to break from the cluster of women in front of the Shawnee wigwam went to Pontiac and touched his shoulder. He followed her into the woods.
“Quick,” Torayana whispered, “if you want Uko Nyakwai choose now. Otherwise one of the others will pick him.” Her advice came too late. One of the squaws, the youngest and prettiest of them, darted forward and touched Quent’s shoulder. He followed her into the trees without once looking back toward Nicole.
Torayana saw the terrified look on the white girl’s face. She waited a second or two more until Cormac was in their direct line of sight, then gave Nicole a huge shove toward him. The girl stumbled into Cormac’s dancing body. He grabbed her to keep her from falling, then picked her up and carried her away.
Chapter Six
MONDAY, JUNE 29, 1754
THE OHIO COUNTRY
THE SEVEN MEN sat in a circle in a clearing hard by a small trading post known as Gist’s Settlement. Washington and his civilian quartermaster, an Irishman transplanted to Virginia named George Croghan, were the only whites. The others were Tanaghrisson the Half King, a Delaware, two Mingo, and a Shawnee. According to Tanaghrisson, they were all war chiefs. So far they hadn’t shown any stomach for the fight Washington urged.
The Virginian’s foothold in the territory, the fort he’d erected on Great Meadows, was six leagues east. He’d left a hundred troops behind to guard it. The French were twelve leagues west at Fort Duquesne.
If he turned his head Washington could see the three hundred militiamen he’d brought with him. They were strung out in clumps of twenty or so, each working party with a distinct job: felling trees, hauling them out of the way, leveling the path, beating the raw earth into some semblance of a surface hard enough not to ensnare the broad wooden wheels of their transport. It was slogging, backbreaking, thankless work, and the men cursed and sweat and stank their way through it. All with one aim, to complete the road that would take them the rest of the way to the French fort. They had been about that same task for two weeks of hard days and exhausted nights with never enough time to sleep, inching through the forest with their supply wagons and their big swivel guns. Never mind, Washington told himself, success was assured. The men would thank him for it in the end and they would thank Almighty God they’d been privileged to serve with George Washington. There was glory in him; he could feel it in his bones. Bloody damn, he could taste it. But right now he needed to concentrate on the Indians.
Bloody savages all of them, and Tanaghrisson the worst. An animal who washed his hands in another man’s brains. In Christ’s name … Best not to think about it. Nearly a month now and no repercussions. No surprise from anyone when he reported that the Virginian musketry killed ten that day, including Jumonville, and afterwards the Indians scalped the dead. Everyone knows they do that. As for the French prisoners, they’re spies and lie about everything. Any right-thinking person would take the word of George Washington of Virginia over a lying Frenchman. Put it out of mind Concentrate on what’s happening right now. Tanaghrisson is right; it won’t hurt to have the hatchets of these savages and their warriors on our side. Put the fear of the Almighty in the French. But God help me, it’s a strange business to listen to a painted savage go on for over a quarter of an hour and not understand a word he’s saying.
Tishcohantin, the Delaware, was doing most of the talking, pacing back and forth in the middle of the circle holding a string of wampum in his left hand. Croghan said they did that to give their words weight; the number of times the speaker twisted the wampum around his wrist indicated the importance of what he had to say. Also, at least according to the Irishman, the reason the Delaware had that squirrelskin tobacco bag with the pipe sticking out hanging around his neck was
“Quick,” Torayana whispered, “if you want Uko Nyakwai choose now. Otherwise one of the others will pick him.” Her advice came too late. One of the squaws, the youngest and prettiest of them, darted forward and touched Quent’s shoulder. He followed her into the trees without once looking back toward Nicole.
Torayana saw the terrified look on the white girl’s face. She waited a second or two more until Cormac was in their direct line of sight, then gave Nicole a huge shove toward him. The girl stumbled into Cormac’s dancing body. He grabbed her to keep her from falling, then picked her up and carried her away.
Chapter Six
MONDAY, JUNE 29, 1754
THE OHIO COUNTRY
THE SEVEN MEN sat in a circle in a clearing hard by a small trading post known as Gist’s Settlement. Washington and his civilian quartermaster, an Irishman transplanted to Virginia named George Croghan, were the only whites. The others were Tanaghrisson the Half King, a Delaware, two Mingo, and a Shawnee. According to Tanaghrisson, they were all war chiefs. So far they hadn’t shown any stomach for the fight Washington urged.
The Virginian’s foothold in the territory, the fort he’d erected on Great Meadows, was six leagues east. He’d left a hundred troops behind to guard it. The French were twelve leagues west at Fort Duquesne.
If he turned his head Washington could see the three hundred militiamen he’d brought with him. They were strung out in clumps of twenty or so, each working party with a distinct job: felling trees, hauling them out of the way, leveling the path, beating the raw earth into some semblance of a surface hard enough not to ensnare the broad wooden wheels of their transport. It was slogging, backbreaking, thankless work, and the men cursed and sweat and stank their way through it. All with one aim, to complete the road that would take them the rest of the way to the French fort. They had been about that same task for two weeks of hard days and exhausted nights with never enough time to sleep, inching through the forest with their supply wagons and their big swivel guns. Never mind, Washington told himself, success was assured. The men would thank him for it in the end and they would thank Almighty God they’d been privileged to serve with George Washington. There was glory in him; he could feel it in his bones. Bloody damn, he could taste it. But right now he needed to concentrate on the Indians.
Bloody savages all of them, and Tanaghrisson the worst. An animal who washed his hands in another man’s brains. In Christ’s name … Best not to think about it. Nearly a month now and no repercussions. No surprise from anyone when he reported that the Virginian musketry killed ten that day, including Jumonville, and afterwards the Indians scalped the dead. Everyone knows they do that. As for the French prisoners, they’re spies and lie about everything. Any right-thinking person would take the word of George Washington of Virginia over a lying Frenchman. Put it out of mind Concentrate on what’s happening right now. Tanaghrisson is right; it won’t hurt to have the hatchets of these savages and their warriors on our side. Put the fear of the Almighty in the French. But God help me, it’s a strange business to listen to a painted savage go on for over a quarter of an hour and not understand a word he’s saying.
Tishcohantin, the Delaware, was doing most of the talking, pacing back and forth in the middle of the circle holding a string of wampum in his left hand. Croghan said they did that to give their words weight; the number of times the speaker twisted the wampum around his wrist indicated the importance of what he had to say. Also, at least according to the Irishman, the reason the Delaware had that squirrelskin tobacco bag with the pipe sticking out hanging around his neck was
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