Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  At times the woods cleared enough to see into the Path Valley, and when he could detect the gleam of Conococheague Creek, Robert crossed the summit and began easing down into the western valley. Fort Littleton lay hidden within deep woods to the southwest, and George McCord's was between them and the fort.

  Once they saw Indians. A short file of warriors trotted swiftly across an open meadow some distance below. The war party's confidence in running open trails in daylight scared Robert a little. It came mighty plain that Indians controlled this countryside. If there had been time, Robert would have moved only at night, but McCord's needed re-enforcing immediately, so they hurried along, doing their best.

  The day was bright with hot sun and only occasional puffy clouds. Soon they would be harvesting, and redskins would probably be thicker than fleas. They would have to be back at their own fort by then because every hand would be needed.

  Agnes, Ann, and Effy would be worrying all the time they were gone as it was, but somebody had to go, and he and James were best suited. Once in the fort, Thomas would shoot straight and stand his watches better than most. The first thing to do was to get there. Later he could think more about when they could start back.

  They came out above McCord's in late afternoon. No guns hammered, and no smoke rose, so probably the fort was not under attack, but getting into a forted-up place was always a problem.

  It seemed sort of foolish forcing a way into a fort people were trying to destroy. It was safer out in the woods. The only trouble was, you could not stay out long without having to hunt or fish, and if you were discovered, the chase would be on and your chances of getting away would be mighty slim.

  Robert kept them sitting where they could see the fort area. He watched for any sign good or bad. Birds flying scared could indicate somebody beneath. Animals darting about could show passage-just as the deer they had jumped ahead of them. Of course, smoke meant people and so did dust. They were too far out to hear sounds, although Indians whoops and hollers might have carried.

  Finally, he saw a number of whites moving in the cleared ground just beyond the fort walls. He grunted to his companions, and they started-off moving fast. If people were outside, the moment would be as safe as any.

  They passed a number of burned-out cabins and one large field that was scorched. The woods had not caught fire, and the field lay charred within the forest's rich green.

  They ran until close within the woods about the fort. Halting, Robert hallooed and the men outside flopped to the ground until guards above said who was coming in and that it was safe to get up.

  The Robinsons showed themselves carefully, as the woods edge was too close to the fort and well within musket range. Coming in Robert saw that the men outside were picking over a small vegetable garden, gathering everything even half-grown. The workers paused only to nod and wave a quick welcome before bending again to their task.

  McCord's fort wasn't much. A pair of cabins and a small barn showed this place had been a developing plantation, but the efforts to fortify had been poorly planned and offered only limited protection.

  Logs had been propped between cabins and barn creating a roughly triangular stockade. One crude tower had been raised but its access ladder exposed a climber, and the whole contraption leaned badly.

  The stockade walls were too low with some spots barely six feet high. Most were of logs laid horizontal and held in place by a few uprights. Great gaps between logs would allow bullets, even arrows, to penetrate, and a show above if he wasn't careful.

  Within the fort chaos reigned. Mud lay ankle deep, people milled about packing and pulling at unlikely looking bundles. The place reeked worse than Shcenk's hog wallow. The Robinsons stopped barely within the half-open gate, wondering what sort of mess they had let themselves in for.

  A man in homespun carrying a French rifle skidded and slopped through the ill smelling under footing with hand outstretched. Lean as a hound's tooth, McCord appeared capable, even if his fort did not.

  His explanation was plain enough. Until now, no help had come in. The fort was short of everything, people had already been killed and carried off, and the rest were worn out. They had voted to clear out to Fort Littleton where there were provincial troops and some militia.

  There was a road of sorts to be followed, McCord explained, and after a lot of discussion, it had been decided to take out after dark and just make a run for it. Indians could likely be around the fort by the morrow, so they were going as soon as the sun dropped a little. The Robinsons would be mighty welcome to add their guns in case the people stumbled onto a war party, but that would be up to them.

  McCord shook hands again and hurried away to add his voice to the yelling and cursing throng.

  There didn't seem to be a dry place to sit, so the Robinsons leaned against the gate to talk about it.

  Thomas shook his head and snorted audibly, "Damndest mess I ever seen." In sudden thought, "You suppose we would' have ended up like this if it wasn't for George planning and giving orders?"

  James sniggered, "Couldn't have gotten this bad if Ephraim Shcenk had been in charge. My lordy, Robert, you suppose they've just been using the ground for a backhouse? Worse smelling place I ever encountered."

  "Hard to believe, isn't it? I thought our fort was bad, but we're a regular clover field compared to this place."

  He considered a moment, "Look, let's get back into the woods and talk this over. No sense standing here until the smell knocks us over. We've got some deciding to do."

  They spoke a moment to the gate guard, telling him they would likely join the column when it moved out, so to go easy on his trigger. Then, they loped quickly across to the wood line. Once inside the shelter of trees they circled until they reached the Fort Littleton path and chose a comfortable spot where they could rest and talk.

  James hauled out journey cake and some strips of smoked bear meat. A tiny rivulet trickled from beneath a mossy root, and they scooped a bowl shaped hollow to drink from.

  Chewing diligently on the stringy meat, Robert considered their options. "Well, looks as though we have two choices. We can help herd this sorry bunch into Fort Littleton, or we can turn around and head on home." He chewed a minute, "My vote is for going back.

  "First off, they will probably get through without trouble. Indians will be off the paths resting up. If they hear that crowd rattling by, they will wait until light to see what is making such a racket. By then the whole mob will be to Littleton.

  "On the other hand, if they do run into a fight, it'll be the most confusing mess possible. Everybody will be shooting as fast as they can load and at every shadow, and probably at each other. Those people will drop their bundles and run like hares in all directions, but mostly toward Littleton. It will be purely awful, and I'm for staying out of it."

  James leaned to drink from the hollow, so Thomas spoke, "You're the woodsman, Robert, but I'm for staying and seeing them safe to the fort. That is what we came for, and you have to admit that going to Littleton is better than staying a week or two helping out at McCord's."

  Robert had to agree with the last part at least.

  James said, "I think we should stay with them through the night, Robert. We can hightail it tomorrow if we're a'mind. Then we won't have any wondering or bother about whether we should have stayed.

  "Like you've figured, they will probably stumble on through without trouble, so all we will do is lose a night's sleep."

  Outvoted, Robert folded, "Suits me. If you two don't mind fumbling around all night after that flock of loons, I'll go along. I would sort of like looking in at Fort Littleton anyway. I've never seen a genuine army fort." He grinned, "Sure hope they did it better than old McCord."

  If it hadn't been serious business, McCord's escape to Fort Littleton would have seemed hilarious.

  The party formed at the gate as dusk fell. People bore impossible burdens, struggling to hold them from the sticky muck. Mothers screamed at children, and men bellowed at
everyone.

  In desperation McCord gave a signal and the column swung out. Despite urgings to close up, the head of the line disappeared into the woods before the tail cleared the gate. People stopped to adjust loads and some waited for family members, while still others scurried to improve their positions in the column. Men assigned to guard flanks became quickly discouraged and fell into line, merely walking along. Those late in starting began calling loudly for those ahead to wait.

  Positioned along the trail, the Robinsons watched and listened with amused concern.

  Thomas said, "I can't believe it!"

  Robert laughed, "If I wanted to shoot a hostile, I would wait along this road tomorrow. Most of those bundles they are clutching will be spread along the road from here to Littleton. No need of attacking old Fort McCord, not when the people spread all they've got out for the taking."

  Voices within the column soon died away. After the first mile heavier items abandoned by their owners began appearing. Some marchers slipped off the road, hurriedly hid their parcels, and rushed to catch up.

  The Robinsons chose to constitute a rear guard. If the column came under attack, they would move up and try to help out.

  Robert pointed to one of the bundles scattered along the way. "We're in the safest spot of all, men. No Injun could pass up looking over all these goods, so none of them coming from behind will catch up, and any up ahead will jump on the column. Why this is safer than holing up in the woods."

  James reached down and held up a fine pewter teapot. "Robert, look at this! Why it's a finer piece than I've seen since Philadelphia. By ginger, I'm keeping this for Ann. No sense in letting some redskin melt it down for bullets."

  "Well, you'd better not carry it into Littleton or whoever threw it away will claim it again. Find a place along the road and leave it till we come back."

  "We won't come down this road, Robert."

  "No but we can cut over and pick it up. Wait until we're closer to the fort before you leave it. Then we won't have to go far off our route."

  Later, the column slowed and people began just walking along. The armed men from McCord's were far ahead and as the straggling increased, the Robinsons found themselves herding a dozen weary men and women before them.

  With dawn beginning to lighten the eastern sky, Robert figured they were still an hour from Fort Littleton. They passed an occasional burnt- out ruin, and the stench of old fire came often to their noses.

  Robert studied the people they were trying to hurry, and they didn't appear all that exhausted. It looked to him as though they had gotten tired and just lost interest in their flight. He whispered to James who dropped back out of sight and stayed there for a while.

  Suddenly James reappeared, running and yelling incomprehensibly. Robert and Thomas whirled, calling, "What is it? What's wrong?"

  James screamed, "Indians dozens of 'em! They're coming fast, right back there behind me!"

  The stragglers' faces lost their dull looks, and fear flashed through the pack. The Robinsons screeched, "Indians! Run for it! Run! Run!"

  The McCord people took to flight like deer. Those who had appeared most weary forged ahead with remarkable speed. When the pace slowed too much, renewed Robinson shouting increased it, and as the fleeing party wearied, James fired his gun in the air inspiring a final bursting effort that brought them staggering into the wide opens surrounding Fort Littleton.

  James stepped aside at the woods edge and carefully hid his pewter teapot. It would be the finest thing he and Ann had ever owned, and he was determined to get it back to her.

  Soldiery met them, and Robert assured the Ensign in charge that the shot had been accidental and no Indians were in hot pursuit. The Robinsons went on to the fort leaving their exhausted band in the Ensign's charge. As they passed the disordered group, stories of war whoops and flying arrows were already being exchanged.

  Thomas said, "If those whoppers get told around, the fort will think the whole Iroquois Nation is out there dancing around."

  Robert looked back at the woods, "Maybe it is, those people ought to know, they were right out there among 'em."

  — — —

  Littleton was not the massive fortification that Robert had hoped to see, but it was a long step better than the Robinson fort. Littleton had blockhouses and even boasted small cannon. Beyond a significant dry moat, outer-works bristled and threatened. Fort Littleton might be starved or tricked into submission, but it did not seem likely that it would fall to Indian attack.

  A tall flagpole rose above the fort's gate, and uniformed sentries strode, muskets sloped, along firing walks behind the high stockaded walls. The Robinsons were impressed. Within, the fort was equally orderly. Small buildings were geometrically arranged and an earth mound with a thick, iron-braced door, guarded by a sentry, protected a powder house.

  Settlers, hunters, and better-dressed men of affairs jostled about, but there was no clamor, and McCord's unruly band was quickly organized and assigned temporary cover from the weather.

  The Robinsons stood about, leaning on their guns and taking it all in. After a while McCord left his people and joined them. He motioned to nearby log seats, and the four rested themselves with some relief.

  McCord pulled off his broad hat and scrubbed vigorously at his scalp. He spat and sucked reflectively on a possibly tender tooth.

  "'Preciate' you Robinsons chasing them people along. They're just farmers, you know. They're workers but they aren't fighters. Independent as all get out-you can't even beat 'em into line.

  "'About a week back some Delaware come down on us. Killed three and wounded a pair of our people. Carried off four others. All of 'em growed folks, so they probably won't be breathing long. The Injuns paraded 'em for us the next day and a couple days thereafter. They'd show 'em along the woods then jerk 'em back out of sight. Then we'd hear screaming and figure they were being done in, but the next morning they'd be there ag'in.

  "That was when I sent for help. Captain Hamilton, here at the fort, claims he was just setting out to relieve us. Maybe so, but we'uns was done in, and I for one am glad to be here instead o'there."

  He sucked his tooth again.

  James said, "You'll likely lose your buildings to fire, you know."

  "'Course I know, but what's a man to do? Not enough powder to go around. Everybody yammering about getting out, and this here war will probably run on for years.

  "They can burn the buildings if they're a mind. After we whip 'em good, I'll build better cabins, and I'll build 'em on land where it don't get so stinking boggy that a man feels like he's wading in cow flop."

  The crusty McCord wasn't to be numbered among the defeated, that was clear. He turned to Robert, "What're you boys planning on doing now that you've seen us safe and sound?"

  "Well, we're of a mind to sleep out the day and if things appear calm, we will slip away tonight. By morning we'll be halfway north on Conococheague Mountain. Next night we will be home, assuming we don't run onto hostiles, which could slow us up, or make the trip a lot quicker, depending."

  McCord chuckled grimly, "That's fer sure!

  "Fact is, I've got another proposition I'd like to put up to you. I'm speaking for Captain Hamilton now as well as my own self.

  "Seems the Captain got a Injun, some sort of Cherokee or something. Anyhow, this Injun claims to have located the whereabouts of our people that got carried off. Hamilton swears by this Injun who claims the camp is not over five or six miles west along Sideling Hill. The Captain is putting together a strong band to go out and get our people back.

  "We're in need of men, as this isn't regulars or militia going. Fact is, we're hoping you'll join in. We'll be leaving a'fore noon and should be back no matter what a'fore dark."

  Robert wasn't keen on the idea. Meeting Indians on their own ground was a situation he had avoided. McCord was purely anxious that they join up, and although he tried to be casual, his concern showed in his voice and expressions.

  "Well, Mc
Cord, we will speak with Captain Hamilton, but I'll say truly, we aren't eager to go out attacking a war party."

  Hamilton was a man of their own age. Short, powerful, and determined acting, they could see why he had been chosen Captain. He took the Robinsons aside, making his talk to them alone and speaking straight with feeling.

  "McCord is specially concerned because his wife is among those that are took. He is man enough not to make that more important than freeing other captives.

  "The fact is, we need you three badly. My Indian claims there are probably a dozen braves going and coming from that camp. He feels we can get in first fire. My Indian can be trusted, boys. He has been right every time, or I'd have lost my hair a year past."

  James and Thomas were eager to go, and the more they talked it over the better it sounded. It would feel mighty good to, just for once, take the fight to the hostiles instead of standing around waiting for their attacks.

  Finally Robert nodded, "Alright, you can add us to your muster. What's the plan?"

  Hamilton's plan was simple, and to Robert's thinking that made it practical. If a plan took a lot of maneuvering and coordinating too much could turn sour. The simpler a thing was the better chance it had of coming off successfully.

  Hamilton said, "We will leave at high noon. There will be eighteen of us. We'll move in one column as fast as we can straight to the Indian camp.

  "We will form a line a good ways out and then move close. There is a fold of ground that will give us cover until we are about seventy yards out. We will stop there and on signal, we'll fire into them.

  "Now this bunch has been sleeping through the hot hours. 'Pears they just flop like hogs. We will put a volley into them and close in. We'll grab the prisoners and withdraw the way we came in."

  "Seventy yards is about the limit for hitting with a musket, Captain."

  "True enough, but counting yours, we've got six rifles. If we shoot true, we should hurt them bad, and I expect they will take out running. I'm asking that all muskets be charged with buck and ball, meaning, two good buckshot behind the usual solid ball. Loaded that way we ought to sting 'em good."