Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Robert cut only deep enough to open an entrance hole, but it set Kirknee's teeth to scraping. He got the wound open and squeezed the ball out onto the ground. Then he kneaded the wound forcing it to bleed freely and making Kirknee swear he was just being mean and miserable.

  Satisfied, Robert stuck the injured leg back into the running water. "Let her wash a minute, Harry, and then we'll see if the bleeding stops itself. Assuming it does, you'll be set to run down that damned Shcenk."

  Wiping pain sweat from his forehead, Kirknee wiggled his foot carefully, "Don't even hurt, Robert. Reckon I can go up the valley alright."

  Robert was genuinely horrified, "Now just hold up, Harry. You know blamed well you are not out of the woods yet. That wound may be planning on festering and blowing up till the skin is fit to burst. The only place you are going is home where Hannah can keep that leg high with steaming cloths on it."

  "Now Robert . . .!"

  "Just stay shut, Harry! I'm doing the thinking here. Fact is, the fort is closest, so that is where you are going. Now you sit! I'm going down to bring a horse back. Then you will ride in like you had good sense."

  Robert made quick time down the stream. The fort gate was closed, and he heard movement within. George's cabin too was closed up, but gun in hand, Ann opened the door at his approach.

  "Oh Robert, Ephraim Shcenk came in reporting Indians at his place. He is such a liar we didn't ring the bell, but we closed up. Shcenk is alone over at the fort."

  Robert shook his head in total exasperation, "Ann, it was me and Harry he saw in his woods. He shot Harry in the ankle and . . . no it isn't bad, as long as we keep him off it for a spell. Anyway, I've come for a horse to bring him in."

  He stared off toward the fort for a short moment, "I plain don't see why we scared Shcenk so bad. The man's mind must be getting worse, Ann."

  "He said a Logan boy told him Indians were out all along the border."

  "So that scared him. That damned Shcenk did that once before. Instead of spreading the word he holed up. When I get around to it, I'm going to horse whip that human hog!"

  Kirknee was ensconced in George's yard with old Martha soaking his leg in cloths so scalding they made him groan and feeding him tea of sassafras roots to calm him and kill fevers.

  Kirknee called regularly over to Shcenk hidden in the fort, telling him in gory detail what he intended on doing to his person when he got to walking again.

  Robert went off to spread the warning, passing by to tell Hannah Kirknee the news. Before nightfall, families were coming in. Some were heading for Carlisle, but others moved into the fort to wait and see what developed.

  Chapter 41

  Although danger appeared great, things did not settle in well at the fort. Despite ominous news from the west, the reported war parties appeared to pause at Bedford, and desperate hope that they would come no further weakened the people's sense of urgency.

  When the expected attacks failed to materialize many began believing their own wishes, and restoration of defenses lagged along with sacrifice for the common good.

  Families spoke wisely of Indian attacks petering out, and a few returned to their cabins. At George's urging, harvesters posted guards, but men were careless in working far from their muskets, and words were insufficient to sustain their readiness.

  Within the fort, activities were less organized than during the first war. Martha Robinson had slowed and lost much of her commanding presence. Agnes assumed charge of the blockhouse, but most families stored their own possessions in their chosen corner and there was little organizing for Agnes to do.

  George didn't like the casual disorder. He preferred knowing that things were as right as could be. As it was, they had no check on powder and ball, and he could not tell for sure who would be in or out of the fort on any given day. Everybody provided their own rations, which would do fine until the gate closed, but then some would turn out to be short and others would resent sharing.

  Many seemed to look on the fort as sort of community property, as though they had a right to use it because they lived nearby. George could accept that attitude from the early families that had helped put it up and that had fought and lived in it during the first war. Possessiveness by newcomers galled him, and he gave thought as how best to handle it.

  Robert's solution was tempting. "Just run 'em out! After the first scalping, they will be begging at the stockade gate."

  Still, it was not easy to expose whole families to mortal danger. George guessed they would straighten up if hostiles reached the valley. In the meantime, everybody was safer at the fort than scattered, and he would pick away at improving what he could.

  Kirknee's leg healed more slowly than expected. The wound scabbed over then swelled and reddened like a boil until it broke open and pus ran. Old Martha thought there must still be something inside, and after one opening, a number of metal bits worked their way out. Thereafter, the leg began mending.

  Harvesters came in groups from Carlisle, going beyond Tuscarora Mountain hoping to salvage their crops before war parties swooped in. Men risked their scalps doing their best to keep watch while working.

  The harvesting groups particularly upset Robert who saw them as unskilled in war, and despite their guns, helpless if warriors struck. George agreed, but people had to eat, and in their places he would have been right out there harvesting away.

  On the fifth of July, the waiting ended.

  On the Sabbath morning, harvesters at William White's beyond Tuscarora had not yet risen when warriors crept close and leaped, hacking and shooting the sleeping family. A single boy escaped. The war party torched the cabin and raced on to Tuscarora Creek where massacre continued. Survivors scrambled and clawed their way into Sherman's Valley seeking safety and bearing warning.

  Even Robert joined in the harvesting at Edward Elliott's. That meant he stood guard while others labored, but having Robert watching was comforting to those who feared Indians were coming.

  When Robert guarded, he did not stand under a tree leaning on his gun. He moved about, scouting likely approaches and listening to the forest sounds.

  He wished Harry were along. It was mighty comforting knowing Kirknee was looking where he wasn't, but until that leg healed, Harry was out of it.

  Robert heard the runner a long way before he reached Elliott's fields. It was a white man's run, and Robert headed him off in the forest. He recognized an older boy from William Dickinson's place not far from the Logans, and he waited impatiently while the exhausted youth caught his breath.

  "Indians, Mr. Robinson! They've come down on the whole Juniata!

  "They've killed the William Whites, the Campbells, and some others. George Dodds came into our place with the news."

  "Alright, boy, you've done good. You cool and settle right here while I warn the workers. Then you come to our place until we find out what is safe to do.

  "How many hostiles did Dodds say there were?"

  "He guessed a big party. Maybe two-dozen. He shot one and got away by breaking a hole in the cabin roof. The Campbells were still screaming when he was running through the woods. He . . ."

  "Alright, son! That's good enough. What are your people doing now?

  "They're heading for Alex Logan's. My brother is off warning George McCord's people, but he will get back to Logan's, if he can."

  The horns blew, and people came in. The William White and Robert Campbell families were well known and jaws got tight as news of the massacre spread. Men grabbed tools and accomplished in the remaining daylight more than they had seen fit to do in the preceding week. George's directions were obeyed with alacrity, and the fort captain took utmost advantage of their aroused condition.

  Ephraim Shcenk marched about claiming it might just be a Robinson trick to get their fort repaired. Most ignored him but some unknown administered just the right push to send him sprawling down the bluff squalling in rage and announcing his refusal to help people who could not see what was happening.


  There was little sleeping with guards making rounds and families trying to get properly settled.

  Before morning, the Christy brothers and John Graham hailed the fort and entered by the spring thanking their lucky stars to have made it. They had heard guns firing and found old William Anderson, his son, and his girl slaughtered and the cabin looted. The Indians had moved on.

  Men's voices grew solemn and bitter anger entered their tones. Some women cried, and children caught the tension, raising their own shrill weeping.

  Propped on the blockhouse's upper floor, Harry Kirknee listened to the din, comforted that Hannah was safe within, but cursing the wound that kept him from joining Robert in the woods.

  Chapter 42

  Surprise was not perfect. Among the many tribes and clans within the tribes men forgot to remove a stick from their bundle or they inadvertently removed two in a single day. Still, the attacks were close enough. From a relative peace (or so the whites had thought), war parties sprang with savage ferocity on cabin, fort, and settlement. From Virginia through New York the war whoop reigned, and fire and hatchet ruled the forests.

  Forts fell along the Great Lakes, and in the Endless Hills, Fort Pitt and Bedford were attacked and isolated. They survived, but the red tide flowed around them engulfing the mountain valleys in unparalleled horrors.

  Long Knife joined the southern arm of Pontiac's attack. He led no warriors and kept only The Squirrel by his side, but he wore the mark of Pontiac and was known to the war chiefs. The Knife bore a single message. Strike and move on!

  Attack on Fort Pitt had begun too soon. The mistake in counting proved costly as warning reached other forts. Isolated, Fort Pitt hung on, but unless relieved, it would not last. War parties struck Fort Bedford and rebounded with painful wounds. The fort held and war chiefs, their pride stung, settled down to lay siege.

  Long Knife ranted, tore his hair, and threatened Pontiac's personal vengeance. He reminded the chiefs of their instructions. He demanded they press on, and he begged that they strike for the distant ridges.

  Finally the chieftains saw beyond the flashing guns and remembered the plan. They gathered their braves and proceeded, but momentum had lagged. Small parties broke away to attack lone cabins or feast on slaughtered cattle and sleep until rested. If one group returned with scalps and kettles, the rest felt cheated. Mile by mile Pontiac's forces dwindled and strayed.

  Certain bands had been delegated to specific valleys to contain the whites and prevent their escape beyond the mountains, but those designated groups found others crowding in and rushing ahead. Within days the careful planning had turned to ashes, and only a general flow of warriors eastward toward Kittatinny Mountain remained.

  Desperately, The Knife urged the main bodies forward. Ahead lay Sherman's Valley and the final mountain. If the northern arm had fared better, Carlisle would still fall to the hatchet, and victory fires would crown the length of Blue Mountain for all whites to see and tremble before.

  Chapter 43

  By mid-morning following word of massacre along Tuscarora Creek, men within Robinson's fort were chafing. The Christys believed the war party had divided and each marauding band totaled no more than a dozen warriors. Men spoke of warning other cabins behind Tuscarora. They mentioned the Collins family and James Scott, who was known to be at harvest.

  The words were brave, but George saw more than helping neighbors behind them. The fact was, most were spoiling for a fight. For years they had been harassed and hounded. Their stock had been slaughtered, people had died, and cabins burned. Rarely was a savage even seen.

  Frustrated, unable to fight back, the settlers had endured, but this time it looked different. Now they had an enemy that seemed reachable. They knew his whereabouts and his size. Their families were safe in the fort, and they hungered to strike back at their oppressors.

  George moved about, cooling tempers, but the Christy boys were ready to go back across the mountain and give the redskins a whipping. Surprisingly, John Graham, a steady and influential man, announced his willingness to go along with whomever went.

  In view of their desperate run and thankful arrival at the fort only hours before, George found the Christys' and Graham's change of heart remarkable. He stalled for time, waiting for Robert to come in from scouting, but men began to prepare themselves for fighting. They cleaned guns, donned hunting clothes, and sharpened long knives.

  Looking around, George wondered if only he and Shcenk thought a sally beyond the fort dangerous in the extreme. Fighting hostiles in the valleys would serve neither them nor their families. Strengthening the fort in the time they had would prove far wiser, but the men were whipping themselves up to setting out whether it was wise or not.

  Robert trotted in a little before noon. His clothes sweat-stained and his eyes tired, he reported no Indian sign this side of Tuscarora. Agnes fed him smoking hot venison with long-baked potatoes soaked in hot lard and liberally salted. Hungry unto weakness, Robert chomped steadily, answering questions between swallows.

  Finally filled, he gulped a quart or more of water and sloshed an equal amount over his head and face. George grimaced, thinking of the old rule about no washing within the fort in hopes of keeping the over-trodden ground from becoming a mire, but Robert had earned a privilege or two.

  William and Thomas were among the ringleaders wanting to warn the far valleys. Despite Robert's jaundiced look, they described the need in vivid terms. William concluded for them all.

  "George, we've got to help those people out. We can't just pretend there aren't women and children about to be scalped and worse out there!"

  "And what will you do if you run onto that war party, William?"

  Thomas answered, "Why we'll lick 'em, George. Just like we did at Kittanning."

  "Or maybe like we did at Sideling Hill, Thomas?" Robert's voice was more than a little disparaging, and William and Thomas both bristled.

  "That was the first time, and we weren't ready, Robert. This will be different, if we do run onto them at all."

  "And Kittanning was different, Thomas, because they were not ready. Well, they are out for blood this time, and it is not smart to meet hostiles on their own terms. We ought to have learned that by now."

  "We aren't asking anybody to come that isn't willing, Robert."

  "If you get shot to rags out there, somebody that did not ask will be raising your families."

  William snorted. "Let's take a vote on going or not going. Then, anybody wanting to, can stay behind. Some will have to anyway. We can't leave the fort unguarded."

  George interrupted, "Hold on, now. We are short enough already. How big a party are you talking about taking out?" George was licked, the men were going, and they had better try balancing it so neither the fort nor the scouting party ended up too weak.

  "Well, there are only a dozen or so of them."

  "That's what the Christys think; they are not sure."

  "We can match them man for man, that is sure."

  Robert's groan of disdain turned angry faces to him.

  "Dang it, Robert, why are you setting up against us like this? You are the best woodsman we've got. You ought to be right out in front on this trip." William's ire was rising, but Robert was not dismayed.

  He looked William straight in the eye, and his voice was steely cold.

  "First off, if anybody goes, I will be along. Half of you couldn't find your way out and back.

  "Second, you had best know as plain as I can make it that going out is not smart. Chances are we are already too late to warn anybody.

  "Worse, if we run onto hostiles, some of us are likely to die and more of us will get hurt.

  "As near as I can see, going serves no useful purpose."

  He stopped their responses with a raised hand and his final comment. "It's plain enough that you are set on going. So I will be one of the party, but I just hope we are all standing here tomorrow telling each other how quick and clever we were."

  M
ost were eager to go, but George prevailed, limiting the scouting party to twelve men. A few less eager than some chose to eliminate themselves. Others stepped aside when Robert carried on about maybe having to run hard and long.

  After more wrangling they worked the party down to William, who was elected captain, seeing Robert was half in disgrace, Thomas, the two Christys, and John Graham. Charles and John Elliott were chosen for their woodsmanship, and three sturdy younger men, David Miller, Edward McConnel, and Will McAlister were selected. John Nicholson and Robert completed the party. George looked them over and thought they were about the best of the bunch.

  Once committed, Robert joined in with a will. He personally checked each man's gun and hunting pouch. He eliminated accumulations that weighed heavily and insisted on new flints all around.

  William was equally thorough examining moccasins to shirts, making sure that none would come apart under heavy strain.

  Robert took time to change his own sweat- soaked clothing, and Kirknee pulled the charge from Robert's rifle, reloaded, and fitted his sharpest flint.

  Robert was already tired, and Kirknee limped angrily about not liking any of it.

  "I would let them go, and to the devil with it, Robert! What good are you going to do? Anybody still alive over there knows there are hostiles about."

  Robert sighed heavily, rubbing his bare feet and wishing he could crawl into his blankets.

  "They are our brothers, Harry. I just can't let them go off knowing I might be able to help. They surely don't know how deep they are getting in, but maybe I can steer them around any trouble until they get tired and are willing to come home."

  "Thunder, I wish I could go along, Robert." Kirknee tried his leg gingerly, "Doesn't seem right just waiting here while you are out there."

  "Tell you what, Harry, every time it makes you mad, you have them drag Shcenk up here and give him a few whacks."