyes danced. "If I sided with the rebels, Queen Esther, my businesses in Philadelphia would be confiscated. If I decried the rebel cause, those in rebellion would take the businesses when they reoccupy the city. I dance among fires, Esther. Where my sympathies lie each must guess. Here, I speak only of peace for my people."

  Esther spoke sincerely. "Young men need the tempering of the warpath, Blue Moccasin. Would you deny them that right?"

  "The warpath of old has lost its way, Esther. Whites do not honor the coup of touching an enemy. Whites do not withdraw to dance victory about a great fire. Whites wipe away their blood and plod ahead. Behind them come more whites until they are like bees on honey. To them, war becomes a business without joy and almost without end.

  "That is not the warpath we have known."

  Esther's son was disdainful. "We could burn every cabin south to Shamokin and reclaim the land as Iroquois."

  Esther gazed fondly on her man-child, but Rob shook his head in discouragement.

  "If warriors drove off every settler it would accomplish nothing. Others would come. They would have more guns. With them would march armed companies and probably entire armies. Again and again the warriors might win, but they would grow fewer, and the whites ever more numerous."

  Blue took up the argument. "Was this not so even when the Iroquois League formed? Did not the Susquehannoc fight bravely until the Iroquois numbers surrounded their forts and rolled like a sea across their land? Did not the Delaware fight until they became too few to find each other?

  "The many can lose each battle because among them deaths do not matter. The few weaken with every death until they no longer stand. Then the many take what they wish, and the few can only weep in their defeat."

  Neither Montour appeared convinced. They saw the Iroquois with thousands of warriors supported by English powder and guns. Surely they could sweep away the white planters without serious loss. Then the league could extract treaties that would create empty lands as buffers between whites and Indians-to end the ceaseless encroachments of whites on Indian borders.

  To North America, Europe pumped her excess people in increasing numbers. In search of land, the newcomers marched to the frontiers. Acre by acre they devoured Indian land. Fighting could flare and new treaties could be drawn, but still the whites would come. Shatto and Cummens knew this as surely as they knew the sun would rise, but to convince almost savages that it would happen might not be possible.

  James Cummens knew that the tribes' only hope for survival lay in villages, f
ields, and cattle-like Esther's Town, settlements that were as solid and permanent as any white village. Against them, the whites could not progress. Taking empty land was acceptable. Claiming cornfields adjoining village squares could not be.

  The Iroquois should occupy their borders, fill the valleys with corn planters and raisers of hogs, cows, and horses. Leave no land for picking, and the whites would be shunted aside. Empty lands should lie in the Iroquois heartland beyond easy discovery by whites, not on the borders. Blue Moccasin saw the vision, and he would proclaim it.

  Against him stood great adversaries: the excitement of battle and the hunger for vengeance. Too long had the Iroquois suffered abuse and embarrassment as whites arrogantly claimed Indian land and immediately closed those holdings to all red men.

  Hot blood boiled and usually cooler minds heated. The young listened for the challenges of battle as sung in honored songs. War's realities had touched few in decades, and even those who had known had almost forgotten the agonies.

  Quehana listened to the discussion, but let Blue Moccasin carry the weight of it.

  If Blue could not convince Queen Esther, what were his chances with the chiefs at Onondaga? About like those of a fish in a skillet, Rob feared.

  But, Blue was right. He had to try.

  9 Tioga

  Tioga, the southernmost Seneca stronghold lay only a few miles beyond Esther's Town. The path between rivaled the Baltimore Pike. Broad and level, bordered by fields and meadows, the road forded the Chemung River near its confluence with the Susquehanna. A large eel dam above the ford channeled water and allowed easy crossing. Upstream, the dam created deeper water, and canoes were beached on both banks.

  Tree markings were abundant, some so ancient that bark grew across the wounds. A number were fresh, vermilion painted, and were executed by the same hand. They showed broken and crushed whites with red warriors dancing.

  At Esther's insistence, a runner had gone ahead to announce the approach of Blue Moccasin and Quehana.

  Blue grumbled, "A runner to announce a runner."

  "Isn't it often so?"

  "The excitement will be gone before my words are heard."

  "The presence of Quehana will hold excitement."

  Blue Moccasin rolled his eyes at his friend. "Quehana might enter discussions more vigorously, instead of showing muscles to children."

  Rob was undisturbed. "You impress the elders. I will enjoy the children."

  "We are here on a mission, Quehana."

  "You are on a mission, oh Moccasin. I am present to remember the ways of my youth, to look upon familiar faces-and to amuse the children."

  Rob could see Blue's teeth gritting.

  An entourage of uninvited followers accompanied the travelers to Tioga. Some chose the occasion to visit relatives and friends. Others wished to observe the festivities in the larger town.

  Rob said, "With this crowd along you won't be able to tell the same stories, Blue. Do you have any left?"

  "Of course, and it is good these show interest. They will repeat my words of yesterday and return to their village to announce those of today. So the song of Blue Moccasin will spread."

  They asked about the warlike tree paintings and were told of a youth, crippled in a fall, who had taken the name of Paint Pot. A clever artist, the youth displayed messages desired by important personages. Of late, Paint Pot had been increasingly employed by Gu-Cinge, who was eager to gain advantage from white warring.

  Rob nodded awareness. "Gu-Cinge was fidgety the last time I saw him, Blue." Of their informant he asked, "Is Gu-Cinge nearby?"

  Gu-Cinge, the man thought, was at Chemung, but if he received word, the war leader might come quickly to them.

  "You ready for the hot ones, Blue?"

  "The sooner the better, Quehana. Sap runs strongest in the spring. If there is to be trouble, it will come quickly."

  Tioga lay on rising ground. Land was cleared from river to hills, and women were busy in the fields. Cattle grazed in pastures, and Rob was impressed by their numbers. Beside the trail a stone enclosure held hogs that appeared fat and healthy. Blue wrinkled his nose at their stink.

  "So, civilization sweetens the forest air."

  Rob's mouth quirked, but his voice held respect. "Look at the place, Blue. Decent cabins and horses for riding. Hell there's a pair of oxen plowing."

  Blue Moccasin's expression was quizzical.

  "Did you expect the deer hunters of old? Game could not support the Iroquois as they are now penned. Hunters still roam, but planters are numerous. Vegetables, cows, and pigs feed more mouths than do deer and turkeys."

  "Well, seeing it is different than hearing. I can follow your reasoning better now. If the tribes were to cover their borderlands with villages like this, they really could crimp white crowding.

  "The idea is not mine, Quehana. Long Knife proposed it for Pontiac's council, but no one listened. Perhaps the time for such planning is finally here."

  A major village, Tioga boasted powerful leaders in numbers. Most were present to greet the visitors. The council formed in the open, for the day was warm. Villagers came to chatter among themselves or to visit with those from Esther's Town.

  Among the people of Tioga, there was warmth and expectation. They gathered to see names honored in stories and to hear news of other places. Yet, among the leaders, Rob detected reserve. Eyes were thoughtful and too often looked away. Quehana sensed no hostility, only unspoken resistance to the message Blue Moccasin was expected to deliver.

  Of course, the leaders knew Blue Moccasin's direction. Runners from Esther's Town had certainly repeated Blue's words to them, even as Madam Montour entertained on her porch.

  Rob suspected that few leaders would agree with the arguments of Blue Moccasin. Minds were nearly closed and the hatchet was held closer than the pipe. Differing opinions were unsettling, and many did not wish to hear them.

  A speaker's mound had been raised at the council circle. It lifted the message giver above the assemblage so all could see. Among a people of many tongues, hand signs accompanying words could be important for understanding.

  Tioga was a Seneca village, and Blue Moccasin's command of that language was not complete. His hand and body motions would complement his voice. A mixture of many languages would assist his word pictures.

  An accomplished dream weaver, Blue Moccasin empathized with his people as few could. Once, his youthful buoyancy had allowed flagrant violations of expected courtesies and respects. He had been able to tweak the noses of the self-important and puncture the facades of the overly pompous-to the entertainment of all. Even those most deeply stung could somehow enjoy it.

  Now, the Moccasin was an elder. His opinions bore weight. How a council would respond remained in doubt.

  Blue stepped to the speaker's mound. His eyes swung slowly across his audience. This time, there was no humor, only an intensity that demanded attention. His concentration of purpose snapped silent the tongues of even the most distant.

  Slowly the speaker's arms rose until one aimed like a lance at his listeners. The other curled above his head, and that fist clenched as though crushing stone. An internal force appeared to swell Blue's body and suffuse his form with a nearly visible aura of naked power. The eyes of Blue Moccasin became slits of steel, and his features hardened into a bitter mask. When words came forth they were a hiss of barely controlled rage, a whisper of sound that somehow reached even the farthest. Menace dripped within the voice, shocking the minds of all.

  The voice was that of The Warrior as few had heard it but instantly known to all who had listened to the honored tales.

  "I am The Warrior. I am The Iroquois. To my enemies I bring death. Live or die-you choose now!"

  The raw fury of The Warrior's voice chilled as much as the words. A baby began to cry and others joined in. Terrible had been the voice. Did it roar like the bear, snarl like the panther, or hiss like a snake? Few would agree, but all suffered a fear so primal none could ignore
it.

  Slowly the tension left the speaker's body. His form seemed reduced and again that of an elder of many seasons. Features softened and arms lost their dramatic rigidity.

  Solemnly, the speaker nodded, as though personally acknowledging the intensity of the moment. He shook himself, almost as a dog shakes water, and became again Blue Moccasin, bearer of important knowledge.

  The performance was remarkable. Rob Shatto was as awed as the people of Tioga. For the moment he had known again the terrible presence of the Iroquois' unmatchable killer. Blue Moccasin's apparent transformation had seemed as complete as his change had been from white merchant to Indian message carrier. The absent years had not shallowed Blue's abilities. A glance proved that even the sour faces of the council shone with excitement. Powerful was the skill of Blue Moccasin.

  When he again spoke, Blue's features assumed a calm but determined set. Listeners sensed the seriousness of his thoughts.

  "So The Warrior spoke, a generation past to any who opposed him. None could stand against The Warrior. All who tried were defeated. Most died swiftly, but some suffered only defeat and returned alive to their lodges. The Warrior fought for the honor of his people and took no joy in the act of killing."

  Blue moved closer on the speaker's mound, and eyes followed as minds gripped his words.

  "But, The Warrior is gone. Did a band of killers strike with a hundred lances? Did many guns fire into his single form? Did a greater champion appear to count coup on our mightiest of fighters?"

  Blue's voice shook with internal sorrow. "No, none could touch The Warrior in battle. Instead, a sickness, the black puking sickness of the white man, devoured his body. Yes, even the perfect warrior could not live with the poisons of whites souring his soul. Gone is The Warrior, taken by evils so secret none can guard against them."