to show himself a man of peace. Peace be damned. Not now. Not yet. Peace has to be earned. And you, you blighted heathen, had best say soon if you’re for us or against us. I shan’t tolerate that icy stare much longer.
Tishcohantin of the Lenape—whom the whites, the
Cmokmanuk,
called Delaware—had made four loops of wampum around his left wrist. Now he spoke slowly, with no outward emotion, and his steady gaze never left the face of the young Virginian. “Last winter I warned your people, and the winter before that. Still you English did nothing. For two winters Onontio has come and built his forts in this valley, and you did not listen when I told you what that meant. Now, after you have spent the strength of your warriors coming to this place and divided your forces, three hundred of them here and another hundred left back at your new fort …” Tishcohantin looked at Croghan, then at Tanaghrisson.
Those two understand my words, but not this young one who is supposed to be the leader, the war sachem. No matter. The others will tell him I have taken his measure. Four hundred men altogether. They say more are on the way, but if they come—and knowing these English, they may not—where will he put them? That pissing hole he calls Fort Necessity, which is now a hard journey behind him? If he meant to make a stand at Great Meadows he should have stayed there. Getting this far on the way to his enemy has wrecked his wagons, and they and his heavy guns have made bad paths worse. I know every stupid thing he has done and still he wants me to take up the hatchet to fight for the English against the French. Why should I do that? Why should any of us?
Washington stared back, uncomprehending of anything except the question in the red man’s eyes. He leaned toward Tanaghrisson. “Tell him it is my intention tomarch on and take Fort Duquesne. Tell him we’ll rout all the French, all Onontio’s soldiers, from this valley. If the Delaware and the others will fight with us, together we will become stronger than before and all can live in peace.”
Tishcohantin began speaking again, before the snake Half King could say anything. Before the boy who wanted to be a war sachem realized that Tishcohantin the Lenape understood his language, though he refused to speak it. “If you English and the French are going to fight here, this valley will not be safe for our families. We will have to move them to your settlements in the places you call Pennsylvania and Virginia.” He spun around so he was facing the Mingo and the Shawnee. “And what would our women and children be in those places, those white shitholes where men and women separate themselves from the feel and the smell of the world the Great Spirit made and lose touch with all reality? They will be refugees, strangers without respect. And do these English know anything about hospitality? You all know well that they do not.” Tishcohantin paused for the length of one long breath.
“Once there were Anishinabeg in those places where now only the
Cmokmanuk
live. It is impossible for Real People and English to live side by side. Little by little they are squeezing the life out of us. They have a sickness these people, a hunger for land. They think they can take possession of the very earth beneath our feet. The French come and trade—sometimes, I admit, they fight and try to kill us—but eventually they go away. The English bring their women and children and they remain. They bring only ruin. Are we to take up the hatchet for them, commit our braves to fight and die, so that afterward they can overrun us? This is a plan without wisdom.”
The face of the Half King remained impassive, but he read the decision of the others in their eyes. Tishcohantin the Lenape had convinced them.
Ayi!
Not only would they not fight with Washington, they would most likely take up the hatchet for Onontio, who was not dead after all, however hard he, the mighty Tanaghrisson, had tried to kill
Tishcohantin of the Lenape—whom the whites, the
Cmokmanuk,
called Delaware—had made four loops of wampum around his left wrist. Now he spoke slowly, with no outward emotion, and his steady gaze never left the face of the young Virginian. “Last winter I warned your people, and the winter before that. Still you English did nothing. For two winters Onontio has come and built his forts in this valley, and you did not listen when I told you what that meant. Now, after you have spent the strength of your warriors coming to this place and divided your forces, three hundred of them here and another hundred left back at your new fort …” Tishcohantin looked at Croghan, then at Tanaghrisson.
Those two understand my words, but not this young one who is supposed to be the leader, the war sachem. No matter. The others will tell him I have taken his measure. Four hundred men altogether. They say more are on the way, but if they come—and knowing these English, they may not—where will he put them? That pissing hole he calls Fort Necessity, which is now a hard journey behind him? If he meant to make a stand at Great Meadows he should have stayed there. Getting this far on the way to his enemy has wrecked his wagons, and they and his heavy guns have made bad paths worse. I know every stupid thing he has done and still he wants me to take up the hatchet to fight for the English against the French. Why should I do that? Why should any of us?
Washington stared back, uncomprehending of anything except the question in the red man’s eyes. He leaned toward Tanaghrisson. “Tell him it is my intention tomarch on and take Fort Duquesne. Tell him we’ll rout all the French, all Onontio’s soldiers, from this valley. If the Delaware and the others will fight with us, together we will become stronger than before and all can live in peace.”
Tishcohantin began speaking again, before the snake Half King could say anything. Before the boy who wanted to be a war sachem realized that Tishcohantin the Lenape understood his language, though he refused to speak it. “If you English and the French are going to fight here, this valley will not be safe for our families. We will have to move them to your settlements in the places you call Pennsylvania and Virginia.” He spun around so he was facing the Mingo and the Shawnee. “And what would our women and children be in those places, those white shitholes where men and women separate themselves from the feel and the smell of the world the Great Spirit made and lose touch with all reality? They will be refugees, strangers without respect. And do these English know anything about hospitality? You all know well that they do not.” Tishcohantin paused for the length of one long breath.
“Once there were Anishinabeg in those places where now only the
Cmokmanuk
live. It is impossible for Real People and English to live side by side. Little by little they are squeezing the life out of us. They have a sickness these people, a hunger for land. They think they can take possession of the very earth beneath our feet. The French come and trade—sometimes, I admit, they fight and try to kill us—but eventually they go away. The English bring their women and children and they remain. They bring only ruin. Are we to take up the hatchet for them, commit our braves to fight and die, so that afterward they can overrun us? This is a plan without wisdom.”
The face of the Half King remained impassive, but he read the decision of the others in their eyes. Tishcohantin the Lenape had convinced them.
Ayi!
Not only would they not fight with Washington, they would most likely take up the hatchet for Onontio, who was not dead after all, however hard he, the mighty Tanaghrisson, had tried to kill
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