Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  The Knife had spoken his thoughts a thousand times before. He had listened to objections and prepared against them. He had reasoned long and found his plan sound. If Pontiac could raise the tribes as one and pursue The Knife's scheme with dedication, the Indian star might again rise over the land.

  Unlike most chiefs who met in formal council among advisors, Pontiac led The Knife to where a torrent rushed over clean boulders. They bathed and swam leisurely, two mature men speaking mostly in Onandega with much use of hands and arms, certain of themselves and striving to know the other.

  They dried on a small island where rushing water hid their words and none could approach unseen. Warriors of Pontiac's band waited patiently within view but beyond hearing. The Long Knife told his plan.

  "Whites are as countless as running herring. Across the sea of salt, they multiply beyond number. They are as many as the pigeon or the duck.

  "The strength of whites lies only in their numbers. Few whites are warriors, and few possess the skill and courage of our fighters. Defeating whites in battle is not a difficult thing. Yet destroying whites is like draining this stream with a kettle. Although much water is hurled aside more arrives. Eventually, one falls in exhaustion and the stream runs on as before.

  "Whites are many; we are few. Whites are pressed closely together; we are scattered. Whites hunger for more; we are content to remain as we are. Whites have vast stores of food and powder; we must hunt and plant each season. Our powder is scarce and it is a gift from French whites.

  "The difficulties are many, oh Chief, but no one has said the path would be easy.

  "Since the time of my father, Kneeling Buffalo, I have studied the whites. It has been easy to dream of driving them into the great salt and marching in triumph on the shores daring more whites to step upon the land of The People.

  "With passing seasons my thoughts have cleared, and I have tossed to the winds useless imaginings.

  "If I, Long Knife of the Delaware, came to our cousins the Ottawa, and spoke brave words of scalps, coups, and great victories, many of our people would seize hatchets and rush willingly into battle. We fight with abandon for rewards of the moment, among which personal courage stands above all. Then we withdraw to savor our victories, or if defeated, to lick our wounds.

  "Whites do not seek warfare; they accept it as a part of living. They do not seek to test their personal courage in fighting, and they place small value on the trophies of war. Whites are like a vast army of ants. They labor to change the land they sit upon until it is fit only for whites. Then they seek out more. Small groups of the white ants continually break away to begin new plantings and diggings. White ants attack for food or to defend their places, but their increasing numbers force them ever into new places and so into new warfare.

  "How then are The People to halt and turn back the whites who so outnumber us and who fight like trapped woods rats?

  "First, the tribes must be as one. If there is doubt and disagreement, our blows will be weak. If we do not strike at all places during the same sun, the whites will meet each small attack with their great numbers and defeat it before turning to the next.

  "A chief able to rally the tribes and hold them until the right moment has been long waited. Yours, oh Pontiac, is the mission of uniting the tribes behind your lance. A hundred others will lead in battle and every warrior and hunter must follow those leaders into the lands of the whites. Acting as one we shall hurl the whites back upon themselves, regain much of our land, and seal it forever."

  The Knife's enthusiasm caught the Ottawa, bringing him excitedly to his feet. Seeing their chieftain rise, the band waiting beyond hearing also rose expectantly, but Pontiac only strode a few paces before turning back to the composed Long Knife. His eyes flashed fire, and his fist rose in bitter passion.

  "Your words are powerful, Delaware. They stir the heart with hunger and hope. Beware that your plans are as strong as your speech. Too long have I searched for the way to smash the whites. Too often have I heard brave words that raised skin bumps but were without substance.

  "Tell your plan, oh Knife, and let there be meat to the telling. Do not drift like smoke from a fire, for of smoke I have seen too much."

  The Knife rose as Pontiac again seated himself. He asked aid from the Great Spirit that his words would be true and sound, as he knew they must to impress Pontiac, the Ottawa.

  "When the tribes are one, white traders will be encouraged to come among us to trade powder and guns for furs.

  "When the traders are among us and the time is right, runners will be sent to each leader bearing a bundle of sticks. Each morning a stick will be removed from each bundle. When the last stick is removed, all will attack. None will march too soon or too late. There will be no warnings."

  "Our attacks will run throughout the mountains. In the Endless Hills the warriors must attack in two arms. One will follow the river Susquehanna as it sweeps south. The other will march to the rising sun from the forks of the Ohio. The arms of Pontiac will meet beyond the mountains at the white village called Carlisle and destroy it.

  "The warriors following the river must move quickly, but they must not allow fleeing whites to pile up before them. They must reach Carlisle strong and ready while the whites they have passed cower and tremble as they bury their dead.

  "The tasks of the right arm are greater for they face many forts. Each must be attacked and destroyed if possible, but if not, they must be passed and left as lonely as this island we now rest upon.

  "The forts will wait and grow more hungry and more anxious. They present no threat. They only provide shelter and protection for whites within their walls. The arms must move on and beyond the mountains, for the warriors must reach Carlisle before defenses are raised against them.

  "Quickly then, the arms will close and destroy the white village. Then, while all whites tremble, we will empty the Endless Hills of white farmers and hunters."

  The Knife paused to break his speaking rhythm and explain in more detail.

  "Immediately, our runners will be sent to the white fathers in Philadelphia asking for councils and proclaiming our intentions to live at peace with the whites. We, in our mountains, they beyond them.

  "We shall move villages to the mountain edges so that the land is filled. Our fires will glow from Kittatinny's crest sending warning and fear among the whites.

  "We will wait, while increasing our strength. The forts will surrender as the councils drag on, and we will allow the white soldiers passage from our lands.

  "If the whites assemble an army to regain the mountains, we will be ready to fight them deep within the valleys we know and that are strange to them. We will take and use the goods of the traders among us. As these traders are the only whites familiar with the Endless Hills, white soldiers will have few knowing eyes. We will attack and fade away. When they retire, we will be among them like fleas in a white's blanket. We will be like wolves never facing the horns but never ceasing until the enemy falls.

  "Our councilors will draw new treaties, and our new villages, hard against the whites, will keep those treaties true.

  "This then is the plan of Long Knife, oh Pontiac. Within it are small plans, as many as the fireflies of a summer night. Each, I shall tell you, and each will make the great plan more certain. It will be as a beaver builds his dam. Each stick supports another until even water cannot find its way through."

  If Pontiac was overwhelmed by The Knife's words he gave no sign, but they talked often in the days that followed, and the thoughts of Pontiac were pointed.

  "We are short of guns and powder."

  "We must begin now storing both. We should persuade the French to arm us as they did in earlier times, and we should encourage traders to come among us in great numbers. Finally, I have stored guns and powder taken when the English General Braddock was killed on the road to the Ohio."

  Pontiac was properly amazed, "And you have waited these many seasons, oh Knife? Your hatred of the whites is st
rong!"

  The Knife was taken aback and chose his words with care. "The hatred of Long Knife is not large, oh Chief, but his memory is long. Since the Six Nations gave the Endless Hills to the whites, I have watched the ways of both whites and our tribes. I have seen our warriors wasted in pointless battles, and I have seen the destruction of our ancient ways because of preoccupation with whites and their goods.

  "Also I have seen the foulness and worthlessness of whites. Whites are not one with the Great Spirit. They are destroyers of all that is good. Where a white passes, all things are changed. Whites foul their water, destroy the forest, claw at the earth, and drive away the game. Having destroyed where they live, they then search for new lands to violate and despoil.

  "But I do not hate whites, oh Pontiac. They suffer a strange madness, and they must be destroyed as one kills a wolf or a raccoon suffering the foaming sickness. One does not hate the wolf, one simply kills and buries it lest its infection spread."

  "Our war parties will not willingly pass white forts and cabins to reach Carlisle, Long Knife. Their hunger will be great and their need for scalps will demand attention."

  "Then we must choose strong leaders who can see beyond the closest scalp, and we must meet with all leaders and explain again and again until all believe and will act as one."

  "I am but one man, oh Knife, Can I persuade and instruct an army of chiefs?"

  "No Pontiac, you cannot. But, you can persuade two hands of the best. Each of them will speak and persuade two hands of other strong men who will go forth to tell others of the plan.

  "Then you will teach two more hands of good men. You will teach so that they may teach still others. In a full turn of seasons all who wish to will have heard the words of Pontiac many times. They will be waiting only the arrival of the stick bundles."

  — — —

  Preparing for war had once been an exciting time. Warriors danced and chanted, building courage and firing hatred of the enemy. Faces, bodies, and weapons had been painted with fierce patterns. Chiefs and leaders boasted their plans for mighty coups while squaws and children watched with admiration.

  The war of Pontiac was different. War chiefs huddled in secret meetings. Runners scurried with messages whispered into cupped ears. Leaders traveled to other places on unannounced missions, and trusted scouts studied the whites reporting long on what they had seen.

  Yet few knew the plan of Pontiac. Chiefs knew a great and final war was approaching. Some knew their part in it. Most knew only to arm and prepare that they would be ready when told to strike.

  Long Knife saw many times the skill of the great Pontiac. His leadership lay in a personal presence so scintillating, so overwhelming, that great and small alike were immediately caught up within his certainly of victory.

  Pontiac could rise from his place within a spirit circle and by that move alone capture the attentions of all. His eyes flashed as though sun struck them from within, and his gestures were so clear words seemed barely needed.

  But the voice of Pontiac put all else into shadow. He spoke in short, quickly fired thoughts, each a knife-edge with the sting of a willow switch. Listeners forgot to breathe and afterward found their jaws and fists aching from unconscious tension.

  Pontiac's power lay in his ability to capture and move men's minds. Stubborn chieftains came reluctantly to hear and left convinced and ready to serve. His charisma bought a host of young warriors, prepared to carry his words wherever he directed.

  The great scheme Pontiac told to few, for secrets were difficult to keep. Yet one message was repeated a thousand times. When the time is told, each must do exactly as directed. No warriors can turn aside. None can seek personal coups. Where warriors had always come and gone as they willed, this time all must continue until the chiefs themselves turned away.

  Within the acceptance of this message lay the fate of Pontiac's war. A thousand unregimented warriors from many clans and tribes, accustomed to following only their own wishes, need, at first try, succeed in obeying the will of a single leader. The challenge was mighty, and Pontiac strove to master it.

  Men sworn to Pontiac were lightly tattooed for all to see with his personal mark on the back of the striking hand.

  Wisely, Pontiac marked himself and the great leaders first. Others quickly joined, and the honored mark of Pontiac swept through the lesser warriors leaving few beyond the brotherhood.

  The mark of Pontiac showed that bound together, there was great strength. That there was another reason behind the mark, only chieftains knew. Pontiac's mark was a tied bundle of sticks.

  For success, the Six Nations of the Iroquois were needed, and Pontiac went among the chiefs pleading his cause. Yet, because the Iroquois were at peace with the whites, Pontiac could not tell his plan, for it would have quickly reached the ears of the white fathers in Philadelphia.

  Long Knife too spoke for war against the English whites. He reminisced of past glories. He bragged of bygone power. He reminded of the richness of the Endless Hills, but he, too, could not reveal how these lands were to be regained.

  In the end, the Iroquois chose their usual path. They agreed to watch and act upon the success of their red brothers. Their decision was not pleasing, but Pontiac had expected no more.

  It would be curious to observe how the Six Nations would regain control of the mountains when Pontiac and his confederacy possessed them. Then, the Ottawa would demand Iroquois participation with warriors and villages in the empty land.

  Traders returned to the Delaware and Shawnee villages. They found cold faces that rejected rum, whiskey, and trinkets. The tribes explained their need for guns and powder to hunt. The traders began to provide them.

  The aging French treaty of 1758 disallowed arming of Indians, but guns, powder, and ball slipped through. The Squirrel marched one hundred warriors to the gun cave and brought away Braddock's arms and powder.

  Pontiac said, "We need more guns."

  The Knife answered, "We have enough for those who know how to use them. We will take more from the whites when we strike."

  Pontiac complained, "Our powder is little."

  The Knife explained, "We do not fight long battles against armies. We attack with surprise and pass on. Our warriors will shoot little."

  "But when they are ready, the white army will march against us."

  "Then we will buzz about them like flies on dung. We will strike from cover. We will attack at night. We will kill from thickets and woods. When a white nods, he will feel the hatchet. When he pauses to water, he will know the arrow. If he follows, he will become lost and find our knives waiting."

  So The Knife planned, and the words were spread among the chiefs.

  Chapter 37

  Returning from the Ohio country, Blue Moccasin might touch first at Rob Shatto's where he learned of any changes along the frontier that might endanger his passage or hurry his return to Philadelphia.

  Blue Moccasin would pause in the timber above Rob's fortress home and give the owl or the panther call. Rob's answer indicated it safe to come in without being shot by someone as a probable hostile.

  If conditions were quiet and no war parties reported, Rob might choose to accompany Blue to Robinson's fort where the message carrier often performed his transition from Indian to white.

  At Robinson's they gathered on the stumps and blocks close to George's cabin, lounging amid chips and bits of strong odorous wood left from continual wood chopping.

  Lithe men, developed in shoulder and thigh, their hands work-gnarled, their cloth and leather clothing use-worn and faded, the Robinsons appeared competent and assured. Rifles and muskets stayed close to hand, and most wore a heavy knife at belt or boot.

  Shatto, Kirknee, and Blue Moccasin lacked the thick blond, Robinson manes, although the contrast was mostly lost beneath broad hats that shaded leaned, tanned faces.

  A stranger might feel uneasy with the Robinsons' rough dress and handy way with weapons, and Shatto and Blue were as Indian as a
ny hostile was likely to appear. All were unaware of menace in appearance or actions. They dressed and performed as the frontier molded them. If Croghan, Alex Logan, or one of the McCord's had come in, they would have looked the same.

  Although they could not measure it and might have scoffed at the idea, they had become a new breed of frontiersmen. To a man they were hardened and skilled far beyond their countrymen south of the mountains.

  Their independence, forged in flaming cabins and tempered beneath the threats of hatchet and knife, allowed little room for softer ways or toleration of outside interference. Bluster had long been bled away, and though their humor ran as deep as ever, they would unhesitatingly answer threat with knife or gun. The new frontiersmen were safe to be among but deadly dangerous to be matched against.

  This time, Blue's news from the Indian country was threatening, and it was plain that Rob Shatto took Blue's worry seriously. That was more than enough to turn the Robinsons anxious. They had grown accustomed to Blue Moccasin's perfect English and scarcely noticed its clash with their own frontier jargon. When talk was important, Blue's careful language added weight to his words.

  "The temper of the tribes is warlike, George. I am met with scowls, and messengers run to and from Pontiac, the Ottawa chief, bearing secrets privy to few.

  "Yet, no drums beat, and the paint pots are dusty. Warriors arm, but they do not know why. Trading is in muskets and tomahawk heads. Few drink and villages seem uneasy, as though great events were approaching."

  Blue's words were ominous. The Robinsons frowned and sucked straws trying to make sense of it. Rob Shatto sliced his scalping knife across a willow stick, idly reducing its size.

  "You're right, Blue. There is a foxy smell about it. There is big powwowing going on out there, and my reasoning is that Pontiac is behind it. He's been among the Iroquois preaching war, although he does not say when. Word is, there is peculiar stirring all along the frontier."