Into the Wilderness
Page 132
"But he does have a home here, I met him at Barktown."
"He lives in exile in his own homelands," Nathaniel corrected her. He watched her think this through, and then accept it, reluctantly.
"You didn't know what was happening with the campaign while you were talking to Schuyler?"
"No, and he didn't tell me." Nathaniel stopped. He thought hard about what he could say to her. If he should leave her with the impressions of Schuyler that she had taken away from Saratoga on her wedding day, or if he should tell her the whole truth. Not for the first time that day, Nathaniel thought of Hannah, of what it would be like for her as a young woman, half Kahnyen’keháka. Hannah would need Elizabeth's help, which Elizabeth would not be able to give unless she understood the realities of what it meant to be living in a white man's country when your skin was more than white.
"Schuyler let me talk to him as if there were some room for peace. And the whole time we talked about which of the chiefs could be brought over and which tribes might be able to survive on this side of the border, Clinton was getting his men on the road with the taste for red flesh in their mouths. Now, Schuyler claims he told Clinton to leave Barktown alone, given the fact that Sky—Wound—Round had fought for him at Saratoga."
"You didn't believe General Schuyler?" Elizabeth asked evenly. If she was shocked by this idea of considerate and elegant Philip Schuyler as comp licit in a plot to wipe out the Iroquois, she did not show it.
"There's no question that the campaign plans came from Schuyler," Nathaniel said quietly. "None at all. For him, most Indians are savages and worthy of extermination, and he would own that to my face if I asked him. You're thinking of Runs-from-Bears. I'm not saying that Schuyler can't see the human being in some individuals. He can be loyal where it's called for. He did what he could to spare Barktown, but you have to remember, Elizabeth, that for him a bad Indian is one who doesn't see an advantage in being white." He gave her a minute to digest this, watching her face. He could see questions forming there, doubt and hesitancy and reluctant agreement.
"So how is it that Barktown was burned?" she asked.
"The Johnstown militia decided to do that on their own authority."
"I see," Elizabeth said, matching his tone.
"No you don't, but you will soon." He cleared his throat.
"So I went home and I found the village still smoking. The men—Sarah's father and her two brothers, both less than twenty, her uncle, other men and boys who were my friends—all of them dead. Took by surprise in the night. The women had fled or were doing what women always do, trying to keep alive and pull things back together. Sky—Wound—Round himself they took hostage, thinking they'd show up at Clinton's doorstep with more than just Indian hides to show for their trouble."
"Falling—Day?" Elizabeth asked numbly. "Sarah?"
"They took them along with Sky—Wound—Round, and Otter and Many-Doves , too. Otter was five at the time, Many-Doves was just seven."
Nathaniel had been staring at his own hands, lying flat on his knees; now he looked up at her, and he let her see his face the way he knew it must look. She was frightened; perhaps of him, perhaps of what he was telling her. It was hard to say. Nathaniel was suddenly tired, and he wanted to lie here in the sun and sleep with her next to him, listening to her breathe. Just sleep, with the sounds of the lake murmuring at them. But there was more to tell, and he could not turn away from this story, not once it was begun. With as little detail as possible, he told her about how he had tracked the militia, catching up to them on the next morning and then keeping well out of sight. To them he would have been just another Mohawk, and he knew better than to show himself.
The group of mismatched and poorly trained civilians, most of them with little battle experience, could hardly be called militia. Nathaniel recognized one or two of them from the distance. In that first day of following them the biggest surprise had been the acknowledgment that these civilians, poorly outfitted and provisioned, and led by nobody in particular, had been able to take Barktown with enough stealth and skill to cut down some of the strongest and most fearless of the Kahnyen’keháka warriors. Two things consumed him and focused all his energies: catching up with his family and solving this mystery.
Both had happened on that evening when he caught sight of them from a bluff over their campsite.
Elizabeth was leaning toward Nathaniel, concentrated completely on this story. She hadn't interrupted him or asked any questions for quite a long time, but he could see her growing impatience. "What? What is it?" he asked.
"They were well treated?"
"They didn't abuse the women, if that's what you mean," Nathaniel said. He could see that this had been on her mind, for she settled back a bit, and some tension left her.
"They weren't bleeding or wounded, at least that I could see from that distance. But they were well guarded, better than I thought they would be, an older man and a bunch of women and children. It didn't fit together, none of it. The massacre, or the taking of the hostages, or the sorry excuse for a militia. But then I finally got sight of the man in charge, and things fell into place."
"Was it someone you knew?"
"Never saw him before. A slight man, didn't look much like a soldier at all, wearing spectacles. Looked more like a schoolteacher."
"He lives in exile in his own homelands," Nathaniel corrected her. He watched her think this through, and then accept it, reluctantly.
"You didn't know what was happening with the campaign while you were talking to Schuyler?"
"No, and he didn't tell me." Nathaniel stopped. He thought hard about what he could say to her. If he should leave her with the impressions of Schuyler that she had taken away from Saratoga on her wedding day, or if he should tell her the whole truth. Not for the first time that day, Nathaniel thought of Hannah, of what it would be like for her as a young woman, half Kahnyen’keháka. Hannah would need Elizabeth's help, which Elizabeth would not be able to give unless she understood the realities of what it meant to be living in a white man's country when your skin was more than white.
"Schuyler let me talk to him as if there were some room for peace. And the whole time we talked about which of the chiefs could be brought over and which tribes might be able to survive on this side of the border, Clinton was getting his men on the road with the taste for red flesh in their mouths. Now, Schuyler claims he told Clinton to leave Barktown alone, given the fact that Sky—Wound—Round had fought for him at Saratoga."
"You didn't believe General Schuyler?" Elizabeth asked evenly. If she was shocked by this idea of considerate and elegant Philip Schuyler as comp licit in a plot to wipe out the Iroquois, she did not show it.
"There's no question that the campaign plans came from Schuyler," Nathaniel said quietly. "None at all. For him, most Indians are savages and worthy of extermination, and he would own that to my face if I asked him. You're thinking of Runs-from-Bears. I'm not saying that Schuyler can't see the human being in some individuals. He can be loyal where it's called for. He did what he could to spare Barktown, but you have to remember, Elizabeth, that for him a bad Indian is one who doesn't see an advantage in being white." He gave her a minute to digest this, watching her face. He could see questions forming there, doubt and hesitancy and reluctant agreement.
"So how is it that Barktown was burned?" she asked.
"The Johnstown militia decided to do that on their own authority."
"I see," Elizabeth said, matching his tone.
"No you don't, but you will soon." He cleared his throat.
"So I went home and I found the village still smoking. The men—Sarah's father and her two brothers, both less than twenty, her uncle, other men and boys who were my friends—all of them dead. Took by surprise in the night. The women had fled or were doing what women always do, trying to keep alive and pull things back together. Sky—Wound—Round himself they took hostage, thinking they'd show up at Clinton's doorstep with more than just Indian hides to show for their trouble."
"Falling—Day?" Elizabeth asked numbly. "Sarah?"
"They took them along with Sky—Wound—Round, and Otter and Many-Doves , too. Otter was five at the time, Many-Doves was just seven."
Nathaniel had been staring at his own hands, lying flat on his knees; now he looked up at her, and he let her see his face the way he knew it must look. She was frightened; perhaps of him, perhaps of what he was telling her. It was hard to say. Nathaniel was suddenly tired, and he wanted to lie here in the sun and sleep with her next to him, listening to her breathe. Just sleep, with the sounds of the lake murmuring at them. But there was more to tell, and he could not turn away from this story, not once it was begun. With as little detail as possible, he told her about how he had tracked the militia, catching up to them on the next morning and then keeping well out of sight. To them he would have been just another Mohawk, and he knew better than to show himself.
The group of mismatched and poorly trained civilians, most of them with little battle experience, could hardly be called militia. Nathaniel recognized one or two of them from the distance. In that first day of following them the biggest surprise had been the acknowledgment that these civilians, poorly outfitted and provisioned, and led by nobody in particular, had been able to take Barktown with enough stealth and skill to cut down some of the strongest and most fearless of the Kahnyen’keháka warriors. Two things consumed him and focused all his energies: catching up with his family and solving this mystery.
Both had happened on that evening when he caught sight of them from a bluff over their campsite.
Elizabeth was leaning toward Nathaniel, concentrated completely on this story. She hadn't interrupted him or asked any questions for quite a long time, but he could see her growing impatience. "What? What is it?" he asked.
"They were well treated?"
"They didn't abuse the women, if that's what you mean," Nathaniel said. He could see that this had been on her mind, for she settled back a bit, and some tension left her.
"They weren't bleeding or wounded, at least that I could see from that distance. But they were well guarded, better than I thought they would be, an older man and a bunch of women and children. It didn't fit together, none of it. The massacre, or the taking of the hostages, or the sorry excuse for a militia. But then I finally got sight of the man in charge, and things fell into place."
"Was it someone you knew?"
"Never saw him before. A slight man, didn't look much like a soldier at all, wearing spectacles. Looked more like a schoolteacher."
