Their camp was comfortable beneath large trees and close by the spring. After some consideration, they abandoned the idea of being constantly on guard against hostile Indians.
George put it bluntly, "There are only four of us. So unless we were already forted up, a war party would do us in without much struggling. I figure our best plan is to keep our guns close so they don't get stolen and where they'll discourage any Indian just skulking around searching out trouble.
"This is Indian country for now, so if any appear, we'll raise the peace sign and be friendly.
"We're not here to do a little hunting and clear out. This place will be our home. So we will keep it as peaceful as we are able."
They planned to raise the blockhouse in two stages. The bottom level would be built of logs placed vertically in a ditch, much like a small stockade. The ditch would be filled to support the log walls, and a small entrance would be fitted. Of course there would be loopholes all around, although one theory held that loopholes shouldn't be on a ground floor where an enemy might slip up and fire in. George planned on inside shutters to close the holes when not in use.
Once the lower walls were up, they would lay sills for the upper story that would protrude well over the lower. With holes in the top floor, musket men could pick off anyone attacking the walls beneath.
The second floor would go up using saddle-notched, horizontal logs, just like a common cabin. The upper floor would be puncheon, and a peaked, sod roof would complete the blockhouse.
Robert muttered about a slant roof being good enough, but he was outvoted. The blockhouse was being raised to impress prospective settlers, and the added work of a low peaked roof was deemed worthwhile.
Digging proved easy to the needed depth of three feet. When erected, the vertical logs stood straight and strong, and the builders marched around their structure admiring their work from each angle.
George was pleased enough to declare a morning's rest, provided Robert took enough frogs to fill their bellies. James threatened to part Robert's hair with an ax if he didn't agree. Robert agreed, and recalled that laughing exchange the rest of his life.
Sketch of lower blockhouse and stake.
The Indians appeared during the morning. Samuel uttered a startled grunt and instinctively reached for his musket. Across the meadows strode a body of Indians, and for a long moment the Robinsons felt serious fear. The second look showed a number of men leading many burdened squaws with children darting alongside.
As usual, George decided their actions.
"Appears to be a family or two with all their trappings. If they meant harm their women and babies wouldn't be in sight. Just watch all around and act like we were expecting them."
The Indians crossed the creek and approached the woods at the spring. The leading Indian gestured toward a lodge site, and the squaws and young girls grounded their burdens to begin preparing the earth platform for their lodge.
The braves stood about, shifting a little as though undecided. Finally the leader spoke rapidly to his people, and there was scattered laughter, followed immediately by the normal chatter of people working together.
The leader and an older youth left the group and approached the camp of the four whites. George rose easily, leaving his musket against a tree. The others followed, but Robert kept a grip on his rifle, like he always did.
George raised his hand, palm forward in the conventional peace sign. He knew no Indian so he spoke in English, "Good morning, welcome to our camp." He smiled, feeling a bit foolish, but knowing no other course.
Both Indians raised their hands palms empty, and the older said, "Waugh!" and continued in a flow of sounds incomprehensible to the whites.
George made some hand signals that he hoped would indicate that they did not speak Indian. Robert made some noises that sounded like Indian talk, and the older Indian grunted and answered shortly.
Amazed, George asked, "What on earth was that, Robert?"
"I just used all the Indian I know, that's all. I asked him in Delaware if he was Delaware. At least that's what I hope I said."
"Well, what did he say?"
"I don't know! I told you I didn't know anymore Indian!"
George groaned aloud, and Samuel and James chuckled.
Finding themselves still standing, George waved everyone to seats. The Indians sat cross-legged and immobile as statues, while the whites fidgeted and waited for George to decide what to do.
Well there was one thing that he had heard was always right. He reached into his possibles sack and brought out his tobacco pouch. He opened it carefully, taking a deep sniff of the moist tobacco, packed his short pipe and offered the pouch to the Indians. The leader accepted the pouch with a word, and George suddenly wondered if the man might feel he'd received a gift. He hoped not, as there would be no easy way of getting his pouch back.
Pipe filling gave each side time to study the other. The Indian leader appeared middle-aged. His face was strong, with a prominent nose. A pair of small chevrons were painted on each cheek. The paint looked freshly applied, and George realized with some shock that the Indians must have known of their presence and had paused to adorn themselves before being seen.
The leader wore a soft, doeskin shirt bleached nearly white with delicate designs stained about the shoulders. A leather belt supported both a sheathed knife of extraordinary length and a quill-decorated pouch for pipe and tobacco. Below his shirt the Indian wore only a fringed doeskin clout and undecorated moccasins. His hair lay black and thick, falling to shoulder length without band or headdress. Though shorter than the white men, the Indian's presence was powerful among them. Plainly, this was no blanket-buck content in the whiteman's shadow. George wondered if he might not be some sort of chief.
The younger Indian sat a little aside, as though deferring to the older man. George caught the small courtesy even as he examined the younger man. Scarcely more than a youth, the Indian was smaller of bone and finer featured than his companion. Blacker than a crow's wing, his hair hung chest level in twin braids. He wore only a dyed headband, clout, and moccasins stained a bright blue.
Meeting the youth's gaze, George was startled to look into eyes as sky blue as his own. His surprise must have shown, for one of the youth's eyebrows rose inquisitively, and a slight smile tugged a corner of his full-lipped mouth.
George politely looked away, but an instant later Robert said, "Why that young fellow's got blue eyes, George."
"I noticed, Robert. Must be of mixed blood. I surely wish he spoke King's English. It would make things a lot easier."
James put in thoughtfully, "They seem right at home here. You suppose we're on their private ground or anything?"
"Well, my understanding is that Indians don't own much private-like. But this is their land until the Penns get it all settled and that will be some months yet. We'll just have to see what develops."
Sam had been quietly smoking and observing. His words surprised them, "The young man understands English, George."
Again startled, George studied the face of the youthful Indian. "How can you tell, Sam? He sure isn't showing me anything."
Samuel smiled his slow smile and spoke directly to the Indian, "You do know our words, don't you?"
The youth's own smile broke through and his eyes danced merrily, "Yes, Samuel, I understand your words." The boy's speech was school correct, without the frontier burrs and brogues.
Robert was purely astonished, "Holy Hannah, how do you explain that?" His question was put to no one in particular, but the youth chose to answer.
"My name is James Cummens. Among my people, the Delaware, I am called Blue Moccasin. I am from Philadelphia or these mountains. Take your pick." His shrug was noncommital but he surely looked Indian to the Robinsons.
Blue Moccasin continued, his words becoming solemn, "Today, I act as interpreter for Long Knife, elder of the Delaware and counselor to the Six Nations."
The whites found themselves bobbing forward from
the waist in gratuitous respect to Long Knife. The Indian answered with a sober nod of the head.
Blue Moccasin resumed, "Hearing of your work at this special place, Long Knife asked that I speak for him and explain your answers."
George cleared his throat and directed his words to Long Knife.
"We (his gesture included the others) are of a family called Robinson." Blue Moccasin's raised hand stopped him until the words had been translated and Long Knife nodded understanding. Then George continued in the same stop and go rhythm, allowing immediate repeating in the Delaware tongue. He told their plan, their awareness of the land being Iroquois, and their wish not to offend.
When he finished, Long Knife spoke at length. George liked the Delaware sound, and James Cummens' translations were swift and confident.
"Long Knife has long visited here at the Deer Spring. His father Kneeling Buffalo and others are buried in this grove. He asks that the grove be left, that the old ones' final rest be honored."
George nodded, "It is our wish too that the grove and the spring remain unchanged." Long Knife's features softened minutely.
"Then the Long Knife asks why the Robinsons build such a strong cabin?"
George pulled his lip for a moment, "What do I say to that, James Cummens? Is it best to pretend, or is it right to tell it true? You know why this blockhouse is going up. I'd like your recommendation on this."
Blue Moccasin pursed his lips in thought, "The Knife already knows. He has traveled far and seen much. A straight tongue is best."
"So be it. This cabin is a strong place where whites living close can seek shelter against enemies. Tell him that we are not a people to take war trails, but we wish to be ready if enemies come."
Robert said, "That isn't bad, George. You'd make a good law reader in Philadelphia. You worked all around that without pointing a finger or ruffling feathers."
Long Knife stayed to examine the blockhouse in detail. Later he retired to his lodge, and Blue Moccasin stayed on.
"Long Knife has taken a new wife. Bright Dove is young, and The Knife is much taken with her."
"How many wives has he got, Cummens?"
"He has three. His first wife has grown old bearing children, and his second was the woman of a friend who never returned. Bright Dove is needed in the lodge and will bring much happiness to all."
"Well having three wives is a funny way of doing!"
"Among the tribes, having only a single woman seems a funny way of doing!"
James dredged up a memory, "You related to Paul Cummens, the merchant in the city?"
"I am his first son."
James whistled, "Paul Cummens is important, and I gather, pretty well off. How come you're living Indian and all?"
Blue Moccasin's answer was serious and considered, "The ways of the Delaware are good. The Indian life is rich in freedom. It is a way of living that is changing, and I fear will soon pass. I wish to know it while it is unspoiled. I wish to live it while my body is young and I can travel to the villages carrying messages among a people special to me."
The words were sincere, and George was impressed. Most striplings gave little thought to conditions beyond their eating knives, and fewer had a gift of speech to so eloquently express their thoughts. James Cummens had something special all right. With Blue Moccasin coming and going along these trails it would be useful to have him friendly. George set about cultivating that friendship.
The lodge of Long Knife was a revelation to the Robinsons. Their knowledge of Indians was that of most whites: biased stories and occasional visitations by drink-sodden braves long outcast, passing by with hands extended for gifts of any kind. The lodge of a family yet unspoiled was a wonder to their eyes and minds.
Two of The Knife's grown sons were in residence, and Blue Moccasin said others came and went. Their women and their children seemed to the whites even more jumbled than a Robinson home. To the Robinsons, they all looked alike as they milled about within and without the lodge in communal confusion and contentment.
The men were mostly away at hunting, but even in attendance they ignored the functioning of the lodge. The men improved their weapons, fished idly along the creek, or chatted among themselves. Their wish sent women hopping to comply and, inevitably, Robert announced his intention to become an Indian.
Unlike white families, where strong sons proved valuable because of their help in farming and woodcutting, boys added only labors to the Indian lodge. Until their hunting skills were honed, they contributed only to parental pride.
Women and girls performed all tasks. Even watching the industry of the squaws could be wearying. They butchered, tanned, and made clothing. They gathered nuts and berries; cooked, stored, scrubbed, and cleaned. The Robinsons could see the value of female hands in Indian living, and the importance of Bright Dove, The Knife's young squaw, lay as much in providing additional help at women's work as in any personal solace granted Long Knife. Samuel added his own quiet humor by suggesting they herd the Robinson women out here and let them learn how good they really had it.
Before the blockhouse was completed, the lodge moved on. At morning it sat, bustling in seeming permanency. Before noon it was gone, leaving behind only ground beaten bare by many feet and the memory of busy voices confident of their place in things and pleased to be moving to the next favored campsite. James Cummens remained.
Unlike many of the Scotch-Irish that appeared content to huddle in grim poverty amid stump-clogged fields, the Robinsons were planning well and digging in permanently. They would be important along the new road, and James Cummens intended knowing and dealing with anyone of importance. He pitched in to raise the heavy sills that would support the upper story of the blockhouse.
Building the second story went quickly, but the work was heavy. Blue Moccasin's light frame was corded with lean and whippy muscle that proved extremely welcome in hoisting logs to the upper floor and muscling their notches to a close fit.
Robert groaned that he didn't see why they couldn't have brought at least one horse, even if it was farming time, but he heaved and tugged with the rest.
With his light tomahawk Blue Moccasin could split out hickory pegs neater than the others using heavy axes. He easily became part of the building team, and because they already had a James, the Robinsons took to calling him Blue, which suited the youth just find.
They planked the roof with heavy slabs split from straight-grained logs and anchored the slabs with foot thick sods cut from the meadow. When it was done, they stood back to admire it. Then they walked around the structure admiring it some more. They undertook a final soaking in the creek, packed their few belongings and looked the work over again.
Only three weeks had gone into the construction, and George thought that mighty fine. Sam allowed it a strong fort, better than any others he had seen.
James stood in awe of the blockhouse, finding it hard to believe that they had made it so quickly with nothing but axes and wedges.
Robert hoped nobody would burn it down before they got back to claim it. Blue assured him that as there were no nails to be recovered, no one would set fire to the fort.
With light enough left to cover some distance, there was no need of staying. They shook Blue's hand and watched him striding north on the trail.
They shouldered their packs and turned south, stopping a little way out to look at the loom of the blockhouse. Against the far woods Blue Moccasin had done the same. They waved and turned away, settling their loads for the long hike to Manada.
Chapter 11
Thomas and Richard Penn bought the land beyond Kittatinny Mountain about on schedule, and nothing was again the same at Manada. Time seemed suddenly short, and other Robinsons rode west to view their blockhouse. Some lived in it while laying out future holdings.
Arguments developed with overlapping claims. Philip Robinson mediated most disagreements, and with their knowledge of the ground, George and Samuel testified often. It was all quite disorderly, but when i
t was announced that a land office would open on the third of February 1755, George figured to make certain his people would be on their land or have someone representing them.
Yet his careful plans for moving came a cropper. There seemed no way to start families together. Some needed another day, harness broke, folks were ill or injured, and others invariably insisted on doing it differently for no particular reason. George quickly discovered that despite outward agreement, no strongly organized train of Robinson wagons or horses would roll en masse from Manada to Sherman's Valley. He abandoned his first scheme and accepted piecemeal departures and tardy arrivals.
More pleasing was the number of Logans heading for the same area. Logans were no better organized than Robinsons, but they would get there eventually and add numbers to the settlement.
Beyond the normal Robinson independence that confounded sensible organization, another divisive factor had risen. The threat of active fighting between French and English forces had increased a thousand fold since the spring of fifty-four.
Near the Monongahela River, a young Virginia Colonel had been forced to surrender his crude fort to the French, and now a massive force commanded by the British General Braddock was gathering to march across the wilderness to the forks of the Ohio and drive the French forever north. The campaign worried some who feared that a failure by Braddock would open the frontiers to Indian war, and cabins west of the Susquehanna would be tempting targets for prowling war parties.
To most, Braddock's preparations appeared invincible. He would outnumber the French perhaps twenty-five to one, and his cannon and supply train were beyond anything ever before assembled in the new world. Braddock would force a French withdrawal, the Indian threat would depart with it, and colonists would swarm west filling the land with farms and villages.
Even to those most confident of Braddock's impending victory, the Robinson blockhouse was reassuring. The building represented a rallying point and security in a land still untamed. Word of Robinson's fort traveled the settlements. Its presence reserved that place for Robinsons but attracted others to build close enough to reach the fort, if it ever came to that.
Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 10
