Twin Willows: A Novel (16 page)

W
ACCACHALLA

Otter sat under a tree near his lodge, applying red and yellow war paint in the pattern he’d used for the ten turnings of the seasons he’d been a warrior. Never had the prospect of a fight been more welcome. From the day that Bear’s Daughter had taken Willow from Waccachalla, Otter’s anger had grown hot inside his belly.

He recalled how long he had waited for the old woman to get better, until at last the time was right for him to claim Willow. All one night he had hunted to find a deer worthy as a wedding offering, only to find himself bringing it to an empty lodge. Otter had no doubt that Bear’s Daughter had meant to keep him away from Willow, and had Black Snake allowed it, Otter would have gone after them immediately.

“Let the girl go. Full-blooded Shawnee maidens in a dozen villages can give Otter strong sons. You must look elsewhere for a wife,” the chief told him.

Remembering that day, Otter grunted so loudly that Bright Stone, his young warrior companion, looked to see what ailed him.

Noting how Otter’s eyes smoldered, Bright Stone nodded. “Your eyes show you are ready to kill the
Shemanese
. You will make our village proud.”

Otter considered the young man’s words. “There is none my equal on the warpath,” he said, more stating a fact than making a boast.

“So all Waccachalla knows.” Bright Stone stood and looked back to the village, where the women made preparations for the Warriors’ Dance. “Soon we prove it with the scalps of many
Shemanese
.”

“You have not walked the warpath before, Bright Stone. Do not boast of scalps before you take them.”

“I have gone with my brothers on many raids—I am ready. My wife will be proud.”

Otter thought with envy of the maiden that Bright Stone had been joined to last year. Had she not been too near his own kin, Doe Eyes could have been the mother of Otter’s sons. Already she had given Bright Stone a man-child. Otter frowned, not wanting to think of such things.

Instead, he imagined how he would be greeted with new respect when he returned to Waccachalla, victorious over the
Shemanese
.

Then I will find Willow
, he vowed. Otter sensed that Black Snake thought that if Bear’s Daughter had found a warm welcome in her old village, she’d likely stay there for some time. By now Willow could already share another man’s lodge in that place. The thought made him even more angry.

I must know about this thing
, Otter told himself. Black Snake could not stop a man from going hunting. If on the way he happened across Willow and she came back with him, then Black Snake would have no choice but to join them in marriage.

For the first time in many days, Otter felt almost happy. Now that he had determined the solution to his problem, he was ready to take the path of war to far Penn-sylvania, where the
Shemanese
lived who had killed Chief Netawatawees. Now they must pay with their lives for their dark deeds.

A few days later, Otter and Bright Stone sat together, two of more than a thousand Delaware, Shawnee, Ottowa, Chippewa, Mohawk, and Wyandot warriors who had gathered near Chillicothe on the Ohio River to avenge the death of their brothers. All waited while their leaders talked to Simon Girty, one of the few white men the Indians trusted. Among the expedition heads, the Mohawk chief Thayendanega was the only Indian. The others included William Caldwell, a British captain; Alexander McKee, a trader with a Shawnee wife; and some fifty red-coats. The party had almost reached the Kanawha River when Girty had intercepted them, shouting that they must stop and hear his important news.

“This talking goes on too long,” Otter complained.

Bright Stone looked up through the trees at the sun making its way from the land toward which they traveled. “We take no scalps sitting this place,” he said.

Curious to know what was happening, Otter left his companions and moved as close as he dared to the parley site. Although still too far away to hear their words, he could tell from the leaders’ faces that something important was under discussion.

When the parley ended, Otter approached a Shawnee from another village who had been close enough to hear some of what was said. “What news does this Girty bring that makes so much talk?”

“You know that the red-coat captain Crawford and many men from Penn-sylvania burned the villages of our brothers on the Upper Sandusky.” The warrior waited for Otter’s nod, then continued. “The man Girty saw the Delaware take Crawford and burn him at the stake.”

“What has that to do with us?”

“Some of the
Shemanese
with Crawford got away. By now they will be back in Penn-sylvania, making strong their forts. They know we come.”

“I do not fear the
Shemanese
forts,” Otter said with scorn. Although he had never seen a large one, he had heard stories of ways warriors could break into a fort and take many scalps.

“Nor do I, brother, but you will see—we do not go there now.”

Several more parleys followed until the matter was finally decided. Taking the advice of Simon Girty, the chiefs agreed not to continue toward Penn-sylvania. Instead, Girty proposed that the British William Caldwell should lead them against one of the newest and weakest of the Kentucky settlements, a small fort called Bryan’s Station. From the account of a captured
Shemanese
who lived there, Girty believed the Station would quickly fall.

Several Shawnee warriors close enough to hear the discussion murmured among themselves, pleased both at the prospect of action and its location. Near that Station at the Blue Licks salt flats, the man called Sheltowee by the Shawnee and Daniel Boone by the
Shemanese
had once been captured. Even though the Shawnee chief Blackfish had made him a blood brother, the man had run away to his own people and now plotted against his former Shawnee friends.

Otter had heard many stories about this Sheltowee. “I would like to fight this man,” he declared to Bright Stone. “It will be good to go to this place, better than Penn-sylvania.”

“The Mohawk warriors do not think so,” Bright Stone observed.

Indeed, in disagreement with the plan devised by the leaders, many of the Mohawks had already left the camp. So many other warriors followed them that the force soon numbered less than three hundred.

Bright Stone looked apprehensive as he told this to Otter. “We are much fewer now.”

“Our warriors are brave and this station is small. We will take it easily,” Otter predicted.

Not long after, the remaining warriors, led by William Caldwell and his Redcoats, and with Simon Girty scouting ahead, silently made their way southwest toward Bryan’s Station.

The horseman who rode into Bryan’s Station after dark one night in mid-August brought unwelcome news: a large band of Indians had been spotted, apparently bound for the neighboring Hoy’s Station.

“You all know they’ll need your help,” the messenger concluded.

The men gathered in the center of the Station to discuss the news. Some wanted to ride out immediately, while others feared an Indian ambush, which was a common practice, particularly at night. When it became obvious that their noisy arguments would settle nothing, David Suggett, the oldest man in the Station, turned to Ian McKnight. Suggett’s seventy years carried some authority, and when he held up his hand for silence, the others soon quieted.

“Someone must decide what’s to be done. It seems fitting that a military man like Colonel McKnight ought to take charge. What say you, Ian?”

“I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Suggett, but I’m not the only military man in this place. I’ll do naught without the word of the others.”

“If any man thinks he can do a better job, let him come forward and declare so. Otherwise, I say we put our trust in Colonel McKnight.”

When no one moved, William Tomlinson, who had two sons of fighting age, stepped forward and shook Ian’s hand. “Seems like y’ got yourself the job, Colonel. How do y’ say—do we ride out or not?”

Ian searched the faces of the silent circle of men. “How many want to go to the aid of our neighbors?”

With one voice the men declared their readiness to do so, some even that very night.

“Very well, we’ll go, but night travel’s risky, and we need time to prepare. We’ll leave with the dawn tomorrow.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen my father as a soldier,” Anna remarked to Rebecca as the men parted.

Rebecca glanced appraisingly at Anna. “Everyone in Kentucky is a soldier of sorts, I reckon. I should’ve asked earlier how well you handle a rifle and powder horn.”

“Well enough. From the time I could walk, my father saw to it that I learned the ways of the woods.”

“Good. With most of the men gone, the women will have to defend the Station.”

As she had done on the flatboat, Anna tried to imagine how she’d feel if they came under Indian attack. “Have you ever had to fire at Indians from the Station?”

“A few times. Sometimes when the men are off huntin’, we put on men’s hats and huntin’ shirts and carry rifles when we have to go outside the gates. If they think there are many men in a station, more often than not they leave it alone.”

“And if they don’t?”

Rebecca shrugged. “In that case, everyone gets a rifle and finds a chink in the wall to fire it from. After a few rounds, the savages usually turn tail and run back across the river.”

It was late when Ian returned to his cabin, reporting that all was ready for the men to depart at dawn. Anna bade Rebecca and her father good night and had started for the lean-to when Ian followed and took Anna’s hand. “I’m sorry to leave ye and Rebecca here, lass, but I have no choice.”

“I know, Father. Don’t worry—we’ll look after one another.” Even as she assured her father, Anna only hoped she spoke the truth.

Skirting the southern shore of the O-hio-se-pe, the Indians scattered before camping that night, then came together for the final day’s march. They forded the Licking River at their usual spot and encountered no one until they reached Blue Licks, where a party of white settlers worked at salt-making.

“Surely they must see us,” Bright Stone murmured to Otter. At a signal from Simon Girty, the warriors took whatever cover they could find. Some hid in high grass or stands of cane, while Otter and Bright Stone crouched behind a wide-trunked sycamore tree. “Why do we not kill them before they can warn the
Shemanese?
” Bright Stone whispered.

The older and more experienced Otter explained the situation. “It would not be wise. Other
Shemanese
could be nearby. Our rifles will not talk except to answer theirs, else all will know we are here, and the surprise will be lost.”

They waited for what seemed a very long time. Finally the white men left the area without showing any sign that they knew the warriors were watching them. After waiting a time to make sure the saltmakers had gone, the party moved on.

It was nearly dark when Bright Stone lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Smoke.”

Otter wrinkled his nose as he detected other odors. “The stink of sheep and cattle. We must be very near the
Shemanese
.”

The party skirted the livestock pens and stopped in the cover of the dense woods near a spring. They could tell little about Bryan’s Station except that it stood on a hill and seemed fairly small. A creek ran beside it, and to the south, beside an old buffalo trace, lay a large field of corn. The size of the station disappointed Otter, who had hoped it would be more like the real French and British forts he had seen.

“We should go in now and take the place while they sleep,” Bright Stone whispered.

“Even you must know that cannot be done,” Otter said. They would wait for daylight to attack; attempting to take a palisaded Station in the dark would be foolhardy.

Otter’s heart began to beat faster at the prospect that dawn would bring the chance to prove himself in battle. Then he would return to Waccachalla and claim Willow . . .

The sound of a single horse approaching the Station from the south at a gallop interrupted Otter’s reverie, and he frowned.

“No one fires—why is this so?” Bright Stone asked when it became obvious that the horseman would be allowed to enter the fort. “He might tell them we are here.”

“And shooting him would not?” Otter asked. “We are hidden, and this man does not see us. Take your rest now—it is yet a long while until dawn.”
Then this place will be ours, and Willow will be mine
. Smiling at that pleasant thought, Otter spread his blanket and lay down to sleep.

The sky had not yet emptied of stars when he awakened. In his usual rite before a battle, he bathed in the icy stream that ran past the Station. He did not break his fast, nor did he feel hungry. In the first faint predawn light, Otter climbed a tree for a better look at the object of their attack.

Bryan’s Station seemed to be only scarcely bigger than his own village of Waccachalla, crude in comparison to the grand forts of the French and British. Still, Otter hoped that his part in bringing it down would give him the honor he sought.

“This place may be small, but I will fight well here,” he assured himself.