Conesus Lake was only seven miles from the Genesee Castle, but now another stream and a swampy morass detained the army, making it impossible for Sullivan’s two cannons to pass, and so his army made camp while his engineers built a bridge over the stream and the soggy morass. The sun was already setting, but the engineers would work all night to finish the bridge so that the army could move out by first light. But while Sullivan had to wait he would at least send out a small party to reconnoiter in front of him, and for this purpose he asked to be sent to his tent after dinner an officer who had made himself conspicuous at the Newtown battle by his fierce daring and bold resolve.
“Lieutenant Boyd, reporting as ordered, Sir.”
Sullivan stood up from his desk and returned the salute of the dark and handsome officer, He knew that Boyd was a big man but now that he stood before him he seemed a veritable giant, and he had to look up to address him. “I have a job for you, Lieutenant, and one which I believe should satisfy a man of your talents and ambition.”
Sullivan’s private secretary, Colonel Bruen, sat at the table beside the General, and only looked up momentarily, for he was busy editing tomorrow’s Orders of the Day, and besides, he had seen and heard enough of the bold and enterprising young officer named Boyd, and harbored envy for field officers of any rank, since he had to fight the war with a pen rather than a sword or rifle.
“Why, thank you, General,” answered Boyd, “I shall do my utmost in your service, Sir.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” gave Sullivan. “And that is why I asked for you.”
“I am honored, Sir.”
“I understand you have two brothers in the service.”
“My brother John serves as a lieutenant with the 3rd Pennsylvania, Sir,” said Boyd. Then he cleared his throat and added, “My brother William was also with the 3rd, but he was killed at Brandywine…two years ago yesterday, actually, Sir.”
“Well, I am sorry to hear that,” said Sullivan. “A great loss to the service, of that I am sure. Now then, Lieutenant, the reason I sent for you is because I need to know what is in front of us. To accomplish that end I want you to take a few experienced men, a sergeant and a couple of riflemen, and two of our Indian scouts, and go up there as far as you can in safety, and get as close to Little Beard’s town as is possible without drawing attention to yourselves. Study the layout of the place, and I want to know if they are preparing a welcome for us, and if so, try to determine if there is any way we can surprise them. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, Sir,” answered Boyd, and the only answer to give one’s General.
“You’ll leave as soon as it gets dark tonight. Take some good horses and draw rations and ammunition for a few days,” said Sullivan. Then extending his hand, he added with an encouraging smile, “and for God’s sake, stay out of trouble, Boyd.”
“I’ll try, Sir,” said Boyd, saluting before he left the tent, and feeling like the world had been handed to him on a platter. Here was a chance at personal glory, at last. And none too soon, for the rumor mill had it that they would soon be returning to Tioga, their mission accomplished. It would be a shame to have come all this way only to burn houses and crops and not have the chance to distinguish himself.
Boyd returned to his unit in high spirits and proudly announced to one and all what he was up to, the result being that by the evening gun he had a long line of men begging him to let them go with him. At first he told them that he was only to take three or four, and he had already picked Sergeant Parker, with his broken teeth and jagged scar on his cheek, and also the square-faced and solid Sergeant Hungerman, and of course he had to take the Oneida Chief Hanyost Thaosagwat, who proudly carried a Seneca scalp on his belt that he had taken at the Newtown battle. And there was the Stockbridge, Captain Jehoiakim Mtohksin, who Boyd called “Captain Joke,” but supposedly these Indians knew something of the country.
But then everybody wanted to get in on the chance for glory. Of course Boyd couldn’t turn down Murphy. Even though he thought of him as the wild Irishman, he was, after all, the best shot in the outfit. And then there were Murphy’s two sidekicks, Faughey and McElroy, who went nowhere without Murphy, and those two insisted that a young kid named Tommy Allen come with them. Then there was the Professor, who heard the others were going, and so in spite of the fact that old Ben Curtin had been having those dreams of being surrounded by Indians and had woken up that morning feeling lethargic and sullen, he attributed it to his kidney ailment. In fact, he was scheduled to depart the next morning for Tioga because of it, but he figured here was his last chance to do something brave and heroic to impress his girlfriend before the campaign was over, and so Boyd said he could go too, especially since they were going to be riding, not walking. And then there was William Harvey, who was always telling everybody that he’d taken a scalp at Newtown but somebody had stolen it from him, and so he needed to get himself another one. And then there were the three Johns; Putnam, Conrey, and Miller, the famous German wrestler, and after them six more who Boyd agreed could come along, and it turned out to be a merry party of twenty-seven that finally rode out of camp that evening, volunteers all.
Murphy would always remember it as a chilly evening in his later accounts of the episode, “with a low fog hanging over the morass.” As they passed by the men building the bridge over the stream, one looked up in surprise and asked them, “Where do you boys think you’re going?”
“To get us some scalps,” answered Boyd in his cocky way.
“Well, you just better hang onto yours,” came the reply and a hearty laugh, and all in the Boyd party laughed as well, except for two men, the Oneida scout, chief Hanyost Thaosagwat, always a sullen one, and Murphy, who rode toward the rear of the column simply because he could no longer stand the sight of Boyd, though he had to admit that it was kind of nice to be riding for a change.
Boyd had indeed chosen the best horses and now he led his party in two columns of thirteen, with Sergeant Parker at the head of his left column, and Sergeant Hungerman at the head of his right column. They rode through the swampy morass and already the columns became scattered and out of order, which caused Boyd to halt the column before they rode up the hill and it gave him the chance to give a lot of orders to get them straightened out.
Murphy thought the intrepid look Boyd wore on his face was about the most comical thing he’d ever seen. Not only that, but Boyd had rarely worn his sword on the campaign, had in fact walked most of the way after most of the horses had given out, (to Murphy‘s mind having to carry a giant like Boyd had contributed to more than a few deaths among the poor beasts) but Murphy almost laughed out loud when Boyd pulled his sword out of its scabbard, cavalry-like, and yelled, “Form up on me, Sergeants!“ before leading them up and over the hill.
“Red” Faughey, Mac, The Professor, and Tommy Allen also rode at the rear because that’s where Murphy rode, and the five of them had a nice view of the entire column as it rode through the tall grass of the largely open plateau. The grass was as tall as their horses and a nice breeze was blowing and it seemed to Tommy Allen as if the horses were swimming in a sea of waving grass, while the men bobbed up and down like toy soldiers in a carnival display. Even the Professor found himself caught up in the euphoria of the moment as his dark and gloomy mood was dissipated by the fresh air blowing in his face.
Soon it began to grow quite dark, and then a quarter moon rose behind them. Boyd kept them moving at a slow pace all through the night, but he had neglected to allow his Indian scouts to pick the trail, and when he came to a fork in the road he turned to the left, thinking he wanted to head more west than north. When the light of early morning began to reveal the land in front of them and when he saw no sign of any extensive fields or other evidence that they might be near the outskirts of a large village, as expected, he began to suspect they might be lost.
He finally called a halt and condescended to confer with Hanyost and the Stockbridge. Neglecting to admit his folly, he simply asked them, “Which way to the Genesee Castle?”
They looked at one another and after talking amongst themselves, Hanyost pointed his arm to the west, and the other agreed.
So they went on, though a bit more cautiously than before, over one low rise after another, as the sky grew ever lighter in the east, and Boyd brought the column to a halt now and then at the top of each rise while he strained to see what might lay ahead of them. He had expected to be within sight of the large Indian settlement by now, and the horses, being hungry after the night ride, did not neglect to nip at the grass whenever Boyd halted the column. They presently rode over another low rise and there, right before them, was a small village of perhaps ten cabins. It was too small a place to have been the Genesee Castle, but it was at least somewhere where Indians lived, and could very well be the outskirts of the larger town they sought, and so Boyd had them immediately dismount.
Handing the reins of his sorrel to Hungerman, he told him, “Sergeant, I want you to keep everybody right here. Sergeant Parker, come with me.”
Boyd moved forward through the grass, keeping low, with Parker right behind him. They soon reached the edge of the tall grass where he knelt down to look and listen. A small cabin with bark walls stood not thirty feet from them. All was quiet and there were no wisps of smoke, though it was still very early, only about four thirty in the morning. And so after waiting and listening for a couple of minutes, Boyd stepped out of the grass and crept up to the edge of one of the cabins, but found it empty, as were all the others, the place deserted like all of the other villages they had entered. There was not even any furniture in any of the buildings, only a couple of deerskins and one dirty bearskin, and so Boyd and Sergeant Parker returned to a nervous Sergeant Hungerman where the rest of the party were still hiding in the tall grass.
“Nobody home down there,” said Boyd. He knew he should have found the outskirts of the Genesee Castle by now, knew he had wasted a lot of time getting lost and going around in a circle. He would just have to try again tonight. He looked around at the country and noted the edge of some woods about fifty yards from the village. “We’ll hide in those trees today,” he told them, “and wait until it gets dark before looking for the main village tonight.”
And as much as he hated to, he knew he’d better send word of his progress back to the General, so he chose young Tommy Allen because he considered the boy to be the least useful in case of an action, but he made it sound like it was an honor to be sent away.
“Private Allen, I’ve noticed that you’re a good horseman. Therefore I have a special mission for you. I want you to go back and tell General Sullivan that we have discovered a small abandoned village. Tell him we have not sighted a single Indian and that I will endeavor to discover the disposition of the Genesee Castle forthwith.” No sense in telling the General that he had become lost and missed his chance of finding the place before morning light. “Repeat that back to me.”
Allen repeated the message and then Sullivan told him, “And take Nichols with you.”
Tommy Allen didn’t really want to leave the rest of them. It made him nervous, thinking that he’d be crossing Indian country with just Nichols, who had never impressed anybody as a very good soldier or a very good shot either. Tommy wasn’t even sure which way to go. But Boyd had ordered him to do it, so he had no choice.
It helped when Murphy came over and reassured him. “You’ll be fine, Tommy. I figure our camp is only about four miles from here, five at the most. Just stay off of ridgelines and keep in the trees as much as you can.”
“Thanks, Murph,” said Tommy, acting brave.
And then The Professor came over and told him, “Just follow that little river over there, Tommy. It’ll take you back to the lake. You should be back by sunup.”
“Thanks Ben. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” For some reason he couldn’t explain Tommy felt reluctant to leave. He felt suddenly choked up by emotion, and felt a terrible urge to say goodbye to The Professor. The feeling would haunt him later, but Boyd and the others were watching, and Nichols was already mounted and waiting to get going, so, feeling somewhat confused and embarrassed, he mounted his horse and they promptly rode out, to take Boyd’s message back to the General.
Boyd then led the rest of them into the trees, and they hadn’t settled themselves in the woods for more than a minute or two when they heard the unmistakable sound of horses galloping. There, on the opposite side of the village, appeared three Indians on horseback. They dismounted, took down their packs and opened them, and then started making a fire in the middle of the village. They got a good fire going, then let it burn down to coals and tossed what looked like potatoes into the fire. Just the three of them, no other Indians around.
Major Butler and his English troops were ready to pack up and go home. Tired and demoralized, they were on the verge of starving. Worse, they were sick and tired of being constantly insulted by their Indian allies who they felt had shown a deplorable lack of military discipline at the Newtown battle. With his hands full trying to keep his disorganized remnants together, Butler was uncertain as to what he could do to stop the rebel advance, and could only hope that Bolton had received his messages for assistance and would soon be sending reinforcements.
As for the Indians, they were outspoken in their belief that the British had lied to them, duped them into fighting a war that was about to destroy them and their way of life, by bribing them with rum and guns. The British had made many promises and all of them had been broken. They had promised to keep them well supplied with guns, ammunition, and food, but instead they were practically starving and living on over ripe vegetables, and every time they shot at game to feed themselves they were admonished to stop wasting precious ammunition. The British had promised to send them regiments of soldiers, and where were they? They had even promised to return their lands to them after the war was won, but now it seemed they were about to lose everything to the rebel invaders. By all signs, a harsh winter was just around the corner, and how would they survive with their crops, homes, and villages destroyed?
It was only their common hatred of the enemy that kept them together, and because the Indians were determined to defend their last bastion of the Seneca lands, the Genesee Castle, or Little Beard’s Town, Major Butler had little choice but to listen to the plans of the principal chiefs, Old Smoke, Cornplanter, Little Beard, Hiokatoo, of the Seneca; Fishcarrier and Too Tall Pine of the Cayuga; Sagwarithra, or Dragging Spear, of the Tuscarora Turtle Clan; and Joseph Brant of the Mohawks. Blacksnake was still with them too, with his handsome nephew, and the pretty squaw who doted on him. There were only about four hundred warriors left now. Many had deserted after Newtown, going back to protect their families. Others had even resolved to leave their ancestral homes forever and make new lives in Canada or out in the Ohio country. Those that remained were a somber lot after having been chased out of one village after another like whipped dogs. Because of this they were less inclined to argue over what they should do, and they all agreed that they still hoped to inflict as much death and destruction upon the rebels as possible. Even so, it took them four days of endless arguing to come up with a plan that all could agree upon.
Scouts were constantly coming in to inform Butler as to the whereabouts of the rebel army and they soon reported that Sullivan was held up by the big swamp at the top of Conesus Lake, and after a night of frenzied dancing, Butler had his forces gathered in a couple of ravines on the other side of the swamp, waiting for Sullivan’s engineers to finish building a bridge over the morass so he could get his cannons across. The plan was to wait until Sullivan’s advance units came across the bridge. They would be necessarily strung out in a thin line and could be attacked hard and fast from both sides before the main rebel army could come up to support them.
Too Tall Pine knew that their tactics at Newtown left much to be desired, and he too had been disgusted when he learned that many had run from the battlefield. He was also disgusted with their white leadership, yet, none of the Indian leaders seemed to want to step forward with any better ideas that all could agree upon, so even as Butler continued to dawdle and seemed indecisive, Too Tall Pine remained loyal and was determined to help defend the Indian lands in any way he could.
He had to agree that the plan was a good one and he had high hopes that they would be able to kill and maim many of the rebel soldiers before the bulk of Sullivan’s army crossed the bridge. Too Tall Pine felt that they should have been relentlessly attacking the fringes of the rebels all along, and now all the warriors were talking about how they might, if successful, keep making such hit and run attacks until the army gave up. After all, it was late in the season and they might be able to hold the invaders where they were and maybe even turn them back with their tails between their legs. With action imminent, Too Tall Pine wished that his son was with him, but with the chiefs loudly complaining that their people were going without meat, he had sent his son and Little Crane Hopping to the Genesee Castle where they could at least hunt and provide meat for the common stewpots, thus keeping them busy, and with less time to think about their defeat and trail of burned villages they had left behind.
Of course, Yellow Bear would have preferred to remain with his father, and all the boys hoped that they might be allowed to confront the enemy sometime soon and have a chance to build their reputations as warriors. Even so, Yellow Bear and Little Crane Hopping, along with Face In The Water, and his Seneca friend, The Trout, made a good hunting team, though Little Crane Hopping sometimes showed his jealousy of Face In The Water and the special friendship he shared with Yellow Bear.
In the name of solidarity and brotherly spirit, the four boys performed a ceremony whereby each made a cut on the palm of his hand and clasped their hands together, mingling their blood, and pledging undying loyalty to one another, promising that they would protect one another from danger and vowing that all their possessions were common property. In this spirit of sacrifice, Face In The Water, frustrated in his dream of wreaking vengeance upon the rebel army and with no other way to show his bravery, decided to let The Trout tattoo a turtle, the sign of his clan, on his arm to show he was impervious to pain and suffering. The Trout was no artist and the rendering was not the best, but all the young men had to agree that Face In the Water bore the pain of the procedure well, in fact he scarcely grimaced.
The Trout was a stocky and jovial boy of fifteen who followed Face In The Water with the same devotion that Drags Canoe had followed Too Tall Pine, so it came as no surprise the next evening when The Trout announced that he would cut half his ear off with a pair of scissors to prove his bravery and worthiness to Face In The Water. Such practices had been popular in the old days and had since fallen out of favor, but there were a few young braves who were taking it upon themselves to revive the practice.
The boys all watched as The Trout took the scissors and put his ear between the blades. He held that position for some time as the others waited. Having made the boast, he had to go through with it, and so, closing his eyes he made a quick snip that brought a yelp of pain and a copious stream of blood that spilled onto his shoulder. But he had only cut halfway through the ear and complained that he couldn’t see what he was doing, so Face In The Water offered to help. Taking the sheers, he promptly cut off the hanging flap, drawing another yelp of pain from The Trout who wiped the tears from his eyes as his friends slapped him on the back for his show of bravery.
Yellow Bear placed a healing poultice over the cut and tied a bandage around The Trout’s head to keep it in place, but Yellow Bear and the others had to listen to The Trout moaning and groaning all through that night, and it seemed to Yellow Bear that the loss of half an ear was wasted in his case and proved nothing, and he had to laugh when Little Crane Hopping whispered the comment, “Instead of proving how brave he is, now he will only hear half as well.”
All the boys looked weary and haggard the next morning after their sleepless night, but still they went out hunting as usual. They only managed to bring back to the village three squirrels and a skinny rabbit that afternoon and they all looked forward to a nap, but then Cornplanter came to them and asked them to take two mules loaded down with flour, potatoes, and tobacco to Butler’s camp. In spite of their exhaustion, they all whooped with joy. Yellow Bear, especially, was glad for the chance to see his father and the others again.
Cornplanter had been careful to confer with Blacksnake about allowing his handsome nephew to go down to where Butler was encamped since he knew all too well how overprotective Blacksnake was of the boy, and not only did Blacksnake agree to let the boy go, but he even gave him a shiny silver bracelet to wear around his arm and they all had to admit that Face In The Water looked formidable with his new tattoo on one arm and the shiny silver bracelet on the other. He also wore his best red leggings, not to mention the hat that his mother had recently made for him with the two feathers that hung rakishly to one side. If Yellow Bear hadn’t liked his friend so much, he might have been jealous of his finery.
Though Yellow Bear and Little Crane Hopping had rarely ridden horses, they both learned fast and were soon cantering alongside their Seneca friends, each with a sack of potatoes between their legs as they rode, their rifles balanced on top. The four boys had planned to ride all night and deliver their precious goods late the next morning, but so tired and hungry were they as the sun began to rise that they were in danger of falling off their horses. They had made it as far as the tiny village of Gathtsegwarohare, and The Trout, with his bandaged ear, was still far behind them. He had insisted on being in charge of the two mules and the other boys knew that The Trout had taken the burden of tending the mules, riding one and leading the other, in order to make up for his lack of fortitude in dealing with the pain of his mutilated ear, and so he was indulged and they wasted no time in building a fire and tossing a dozen potatoes on the coals while they waited for him to catch up.
They had little thought of posting a sentry, for they knew that Butler’s forces were between the rebel army and the Genesee Castle. Even so, Yellow Bear knew enough to keep his rifle next to him.
“What are you going to do, Sir?” asked Sergeant Hungerman.
“Nothing,” said Boyd, irritated by the question. “It’s just a few Indians. We’ll stay put and wait them out. Tell the men to stay down and stay quiet. Tell them they can eat some corncakes, just stay quiet.”
But as the minutes dragged on, the men grew more and more nervous, too nervous to have breakfast, and nobody pulled any corncakes out of their saddlebags, and Boyd grew angry with a few of them that kept wanting to look up and see what the Indians were up to, especially Murphy, and all the men began to get more and more irritated by the very idea that they had to hide from three Indians.
Murphy was particularly incensed and finally with some encouragement from the others he decided to approach Boyd with his simple plan.
“Lieutenant, why don’t we just go in there and take ‘em,” he suggested.
“I can’t jeopardize the mission,” said Boyd.
“Then you stay here,” said Murphy, not to be dissuaded from bagging a few scalps.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Murphy suspected Boyd was simply pulling rank, and that his reluctance was due to a contrary nature, contrary mostly to anything Murphy might suggest, and so he waited a minute or two before whispering, “Sir, why not let me and couple of the boys go in there real quiet-like. We might be able to capture them. The general would be mighty pleased to have a few prisoners to question, wouldn’t he?”
“And what if they don’t let you capture them?” asked Boyd.
“Then we’ll shoot ‘em,” said Murphy. “Then we can all sit back and enjoy the day.”
Boyd didn’t like their situation either, having to hide like scared rabbits from three measly Indians having a good old time in the town they had just conquered. Weren’t they soldiers, after all, and wasn’t it their job to kill or capture Indians? And he had to admit that the general would be mighty pleased with him if they brought back a few Indian prisoners, maybe even pleased enough to promote him to captain.
“Just look at ‘em, sir,” said Murphy, “sitting there like ducks in a barrel.”
It was true; there were three Indians put right in front of them. It would be a shame to come all this way and not try to kill or capture a single Indian. When would they ever get such a chance again?
“All right,” said Boyd. “Take six men, your best shots. And Murphy, make sure you get them all, one way or another.”
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” said Murphy. “I’ll be right back with them, or all their scalps tied in a knot for you to hang on your saddle.”
“Do you think that’s such a good idea, Sir?” asked Sergeant Hungerman. Sergeant Parker just looked scared and kept his mouth shut.
Boyd ignored the question as Murphy picked Faughey and McElroy, the Professor, Harvey, Miller and Conrey.
Boyd watched the grasses part as the detachment headed toward the village where the Indians squatted unawares around their campfire, and almost immediately did he start to become nervous and regret his decision to let Murphy go down there. What if he couldn’t capture them and they started shooting and more Indians nearby heard the shots? What if he didn’t get the chance to scout out the Genesee Castle like General Sullivan had ordered him to do? Hadn’t he already disobeyed orders by bringing so many men with him? Was he imperiling the mission?
Boyd noticed that their Oneida guide, Hanyost, sat shaking his head in disgust at the sudden development. It didn’t help when Sergeant Hungerman came up beside him and repeated, “Do you think this is such a good idea, Sir?”
Yellow Bear sat before the lowering fire, half asleep. It annoyed him that Little Crane Hopping kept poking at the potatoes with his knife, and he said, “Leave the potatoes alone or there will be nothing left for us to eat.”
“Sorry,” said Little Crane Hopping, “I think I am hungrier than I am sleepy.”
Face In The Water had gone into one of the cabins, hoping to find a blanket or robe, for it was a chilly morning, when Yellow Bear heard the sound of cornstalks breaking behind them.
“Here comes our brave brother, The Half Ear,” said Little Crane Hopping. “I would greet him, but he probably wouldn’t hear me.”
Sure enough, it was The Trout. His bandage had fallen off and his half ear looked raw and bloody. He was on foot and leading the two mules, and as Yellow Bear watched him come out of the cornfield, he could not ignore the change that came over his face. First a beaming smile, then a look of fear, a look that brought Yellow Bear to his feet and instantly alert.
“Run,” said The Trout, “Run for your lives.”
Boyd fretted until he heard the shots, one and then two more, and then the whooping and hollering of Murphy and the others, which brought them all out of the woods and back into the village, Boyd thinking what an easy thing it was to kill three Indians with three shots. But then his men were marksmen, weren’t they? But when he arrived, there stood Murphy over a dead Indian; one dead Indian with a bullet hole in his back, a skinny kid with red leggings and a silver bracelet around his arm.
“Where are the others?” asked Boyd, but he already knew.
“There was another one we didn’t see,” Murphy had to admit. “He warned the others before we was ready, but I got this one.”
“I think I wounded one,” said McElroy, trying to make a bad situation better. “Did you see that I hit the big one with the mules?” he asked of the others.
“I think you might of grazed one of those mules,” said Harvey.
“What about their horses?” asked Boyd.
“They run off,” said Faughey, who hadn’t fired his blunderbuss.
“We must go,” said Hanyost, nervously fingering the Indian scalp on his belt. “They tell others. Soon many come.”
Boyd didn’t know what to do except curse his luck, and Murphy.
“Godammit, Murphy, what the hell happened?” said Boyd, slapping Murphy with his hat. “You told me you’d get them all, like ducks in a barrel; that’s what you said.”
The incident only confirmed to Parker that Murphy was a wild Irishman, a loose cannon, a soldier bereft of discipline, which in turn confirmed that he would never make a good sergeant, and it was only right and proper that he, Parker, was their sergeant, and he rolled his eyes in disgust. The others all stood there looking at one another, knowing that Murphy had screwed up, had gotten them all in trouble, but they also knew that ultimately it was Boyd’s fault, that he had allowed the screw-up. But there comes a time when it doesn’t matter whose fault it was.
Though Murphy was stung by Boyd’s rebuke, he reminded himself that war was a risky venture, that not everything went according to plan. He had hoped to surround the three boys and take them prisoners, but another Indian, a chubby boy, had come out of the cornfield with a couple of mules, and saw them first and ruined the plan. Even so, he was proud to have brought down the only Indian, shot square in the back after he ran out of one of the cabins toward the cornfield. Murphy noticed that he was a handsome young boy, tall and skinny, and now he took out his knife and neatly sliced off the Indian’s topknot, dripping blood on the ground.
The Professor noticed that a wisp of steam rose up from the bloody wound where Murphy had sliced off a piece of his hair, and it gave him a chill up his spine like he might have been watching the Indian boy’s ghost rise up out of his body.
The Stockbridge looked at the dead boy, too, noticed the recently rendered tattoo on his forearm and the two feathers on his hat that lay beside him, and said, “Seneca, Turtle clan.”
“What are we going to do, Sir?” Hungerman wanted to know.
Boyd found himself staring at the fire the Indians had made. A dozen potatoes were lying in the coals. He drew his knife and went over and stabbed one. He bit into it but it was too hot to eat and he threw it down. He looked around and saw that the men were looking at him, waiting for him to make a decision. Chief Hanyost, the Oneida, and the Stockbridge stood looking warily around, sniffing the air, expecting at any moment to be attacked by enemy warriors.
Finally Boyd said, “We’re going back. The mission is over.”
Nobody argued with him. Murphy wanted to but didn’t dare say a word, since he knew he screwed up, and he secretly worried that maybe his fame had gotten to him, had made him reckless and overconfident, a dangerous frame of mind to be in out in Indian country, but he didn’t have much time to think about it, for they mounted up and rode out, leaving the skinny dead Indian boy lying in the middle of the village, his topknot slashed off.
They rode up the hill in good order, back the way they had come, over one low rise after another, through the tall grass, but now their eyes were all squinted up from the sun peeking up over the hill in front of them. Nobody said anything, and while they rode, Boyd wondered if he was doing the right thing. It was about five thirty in the morning and he knew they could easily be seen for miles in the daylight from any of the low ridges on this wide plateau covered with little but grass, and the more he thought about it the more it worried him, and so he halted the column at a stream in a little valley and let the horses drink while he considered their situation. He calculated that they were only about two or three miles from the main army, but the idea of continuing on gnawed at him. The stream ran out of a dense grove of pines and Boyd thought it a good place to hide.
“We’ll wait right here,” said Boyd; “wait for the army to come up.”
Nobody said anything to that, for it seemed like a good idea, and so they all waited right there. An hour went by, and Boyd started thinking that it wouldn’t hurt to inform General Sullivan that he was here and waiting, and he knew just who he’d send out to tell him.
“Murphy, I want you to go and tell the General that we will be waiting for him right here. Take your two musketeers with you.”
Murphy didn’t know what to make of Boyd’s order at first. Mostly it seemed like a dangerous order, telling them to ride out in broad daylight. But then again, he would be glad to get back to camp and away from that damned fool of a lieutenant. So he said, “Yes, sir,” then, “C’mon, Mac, Red, let’s get back to camp.” And with that the three rode out, back whence they’d come.
The three boys had been lucky to escape with their lives; lucky that The Trout had come out of the cornfield when he did and seen the soldiers. There had been no time to go to their horses which bolted when the shots were fired. Their instinctive reaction was all that saved them, though The Trout had lost his bandage and kept grimacing from the pain. Yellow Bear checked the wound and saw that the bleeding had stopped and it didn’t look infected, which showed that his poultice had done its job. The worst thing was that they could not account for Face In The Water. Yellow Bear felt terribly guilty about this, especially after having made a solemn oath of mutual protection, and so he insisted that they run up the hill to a place where they could see the village.
From there they could see a group of soldiers milling around their campfire. One towered over the others, and Yellow Bear recognized him as the big officer that had killed Black Otter and Drags Canoe. They all watched as the giant soldier kneeled down and stabbed a potato, tasted it, then threw it down. Then all the soldiers left, disappearing over the ridge.
The three boys waited for some time before cautiously making their way back in hopes of finding Face In The Water. And they found him all right, his body lying at the edge of the cornfield, his topknot neatly sliced off. It came as a great shock to them all, and Yellow Bear became sick to his stomach and wretched little more than bile, his stomach being empty. But more than this, he burned with rage and for the first time in his life, knew the bitter taste of vengeance.
Their horses had run off, but they were able to catch the two heavily burdened mules. One of them had blood on its mane, but it was only a slight graze, probably from one of the shots fired by the soldiers.
“I will stay with my father after we deliver these goods,” said Yellow Bear to his companions, “and make the soldiers pay for killing Face In The Water.”
The Trout, too, was distraught, but his ear bothered him so much he could think of little else and he was terribly hungry, so he joined Little Crane Hopping in spearing their potatoes out of the coals and eating them.
Yellow Bear was disgusted by the behavior of his two companions and he rebuked them sharply, saying, “You think of nothing except to feed your hunger when your brother’s spirit cries out for revenge. Take the potatoes with you. You can eat them as we run.”
His two companions did as they were told, stuffing the hot potatoes into their packs, before following Yellow Bear as he ran up the hill through the tall grass. Little Crane Hopping was close behind while The Trout followed as quickly as he could, leading the two burdened mules. Yellow Bear ran faster and stronger than he had ever ran before, invigorated, it seemed, by his hatred of the enemy and three times he stopped to wait for The Trout.
They crossed six or seven low ridgelines before Yellow Bear spotted the large group of Indians in the shallow valley below, the Indians that Butler had gathered in hopes of ambushing Sullivan’s leading elements. It was a good sight and Yellow Bear looked for his father among the crowd. He spotted him just as Little Crane Hopping ran up behind him and yelled, “Run!”
Yellow Bear turned and saw three rebel soldiers on horseback. He paused, unwilling to run from them. His spirit cared not if they killed him. He was somewhat surprised at this and decided that he would stand his ground and die trying to kill them. It was a good feeling, the lack of fear, and he began to sing a battle song, “The hills and the forests last forever, but a warrior is glad to die!”
His friends stopped and stood beside him, too ashamed to leave him yet uncertain what to do. Then, as Yellow Bear raised his rifle, the riders turned and ran in the other direction.
Yellow Bear said to his comrades, “They will soon return with their friends.” Then he told The Trout, “Go and tell my father that soldiers will soon be coming this way. And tell him that one is the giant that killed our warriors. Little Crane Hopping and I will stay here and make certain the soldiers know which way to go. Quick!”
There was no getting around the fact that Boyd had not found the Genesee Castle as he’d been ordered to do, but there was no helping that now, and he had plenty of time to think of what he would say to the General in explanation, though he tried to act unconcerned before the others.
“Relax, men,” he told them after they’d moved back into the trees and dismounted. “Have something to eat, but no fires.”
The men were glad for the rest and being more hungry than frightened now, they reached into their saddlebags for corncakes and pumpkins, and whatever else they carried to sustain them, to partake of their first meal since they had left the night before.
It could not have been ten minutes later when they heard horses coming down the path, and there returned Murphy and his buddies. Murphy had lost his hat and his face was red and sweaty. He pulled his horse up, and then pointed back to whence they’d come and said, “We saw some Indians up there. I don’t think we can get through.”
“How many?” asked Boyd.
Murphy turned in his saddle and asked McElroy, “How many did you see?”
“I’m not sure,” said McElroy, shaking his head, “two, maybe three.”
Exasperated by what looked like cowardice on Murphy’s part, Boyd said, “You’re running from two or three Indians?”
Murphy said nothing, but just sat there in his saddle, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His gut had told him to turn away from them and there was no explaining his gut.
Boyd had to think fast, and it didn’t help that The Professor and all the others were looking at him, waiting for him to make a decision. Those Indians that McElroy had seen could have been the same Indians they tried to ambush in the village, and if they were the only Indians out here, then they had little to worry about, and might even be able to get them after all. If he couldn’t explain his failure to find the Genesee Castle to the General, at least he might be able to kill or capture a couple of Indian scouts to make up for it. Then again, if they were part of a larger force, Murphy just showed them where they were, and so it seemed to Boyd that he had little choice. Preferring action to hiding and waiting, he climbed up on his horse and said, “We are not going to run from two or three Indians. Everybody mount up, we’re going after them!”
“Wait,” said Chief Hanyost, the ever-nervous one. “This could be a trap.”
“We could still be trapped if we just waited here,” argued Boyd. “You can stay here if you want, Hanyost, but me and the boys are gonna go up there and kill or capture us some Indians,” and with that he spurred his horse forward and the others scrambled to follow.
They crossed the shallow stream and rode up the rise, and as they did so, Boyd turned in his saddle and yelled, “Godammit, Murphy, get your sorry ass up here and tell me where you saw those Indians!”
Murphy rode up and pointed up to the low ridge in front of them, and now Boyd could see the twisting depression in the grass not far ahead where Murphy and his two companions had turned their horses around.
Chief Hanyost had little choice but to follow, but he had a bad feeling about the whole thing. There was a little copse of trees on the left of the ridge in front of them, and Hanyost watched it carefully for any movement or puff of smoke as they rode up the hill. He was just catching up to Boyd who rode at the head of the column when they saw them, two Indian boys who rose up out of the grass at the top of the ridge not fifty yards in front of them. The Indians saw them at the same time and turned and ran down the other side of the hill. Excited, Boyd spurred his horse forward and drew his sword, shouting, “Follow me!”