Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  "We lived as well as might be expected, owning not even the spot where we slept nor the beach where we hauled our fishing craft. On the Isle of Mann, as in most places, all the land is claimed by the few, but we were not a grasping family, and we were content with our place in the order of things.

  "My good wife, Ann, is of a powerful family. On the Isle, to be one of the great, a man's name must end in 'ish,' and Ann's name was Brodish, one of the strongest and most unforgiving of the wealthy families.

  We courted, and in the face of her family's anger, slipped away to marry in England and attempt a new life-until the Brodish calmed and we could return."

  Ratherbone sighed, and Ann held more tightly to his arm, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

  "But, it was not to be. The Brodish sent men to bring Ann away. Twice I fought them, but others came. We took ship for this colony and began our settlement near Philadelphia. We believed that even the Brodish would not follow across the ocean width, but their men have come. We know of three, and there may be more.

  "So, we packed our few things, and traveling alone we've come to this place. I cannot conceal myself, but Ann has remained within the wagon and few have seen her. Perhaps the Brodish hired men will not find us."

  Ratherbone Wylie's shoulders lumped with some despair, "But they are persistent men, and they will not receive their full reward until they return with Ann."

  They sat quietly mulling Ratherbone's words. Robert Robinson broke their thoughts. Slapping his palm against his knee, "Alright, let's go find 'em and kill all three!"

  Astounded, the Wylies stared openmouthed at the determined young man. Samuel Robinson paid no attention, but George Robinson stirred a bit irritably at Robert's outburst.

  He smiled a trifle grimly at the Wylies. "Robert tends toward strong actions, my friends, but he's yet to do more violence than wrestle and thump with others so minded."

  He turned a raised eyebrow to the unchastened Robert, "I think we'll not start shooting just yet, Robert. Try to contain yourself until there's no other choice."

  Turning again to Ratherbone, "Of course, you've not requested our aid, and in fact, may not desire it." He held Wylie's eyes with his own and continued, "But you helped without question and for that alone, the Robinsons are in your debt."

  Ratherbone placed his arm about his wife's shoulders and spoke more than a little grimly.

  "We are truly near the end of our tether. Ahead is a frontier where people are few, yet all will be known. We'd thought to lose ourselves in the wilderness, but we have no experience, and we are ill-equipped."

  He paused, and spoke as though in an aside. "We hope there is help for a son of a widow and an orphan."

  George and Robert started slightly, and Samuel's gaze turned thoughtful. George's hand hesitated near his chest and Ratherbone made an answering gesture. Robert whistled through his teeth, making a pleased sound, and Samuel said, "Guess we'll think of somethin' won't we, George?"

  "We'll think of something, Sam, and we'll make it work!"

  George rose, again taking charge.

  "Ratherbone, let Robert harness your animal and drive for your missus. You ride with us while we worry out some sort of plan. Fact is, I've a thought or two that might turn the trick."

  The wagons ground their lurching way west over an increasingly poor trace. The Robinson wagon led, while Robert nursed the Wylie's weary cart over and around the worst obstacles.

  George chose to be silent, apparently developing his scheme, and as Ratherbone had suspected, Samuel was untalkative by nature. He could hear Robert's mouth running like a floodgate back behind and reckoned Ann would be pleased by the attention and different talk.

  It was wondrous that he was just letting himself be led off by George Robinson, a total stranger. The man could be planning on turning him over to the Brodish men, but he didn't think it for a minute. A fellow Mason could be trusted, but he was getting anxious to know just where they were heading. He was about to ask when George turned to him.

  "A lot of people know things about Masonry that ain't Masons, you know."

  Ratherbone nodded, "Surely that's so. In my own case, my people have always been lodge members, although I've not had the time or opportunity to begin the chairs myself."

  He extended his hand, and George took it, exchanging the proper grip. Satisfied, George concentrated on his driving for a long moment, and then as though anticipating Ratherbone's question, "We're heading on west, up against the Blue Mountain. My father and uncles have land there. The Robinsons've been building along Manada Creek, though some call it Monday Creek, and there's a lot of us."

  The latter brought a grunt of concurrence from the taciturn Samuel, which evoked a chuckle from George himself.

  "And that's where my plan begins.

  "Now as you will see along about sundown tomorrow, assuming both these wagons don't rattle loose, we'll come onto our place and you will see Robinsons from bare-butted bairns to white-haired old grandmothers all milling around our settlement. Fact is, there are so many of us that we even get mixed up over who's who. There's so many we've an old joke about dividing up the kids once every year or so."

  He waited awhile, letting Ratherbone absorb the picture, "Now you've already established that you're James Robinson at that tavern. Suppose you just keep it that way? Happens you look more like us than some real Robinsons do. Our people will go along, and I can't see any way those men chasing you are going to pick you out."

  Ratherbone thought about it, seeing that it could work, and trying to figure if there was any way the Brodish men could identify them.

  George went on, plainly working out the plan as he talked. "We'll get your horse off the place. Trade him north to Indians would be best, and we'll change the wagon around some so it'll look different.

  "You can settle in with Mary and me till you get your own place under roof, and you'll be James Robinson to everybody that knows us.

  "Sam'll tell you that we all go around telling everybody we're brothers as it is. Seeing we all look alike, it saves a lot of explaining about cousins and uncles and just confusing everybody. Why, adding one more brother won't hardly even be noticed."

  They settled it by the evening cook fire with Robert executing his idea of an Iroquois war dance, and Ann kissing George's cheek in thanks and hugging the older Samuel until his cheeks turned rosy.

  Ratherbone crawled into his place beneath the wagon bed with Ann snuggled up like a spoon tight against him and recognized that he was feeling about as good as he had felt since the night he and Ann had first been together. He stroked her thigh with loving affection and felt her breath warm on his neck.

  The Robinson clearing was a memorable sight. Manada Gap in the Blue Mountain lay close by, and the mountain barrier rose high over cleared fields and stump pocked meadows. Cabins dotted clearing edges and a cluster of log structures formed a small village along a creek bank. Outbuildings were numerous, peppering the wood borders with sheds, sties, and coops.

  Field workers paused to shade their eyes and study the approaching wagons, and as they neared the village of huts, a cloud of barefoot children descended upon them. The barefooted mob, numbering in the dozens, squealed and shrieked around the Robinson wagon, and Ratherbone reckoned he'd never seen the like of it. Yellow-topped children crowded in all sizes. A sea of blue eyes enveloped them, and beside him on the wagon seat, Ann clapped her hands in pleased excitement.

  Still surrounded by milling children, they slowed to stop before a cabin boasting a second story and, as they stepped down, Ratherbone saw with some surprise that Samuel was the main attraction.

  The dour, older man, carrying a stout wooden box, worked his way through the frantic mob to a high stump left nearby. Seating himself, he looked somberly over his expectant audience until they grew silent. Opening his box, he drew forth a long paper cone and from it picked a marble sized sugar bit. Sucked in breaths and clutched hands rewarded him. He examined the morsel soberly
and made as though to put it into his own mouth. Then, as though for the first time noticing the entranced throng of small people, he chose one and popped the sugary goody into a ready mouth.

  Chaos reigned. Children rushed and shoved to get closer, and Samuel held the paper cone high to save it.

  Watching, George grunted half in disgust, "Sam does this every time. They surely love him for it, but it's me and Robert that have to straighten 'em all out."

  Together, the two men waded into the frenzied pack, pushing and shoving the golden heads into some sort of order. Eventually they created a squirming, wriggling line that passed before the seated Samuel to offer an open mouth as though receiving some sort of border country communion. Robert good-naturedly stood at the end of the line warding off the clever ones that tried for a second chance.

  Suddenly Samuel's cone was empty, and many were still in the line. Quiet descended, and mouths turned down in disappointment as Samuel turned the empty cone upside down. A few cried to "Papa Sam" in despair, and frowning rather hopelessly, Samuel looked into his wooden box. He looked and looked, as though the box was as big as a cabin.

  At the end of the line, Robert snickered at the show and swapped a grin with Ratherbone.

  Then Samuel saw something. He peered closer and reaching in (fumbling about for an interminable period), his hand appeared with a second sugar cone. The squealing and jumping resumed until the last small face had been filled.

  Following the children, Robert stood before the stump with his mouth open. Samuel examined him suspiciously, then with a sigh, reached into his cone for a bit, only quick as a wink his other hand crammed the empty paper cone into Robert's open mouth staggering the young man a step and causing gleeful shouting among the still hopeful children.

  The candy giving had taken time, and grownups had gathered to see the fun and greet the travelers. George drew Ratherbone and Ann beside him. He introduced them as his brother, James Robinson, and his wife Ann, then began rattling off male and female Robinson names at a rate impossible to remember.

  If any of the genuine Robinsons harbored reservations about James Robinson's pedigree, none showed it. They called him James and welcomed him and his wife Ann to their community.

  — — —

  In 1728, with hopes for a better life, Thomas Robinson had departed Northern Ireland for William Penn's new land. To ensure a proper living, he brought along six strong sons.

  As true Scotch-Irish, the Robinsons pushed to the furthest frontier and, with Penn's conclusion of the first walking purchase in 1737, arrived at Manada Creek at the base of Blue Mountain on the very border of Iroquois land.

  Thomas Robinson had since gone to his heavenly abode, and the main Robinson group encamped on the elder son's land. Other Robinsons scattered, but none too far.

  As the eldest son, Philip Robinson served informally as clan leader, but as the families multiplied, his hold, tenuous at best, altered to that of worthy advisor. Except in matters dealing with the land itself, which after all belonged to Philip, the sons and grandsons acted much as they wished.

  It was a bustling, half-wild but clannish community that accepted James Robinson and Goodwife Ann. The Robinson mothers drew Ann to their bosoms, commiserating over her lack of children to bring contentment and offering embarrassingly intimate advice and potions to correct the lamentable condition.

  The men of the Blue Lodge examined, and by signs, tokens, and words, accepted James Robinson as a Masonic brother in good standing. Without further investigation of parental justification for his name, James was immediately immersed in the yeasty environment of Robinson doings. There was farming, hunting, and trading along with cabin raising, ground clearing, and trapping as mainstay occupations.

  Arguments surrounded new land ventures, and there was exploratory poking into Indian country. It was plain that Robinson feet were restless, and despite continual improving of the plantation environs, many Robinsons obviously considered Manada Creek only a way station toward something better.

  George and Mary Robinson had four young children and one, as Robert earthily put it, soon to be hatched. The oldest, a girl of six, attached herself to Ann, and James's bride was rarely seen without young Mary, clutching a fold of skirt in one determined hand, half-hidden behind her new friend's leg.

  The profusion of Robinsons made identification of relationships a problem, and the families compounded the difficulty by ignoring many usual practices. It seemed to James and Ann that people ate at any home they passed and children were tended and disciplined by anyone handy.

  It was a week or two before James discovered that although Samuel and George were brothers, Robert was actually a cousin.

  The father of Sam and George was Philip. Robert's father was Andrew Robinson. Not that it made any difference because, as George had said, they were all brothers.

  George Robinson's cabin was already anthill full, and despite protestations of welcome, James and Ann chose to remain in their wagon. They pulled their weary vehicle near the cabin sidewall and rigged saplings shingled with bark to create a roof from wagon to cabin. In good weather they slept beneath the bark roof and retreated to the wagon bed only to avoid damp or buggy nights. Often Mary's small form crept in to join them, occasionally bringing tiny Jonathan along as well. James would groan in mock distress and make room with a show of grumbling. Ann tucked the snuggly children in, and everybody was content.

  Robert and James took to each other like long separated comrades. They shared common amusement with life and saw many things in the same light. Although James was the older, Robert's frontier experience and natural bent for the woods left him leader and teacher. Neither seemed to notice.

  Robert was a hunter. He avoided other labors with diligence and success. He supplied meat for many tables, so his evasions of less enjoyable duties were tolerated.

  As new best friend, James set out to learn what Robert knew. They talked of all things and swiftly reached unexpected and satisfying empathy. It made life good, and together they explored their surroundings. They roamed the deep timber and lay in ambush along the deer crossings. James had little lore to contribute but his harshly gained experience in living on two continents provided unlimited stories that Robert Robinson absorbed as avidly as James studied border ways.

  — — —

  If Robert had a single dissatisfaction plaguing his life, it was his hunting gun. He daily cursed the musket and its inability to place a ball where it pointed. Robert's gun was as good as any in the community, and to James, who had yet to fire his first shot, the old military arm seemed all a hunter could ask.

  During noon hours, when game sought beds or nests and hunting was put off, they would choose their own place of comfort and Robert would expound on guns.

  "Ever hear of a rifle gun, James?"

  "Not that I recall."

  "Well a rifle's what's needed out here. It'll put a ball into a pail at three hundred steps, where a musket can't for sure hit a cabin at a hundred. A rifle uses a smaller ball, but it moves it along faster, so it don't drop so much at long distance. Uses less powder and lead than a musket does, too.

  "The secret is that inside a rifle barrel are some kind of special ridges-kind of like the threads inside a machine nut. You push a ball held in a greasy patch down the bore. The fit's real tight, and when you fire those spiral ridges grab onto the patch and start the ball spinning as it goes out. The spin holds the ball on course for some reason, and a man can truly take aim and expect to hit.

  "There are one or two weaknesses to rifle shooting that a man has to keep in mind, though. For instance, a rifle won't do good with swan or bird shot. The spirals throw the pellets all over creation. Then, to make the powder burn right, a rifle needs a long barrel, and that isn't so handy in the woods. A hunter's apt to keep knocking his barrel on things.

  "Some say a rifle gun is slow to reload, and that's true enough as you've got to take time to add a patch and push it down the barrel, but if you're in a gr
eat rush, say if an Injun was after your scalp or a bear came at you sudden, you can just spit a ball down the barrel and let her go when ready. You'd still shoot as straight as this old musket.

  "Now I'm fixing to get me a good rifle. Been saving my skin money the best I could. I'm needing twelve maybe even fourteen pounds, 'cause rifles aren't cheap to come by. Fact is, I'm near ready to hike on over to Reading or maybe down to Lancaster and get me that gun."

  Robert ran his hand along the barrel and stock of the musket letting the familiar feel of the iron and walnut flow through. "Tell you what, James, seeing you and me are hunting together now, instead of me trading in this old gun and getting too little for it, suppose you use it, and when you're able, you can pay me the little it's worth."

  The hunger in James's eyes was too bright for Robert's comfort, and he quickly went on. "I figure with me taking the long shots and you ready with buck and ball or swan shot, nothing much'll get by. How's that strike you?"

  — — —

  A morning brought rainy drizzle and three strange horsemen. The wet kept men from the fields, and Robert and James had delayed their hunting. The rain-muffled clop of walking horses brought men to doorways, and most homes were immediately aware of travelers in their midst.

  Philip Robinson greeted the riders at his porch, inviting them to step down and seek shelter. The men dismounted, stiff from their riding, stomping feeling into their legs and taking their shortened muskets with them.

  From his own cabin George watched thoughtfully, "They look familiar to you, James?"

  "It's them alright, George. They've finally run us down." Ratherbone's anxiety was plain, and Ann came up close behind him. "Well, it comes as no surprise; we've been expecting them."

  George touched Ratherbone's shoulder lightly, "They don't know you or Ann by sight, and there's no one here about to help 'em. So just keep in mind that you're James Robinson, and they will never think otherwise."

  George studied the men on his father's porch and saw other Robinsons braving the drizzle to meet the newcomers. "Reckon it's time we went over and let 'em look at us. Won't do 'em any good anyway."