Friend Seeker (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  When Cat men began eating great oysters, clams, and the many-legged crabs, he knew the ocean was winning. He tasted the river and it was brackish and undrinkable. His teachers had told him this would occur, but during the many trials he had begun to question their stories of salty water from an endless lake. It was strengthening to find the stories true and it pressed again the realization that he had indeed traveled far.

  — — —

  Chapter 15

  Inevitably, he was discovered. The first time, two children had appeared from nowhere while he observed their village. He heard them only an instant before they appeared and he had no chance of fading from view.

  They pulled up stiffly, startled from their play by his presence. He spoke to them in his best Piscataway, his voice rusty from disuse and his accent probably barely decipherable, but he kept his tones soft and his words joking. They stood irresolute, prepared to flee as quickly as rabbits if necessary.

  "Ah, two warriors appear." One child sucked his thumb.

  "Do you hunt for deer so far from your village?" One twirled a tiny bare toe in the earth, but the other smiled shyly and showed his small bow and arrow.

  The Seeker nodded seriously, pretending to examine the weapons. "It is a good bow of the right size, but before many seasons you will carry a true hunting bow like this and arrows of even this length." He drew a war arrow from his quiver and extended it feathers first to the youths. One took it and examined it closely. The Seeker knew how rare it was for an adult to notice children of few summers. After a moment he extended his hand and the arrow was returned.

  Although he listened intently, he heard no others nearby. He decided he could spend a few moments satisfying youthful curiosity, and, as few listened to childish prattlings, questions might not later be raised.

  "A good arrow must be as straight as an eagle's glance and its feathers must be from the proudest of turkeys. These things you know, but the point of the arrow is like the heart of an animal. Without a good point, shooting is a waste of time; this many do not realize."

  They came closer, bumping together for safety but enthralled by the attention. "The point must be sharp at the tip and along each side." He let them run their tiny fingers along the flint edge. "And the point must be shaped evenly and not too thick." Their solemn faces nodded agreement.

  "Someday you will have arrows like these to pull in bows so powerful your friends will envy your strength.

  "Go now before your mothers begin calling in fear that bears have carried you off."

  The children backed away, covering their mouths at the funniness of bears so close to the village. Then they scampered away shouting and hooting in some new game.

  Friend Seeker felt sweat on his palms, but if he had said what he intended in the miserable Cat tongue the children would not rush to their lodges with excited clamoring about strange warriors watching the village.

  As soon as they were gone the Seeker too departed. As before, he retired to his camp and in full dark retreated by a different route. He again traveled far before choosing a new camp from which to scout.

  The second incident occurred when he almost fell over an ancient father sitting on a root along a little used trail. The old hunter sat so unmoving that for a long moment the Seeker thought he might be dead. Only life in his eyes betrayed that a spark still glowed, but after a lengthy evaluation of the other a slight smile cracked the frozen cragginess of the old one's features.

  "If I were a snake, Delaware, you would now be twitching in pain."

  Nonplussed, Friend Seeker managed to disguise his chagrin as simple surprise. "Better a snake than a bear, old warrior. A sting would pass before a mauling."

  The ancient cackled showing a few snaggled teeth, appreciating the clever words and accepting the accolade of warrior without denials. The Seeker sank onto a nearby root with a large tree to protect his back. Without appearing to do so, he scanned the forest, listening intently to determine that the elder was unaccompanied.

  The Piscataway too had been observing. "You are young to be alone far from your own people, Delaware, yet you wear no pack. Your bow is powerful and you move as a warrior, but you wear no paint and your eyes are not fierce with passion."

  The Seeker interrupted with a chuckle, seeking to divert the old one's pointed comments and allow himself moments to think. "Your eyes are still sharp, grandfather. It would seem that you know much of the Delaware."

  The old man was not to be put aside, "Since my youth I have known the Delaware. Then they were strong and we made war together and at times against each other. Now they are scattered like straws by a wind. One cannot always know where their lodges stand, but we know that none are near this place.

  "It could be said that a Delaware found here, close to the heart of our nation, might need swift legs to return safely to his own people, for some of hot blood could see challenge in his presence."

  "Would the mighty Piscataway worry that a single Delaware crossed their lands, oh Grandfather?"

  "One might lead many, young warrior, and like bugs, where one is found, there are often whole villages."

  "Well, I am alone, old one, and I but travel through. My camp lies only a little way," the Seeker nodded to the east, "and by dawn I will be far to the west seeking the Fox clan and those beyond."

  The Piscataway's laughter was almost a snicker, "Which means that your camp is to the west and you travel to the east. At least that is the way I would tell it!

  "Oh, do not glower at me, young Delaware, I have too little time left to waste any on fear. The Delaware are rightly known for their reasonable thought, and harming an elder could only bring trouble upon you or your people."

  Friend Seeker found himself grinning at the arrogant certainty of the old man. "Your words remind me of my teacher, Three Feathers. He too ignores all except that which interests him."

  The Piscataway straightened, visibly interested. "Three Feathers? He is your teacher? Three Feathers of the Turtle clan? He still lives? Why he must be as old as the Great Spirit—or as old as I, for that matter."

  "Yes, Three Feathers lives. He teaches the young of our village. You know of him?"

  "Know of him? Once our paths were one against the Chippewas—I believe it was. And we met again during the wars with the Iroquois. So Three Feathers lives! I had supposed the Iroquois had eaten him long ago."

  "Three Feathers would have been tough for them to chew upon and his flavor would have soured even an Iroquois palate."

  The old man thumped his bony thigh, his ribs rising and falling with his laughter. "That is the Three Feathers I have known.

  "When you meet him again tell him that Light Fox too still lives and remembers the good times."

  Friend Seeker nodded assurances, and Light Fox leaned a little to sight the sun through the forest cover.

  "Go now, young Delaware, or you will be late starting for the west." He paused to snicker. "When I speak of this meeting, I will be careful to mention your direction of travel."

  Friend Seeker left him cackling to himself and loped swiftly to his lair. He shouldered his pack and departed immediately. Safety lay in putting great distance between himself and the village of Light Fox. His course was along the river which turned ever southward. He doubted the salt sea could be far distant.

  — — —

  Being always alone took pleasure from food, and Friend Seeker found he ate only when hunger pangs drove him to it. Lack of appetite proved a mixed blessing. Although his food lasted longer and he needed less time to hunt or fish, his body leaned until his muscles stood sharply defined without hint of fat between. He saw cords and veins that had once been hidden and he judged his body as light as it could be without losing strength and endurance. Thereafter, he forced himself to eat adequately whether or not hunger was present. He accepted the requirments as another discipline necessary to continue his search.

  In truth, his task appeared increasingly hopeless. The villages and isolated lodges he had sco
uted blended into a featureless mix. On occasion it was necessary to shake his thoughts and struggle to free a certainty that he had scouted a place before.

  Still there was no hint of a Delaware captive or mention of a warrior called Hawk Foot. Consideration of the many villages beyond the Potomac and perhaps crowding other rivers was numbing and he dared not dwell on their number less discouragement gain strength.

  Summer heat brought mosquitoes and black gnats and stinging flies. Brutal sun plagued his days with high humidity that induced sweat even when sitting. Without fire smoke or the protection of a lodge, biting insects feasted nightly. He could rarely seek relief by choosing breezy hillsides, as discovery was too likely. He endured, willing his mind away from the stings and itches. Three Feathers would have claimed it valuable disciplining but Friend Seeker found it a miserable torture.

  The Potomac had swung to a more southerly flow and widened into an inland sea so broad the far shore appeared indistinct. Wide tidal creeks cut the northern bank and Friend Seeker was forced to follow each to its beginning to avoid bypassing a likely village.

  Canoes appeared in profusion on both river and creeks. The mountains had fallen far behind but springs were still numerous. Friend Seeker approached each with utmost caution, for game drank from secluded water holes and where there was game, hunters might lurk.

  A new subject now appeared within Piscataway discussions. They spoke of men with white skins who lived in villages along a great salt bay called Chesapeake. From the white skins, the Cats secured iron knives and kettles. The Seeker's own observations showed that the Piscataway warriors had mostly given up wooden and stone clubs for iron hatchets. The Seeker fairly licked his lips at the thought of owning such a weapon.

  Though the Cats spoke often of white men, none appeared at their villages. The whites, it seemed, stayed close to their own lodges, requiring the Cat people to bring their furs and wampum there for trading.

  Friend Seeker knew of white men. Some had passed through his own country but he had not seen them. Three Feathers said they stunk of strange smells and unclean bodies and that they foolishly traded fine weapons of iron for things like beaver pelts. The whites hunted with fire sticks that flashed and roared frighteningly, but the sticks killed poorly and were so slow to prepare that a hunter could shoot many arrows before the white's awkward weapon could again thunder its anger.

  Friend Seeker would like to have seen whites with their strange ways, but he did not intend leaving his search to do so. Someday, seeking out the whites would make a grand task and perhaps he and Late Star could do it together. The idea occupied his thoughts, easing the boredom of watching.

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  Chapter 16

  A village of little importance lay along a heavily wooded creek that soon emptied into the mighty river. To reach the creek, the Seeker had crossed unusual features and having them to his back worried him, for they made quick retreat more difficult.

  The first obstacle had been a deep gully less than an easy arrow shot across. Once the draw had been heavily timbered, but a power so mighty it could only have been the Great Spirit's had snapped the trees and littered them like giant straws. Men had found a path through the tangled trunks but it was exposed and tortuous. To be caught struggling to cross the entwined mass would be certain death, for there was no cover and the range would be short.

  Undoubtedly the Great Spirit had touched to earth one of his terrible twisting storms, for nothing less could have so stirred all things. The path of destruction continued for a great distance, but near his route, the Seeker found only the single, difficult path across.

  The other strange feature was a wide savannah of open ground. Surrounded by forest, the vast plain extended more than a mile without a tree or large bush to break its monotony. Thought of crossing such an open place gave Friend Seeker the shivers. He had never in his life so exposed himself. Yet if he were being pursued, he would of necessity have to cross the open. If he attempted to circle through surrounding forests, those pursuing would gain valuable time.

  Because of the dangers behind, the Seeker camped beyond the open ground and scouted back to the village. Since the lodges were few he expected nothing, but even the most unlikely required checking.

  He found a comfortable thicket above the village watering place and settled himself to watch. The usual assortment of squaws arrived and he listened halfheartedly to their gabble.

  A younger maiden appeared and her comeliness caught his eye. Although attractive, the girl seemed to arouse the ire of the women and they forced her to draw water below their own place.

  A hubbub arose as an older squaw switched a tall, skinny youth bearing two large water pots to the stream. Friend Seeker grinned, thinking of the boy's misery in such a household. He watched idly as the youth went to a flat stone far below the women and knelt to fill his pots.

  The boy was barefoot and his thin body was welted from canings. Clad only in loincloth, he was a sad creature and the Seeker's lip curled at a people that would treat their young so cruelly.

  The boy straightened, tossing his thin shoulders erect and pausing to look about. With stunning shock Friend Seeker recognized the proud stance. For an Instant the dark eyes rested on Friend Seeker's thicket and with a surge of exultation the Seeker knew he had found Late Star.

  Almost—his body tightened to leap clear, to make his presence known, to grasp Star's thin hand and lead him to safety. Luckily, surprise turned his strength to nothing and he sat unmoving, his jaw hanging as his eyes devoured every inch of Late Star's emaciated frame.

  Wearily, the Star grasped the woven reed handles of the jugs and he turned to trudge up the bank and into range of the squaw's shrieking. Friend Seeker carefully marked the lodge into which he disappeared.

  For a long time, Friend Seeker remained unmoving within his thicket. Chills shook his body and weakness flooded his limbs. Finding Late Star was a dream experienced a thousand nights finally becoming real. His throat tightened with a need to shriek victory and his limbs ached to begin a dance of absolute triumph. It was long before he could calm himself and begin studying the problem of getting Late Star safely from the village. Even then a sense of euphoria repeatedly rose to envelop him with an awareness such as he had never before experienced.

  He had found Late Star! A full turning of seasons after their capture he had found his friend. All of the vowing, the wondering, and the training culminating in one clear sighting. All of the sweat, strains, and loneliness became mere nothings, easily worth the single instant of discovery. Late Star lived. He appeared reasonably well and his glance around indicated his spirit had not broken. Late Star could be freed; only the best way to do it remained to be determined.

  Friend Seeker cleared his mind of its exhilaration and allowed it to roam freely, recording village features and the people who moved about. He would watch and decide. Only when he was fully prepared would Late Star learn that rescue was at hand.

  It would be hard to see his friend in continued misery, but their escape must be successful, for, if he failed, there could be no second chance. At best, he would be fleeing for his life while Late Star returned to captivity.

  — — —

  ESCAPE

  "The mystery is solved, the curtains are lifted, the chains drop off and the stones are rolled away.

  Warriors All

  Edward Lee Holman

  Chapter 17

  No longer did time drag. Days became too short. Unlikely worries that Late Star might be harmed or spirited away plagued him, yet care had to be taken and an escape plan thoroughly drawn. Three Feathers warned often against half considered actions that relied on good fortune. Friend Seeker resolved to prepare until there could be no accidents. Every step of their flight would be thought out and every possibility explored.

  For three days, he watched the village, learning its routines and its strengths. Late Star worked each day in the vegetable fields or cleaned fish and game caught by others. In the
fields, he was one among many and at least three hands of people slept in his lodge. Only when drawing water was he almost alone.

  It would have been best to escape at first dark for they could travel far before trackers could have followed. As that seemed too difficult with too many others about, dawn would have to do and Friend Seeker began to build his plan.

  Late Star's body was weakened by abuse and little food. He could not run far. Water therefore offered their best hope of escape, but neither he nor Star would be as adept as the Piscataway. If they attempted to cross the river the Cats would easily overtake them. The Piscataway were watermen who moved their dugouts with speed and skill. Even worse, with a path available, any runner could outdistance a canoe. Unless they crossed the Potomac, hunters would run along the banks and head them off.

  The Seeker studied long on the problem, stilling the urge to forget the risks and leap into action. For a time, an answer eluded him and he feared no good plan could be made. Because there was no alternative, he schemed on.

  When the solution finally appeared in his mind it was almost immediately whole and so simple and audacious that he was astounded he had not seen it before.

  He thought through the basic plan, embellishing it slightly and chuckling to himself as each piece fell naturally into place. He scouted the land for two additional days before he satisfied himself that he had forgotten nothing. Then his preparations were rapid.

  First, he stole a canoe from a different village. This was not difficult, as the canoes were not guarded. He moved the dugout to a place he had chosen and sunk it and the paddles by filling it with large stones. Safe from discovery, the boat would wait until needed.