CHAPTER III
THE POT BOILS
Sir William died on the 24th of June in the year 1774; which was thetwentieth year of my life.
On the day after he was buried in Saint John's Church in Johnstown,which he had built, I left the Hall for Fonda's Bush, which was awilderness and which lay some nine miles distant in the Mohawk country,along the little river called Kennyetto.
I speak of Fonda's Bush as a wilderness; but it was not entirely so,because already old Henry Stoner, the trapper who wore two gold rings inhis ears, had built him a house near the Kennyetto and had taken up hisabode there with his stalwart and handsome sons, Nicholas and John, anda little daughter, Barbara.
Besides this family, who were the pioneers in that vast forest where thethree patents[2] met, others now began settling upon the pretty littleriver in the wilderness, which made a thousand and most amazing windingsthrough the Bush of Major Fonda.
[Footnote 2: The Three Patents were Sacandaga, Kayaderosseras, andStones.]
There came, now, to the Kennyetto, the family of one De Silver; also thenumerous families of John Homan, and Elias Cady; then the Salisburys,Putnams, Bowmans, and Helmers arrived. And Benjamin De Luysnes followedwith Joseph Scott where the Frenchman, De Golyer, had built a house anda mill on the trout brook north of us. There was also a dour Scotchmancome thither--a grim and decent man with long, thin shanks under hiskilts, who roved the Bush like a weird and presently went away again.
But before he took himself elsewhere he marked some gigantic trees withhis axe and tied a rag of tartan to a branch.
And, "Fonda's Bush is no name," quoth he. "Where a McIntyre sets hismark he returns to set his foot. And where he sets foot shall be calledBroadalbin, or I am a great liar!"
And he went away, God knows where. But what he said has become true; forwhen again he set his foot among the dead ashes of Fonda's Bush, itbecame Broadalbin. And the clans came with him, too; and they pepperedthe wilderness with their Scottish names,--Perth, Galway, Scotch Bush,Scotch Church, Broadalbin,--but my memory runs too fast, like a younghound giving tongue where the scent grows hotter!--for the quarry is notyet in sight, nor like to be for many a bloody day, alas!----
* * * * *
There was a forest road to the Bush, passable for waggons, and usedsometimes by Sir William when he went a-fishing in the Kennyetto.
It was by this road I travelled thither, well-horsed, and had borrowedthe farm oxen to carry all my worldly goods.
I had clothing, a clock, some books, bedding of my own, and sufficientpewter.
I had my own rifle, a fowling piece, two pistols, and sufficientammunition.
And with these, and, as I say, well horsed, I rode out of Johnstown on aJune morning, all alone, my heart still heavy with grief for SirWilliam, and deeply troubled for my country.
For the provinces, now, were slowly kindling, warmed with those pureflames that purge the human soul; and already the fire had caught andwas burning fiercely in Massachusetts Bay, where John Hancock fed theflames, daintily, cleverly, with all the circumstance, impudence, andgrace of your veritable macaroni who will not let an inferior outdo himin a bow, but who is sometimes insolent to kings.
Well, I was for the forest, now, to wrest from a sunless land a mouthfulo' corn to stop the stomach's mutiny.
And if the Northland caught fire some day--well, I was as inflammable asthe next man, who will not suffer violation of house or land or honour.
* * * * *
As Brent-Meester to Sir William, my duties took me everywhere. I knewold man Stoner, and Nick had become already my warm friend, though I wasnow a grown man of more than twenty and he still of boy's age. Yet, inmany ways, he seemed more mature than I.
I think Nick Stoner was the most mischievous lad I ever knew--andadmired. He sometimes said the same of me, though I was not, I think, bynature, designed for a scapegrace. However, two years in the wildernesswill undermine the grace of saint or sinner in some degree. And if, whenduring those two hard years I went to Johnstown for a breath ofcivilization--or to Schenectady, or, rarely, to Albany--I frequented afew good taverns, there was little harm done, and nothing malicious.
True, disputes with Tories sometimes led to blows, and mayhap someAlbany watchman's Dutch noddle needed vinegar to soothe the flammsdrummed upon it by a stout stick or ramrod resembling mine.
True, the humming ale at the Admiral Warren Tavern may sometimes havemade my own young noddle hum, and Nick Stoner's, too; but there came noharm of it, unless there be harm in bussing a fresh and rosy wench ortwo; or singing loudly in the tap-room and timing each catch to thehammering of our empty leather jacks on long hickory tables wet withmalt.
But why so sad, brother Broadbrim? Youth is not to be denied. No! Andyouth that sets its sinews against an iron wilderness to conquerit,--youth that wields its puny axe against giant trees,--youth thatpulls with the oxen to uproot enormous stumps so that when the sun islet in there will be a soil to grow corn enough to defystarvation,--youth that toils from sun-up to dark, hewing, burning,sawing, delving, plowing, harrowing day after day, month after month,pausing only to kill the wild meat craved or snatch a fish from someforest fount,--such youth cannot be decently denied, brother Broadbrim!
But if Nick and I were truly as graceless as some stiff-necked folkpretended, always there was laughter in our scrapes, even when hot bloodboiled at the Admiral Warren, and Tory and Rebel drummed one another'shides to the outrage of law and order and the mortification of HisMajesty's magistrates in County Tryon.
Even in Fonda's Bush the universal fire had begun to smoulder; the namesRebel and Tory were whispered; the families of Philip Helmer and EliasCady talked very loudly of the King and of Sir John, and how a hempenrope was the fittest cravat for such Boston men as bragged too freely.
But what most of all was in my thoughts, as I swung my axe there in theimmemorial twilight of the woods, concerned the Indians of the greatIroquois Confederacy.
What would these savages do when the storm broke? What would happen tothis frontier? What would happen to the solitary settlers, to suchhamlets as Fonda's Bush, to Johnstown, to Schenectady--nay, to Albanyitself?
Sir William was no more. Guy Johnson had become his Majesty'sSuperintendent for Indian affairs. He was most violently a King's man--amember of the most important family in all the Northland, and master ofsix separate nations of savages, which formed the Iroquois Confederacy.
What would Guy Johnson do with the warriors of these six nations thatbordered our New York frontier?
Always these questions were seething in my mind as I swung my axe orplowed or harrowed. I thought about them as I sat at eventide by thedoor of my new log house. I considered them as I lay abed, watching themoonlight crawl across the puncheon floor.
* * * * *
As Brent-Meester to Sir William, I knew Indians, and how to conduct whenI encountered them in the forest, in their own castles, or when theyvisited the Hall.
I had no love for them and no dislike, but treated them always with theconsideration due from one white man to another.
I was not conscious of making any friends among them, nor of making anyenemies either. To me they were a natural part of the wilderness, likethe trees, rivers, hills, and wild game, belonging there and notwantonly to be molested.
Others thought differently; trappers, forest runners, coureurs-du-boisoften hated them, and lost no opportunity to display their animosity orto do them a harm.
But it was not in me to feel that way toward any living creature whomGod had fashioned in His own image if not in His own colour. And who isso sure, even concerning the complexion of the Most High?
Also, Sir William's kindly example affected my sentiments toward thesered men of the forest. I learned enough of their language to suit myrequirements; I was courteous to their men, young and old; andconsiderate toward their women. Otherwise, I remained indifferent.
&nb
sp; * * * * *
Now, during these first two years of my life in Fonda's Bush, events inthe outer world were piling higher than those black thunder-clouds thatroll up behind the Mayfield hills and climb toward mid-heaven. Alreadythe dull glare of lightning lit them redly, though the thunder was, asyet, inaudible.
In April of my first year in Fonda's Bush a runner came to the Kennyettowith the news of Lexington, and carried it up and down the wildernessfrom the great Vlaie and Maxon Ridge to Frenchman's Creek and Fonda'sBush.
This news came to us just as we learned that our Continental Congresswas about to reassemble; and it left our settlement very still andsober, and a loaded rifle within reach of every man who went grimlyabout his spring plowing.
But the news of open rebellion in Massachusetts Bay madded our Torygentry of County Tryon; and they became further so enraged when theContinental Congress met that they contrived a counter demonstration,and, indeed, seized upon a pretty opportunity to carry it with a highhand.
For there was a Court holden in Johnstown, and a great concourse ofTryon loyalists; and our Tory hatch-mischiefs did by arts and guile andpersuasions obtain signatures from the majority of the Grand Jurors andthe County Magistracy.
Which, when known and flaunted in the faces of the plainer folk of TryonCounty, presently produced in all that slow, deep anger with which it isnot well to trifle--neither safe for kings nor lesser fry.
In the five districts, committees were appointed to discuss what was tobe the attitude of our own people and to erect a liberty pole in everyhamlet.
The Mohawk district began this business, which, I think, was truly thebeginning of the Revolution in the great Province of New York. TheCanajoharie district, the Palatine, the Flatts, the Kingsland followed.
And, at the Mohawk district meeting, who should arrive but Sir John,unannounced, uninvited; and with him the entire company of Torybig-wigs--Colonels Claus, Guy Johnson, and John Butler, and a heavilyarmed escort from the Hall.
Then Guy Johnson climbed up onto a high stoop and began to harangue ourunarmed people, warning them of offending Majesty, abusing them fordolts and knaves and traitors to their King, until Jacob Sammons, unableto stomach such abuse, shook his fist at the Intendant. And, said he:"Guy Johnson, you are a liar and a villain! You may go to hell, sir, andtake your Indians, too!"
But Guy Johnson took him by the throat and called him a damned villainin return. Then the armed guard came at Sammons and knocked him downwith their pistol-butts, and a servant of Sir John sat astride his bodyand beat him.
There was a vast uproar then; but our people were unarmed, and presentlytook Sammons and went off.
But, as they left the street, many of them called out to Sir John thatit were best for him to fortify his Baronial Hall, because the day drewnear when he would be more in need of swivel guns than ofcongratulations from his Royal Master.
Sure, now, the fire blazing so prettily in Boston was already runningnorth along the Hudson; and Tryon had begun to smoke.
Now there was, in County Tryon, a number of militia regiments of which,when brigaded, Sir William had been our General.
Guy Johnson, also, was Colonel of the Mohawk regiment. But the Mohawkregiment had naturally split in two.
Nevertheless he paraded the Tory remainder of it, doubtless with theintention of awing the entire county.
It did awe us who were unorganized, had no powder, and whose messengersto Albany in quest of ammunition were now stopped and searched by SirJohn's men.
For the Baronet, also, seemed alarmed; and, with his battalion ofHighlanders, his Tory militia, his swivels, and his armed retainers,could muster five hundred men and no mean artillery to hold the Hall ifthreatened.
But this is not what really troubled the plain people of Tryon. GuyJohnson controlled thousands of savage Iroquois. Their war chief was SirWilliam's brother-in-law, brother to the dark Lady Johnson, JosephBrant, called Thayendanegea,--the greatest Mohawk who everlived,--perhaps the greatest of all Iroquois. And I think that Hiawathaalone was greater in North America.
Brave, witty, intelligent, intellectual, having a very genius for warand stratagems, educated like any gentleman of the day and having servedSir William as secretary, Brant, in the conventional garments ofcivilization, presented a charming and perfectly agreeable appearance.
Accustomed to the society of Sir William's drawing room, this CaniengaChief was utterly conversant with polite usage, and entirely qualifiedto maintain any conversation addressed to him. Always he had been mademuch of by ladies--always, when it did not too greatly weary him, was hethe centre of batteries of bright eyes and the object of gayestsolicitation amid those respectable gatherings for which, in SirWilliam's day, the Hall was so justly celebrated.
That was the modest and civil student and gentleman, Joseph Brant.
But in the forest he was a painted spectre; in battle a flame! He was awar chief: he never became Royaneh;[3] but he possessed the wisdom ofHendrik, the eloquence of Red Jacket, the terrific energy of Hiakatoo.
[Footnote 3: Sachem: the Canienga term.]
We, of Tryon, were aware of all these things. Our ears were listeningfor the dread wolf cry of the Iroquois in their paint; our eyes wereturned in dumb expectation toward our Provincial Congress of New York;toward our dear General Schuyler in Albany; toward the ContinentalCongress now in solemn session; toward our new and distant hope shiningclearer, brighter as each day ended--His Excellency the Virginian.
How long were Sir John and his people to be left here in County Tryon toterrorize all friends to liberty,--to fortify Johnstown, to stop usabout our business on the King's highway, to intrigue with the Mohawks,the Oneidas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Senecas, the Tuscaroras?
Guy Johnson tampered with the River Indians at Poughkeepsie, and we knewit. He sent belts to the Shawanese, to the Wyandottes, to the Mohicans.We knew it. He met the Delaware Sachems at a mongrel fire--God knowswhere and by what authority, for the Federal Council never gave it!--andwe stopped one of his runners in the Bush with his pouch full o' beltsand strings; and we took every inch of wampum without leave of Sir John,and bade the runner tell him what we did.
We wrote to Albany; Albany made representations to Sir John, and theBaronet replied that his show of armed force at the Hall was solely forthe reason that he had been warned that the Boston people were layingplans to invade Tryon and make of him a prisoner.
I think this silly lie was too much for Schuyler, for all now knew thatwar must come. Twelve Colonies, in Congress assembled, had announcedthat they had rather die as free people than continue to live as slaves.Very fine indeed! But what was of more interest to us at Fonda's Bush,this Congress commissioned George Washington as Commander in Chief of aColonial Army of 20,000 men, and prepared to raise three millions onbills of credit _for the prosecution of the war_!
Now, at last, the cleavage had come. Now, at last, Sir John was forcedinto the open.
He swore by Almighty God that he had had no hand in intriguing againstthe plain people of Tryon: and while he was making this oath, GuyJohnson was raising the Iroquois against us at Oswego; he was plottingwith Carleton and Haldimand at Montreal; he had arranged for thedeparture of Brant with the great bulk of the Mohawk nation, and, withthem, the fighting men of the Iroquois Confederacy. Only the WesternGate Keepers remained,--the fierce Senecas.
And so, except for a few Tuscaroras, a few lukewarm Onondagas, a few ofthe Lenape, and perhaps half--possibly two-thirds of the Oneida nation,Guy Johnson already had swung the terrible Iroquois to the King.
And now, secretly, the rats began to leave for the North, where, behindthe Canada border, savage hordes were gathering by clans, red and whitealike.
Guy Johnson went on pretense of Indian business; and none dare stop theSuperintendent for Indian affairs on a mission requiring, as he stated,his personal appearance at Oswego.
But once there he slipped quietly over into Canada; and Brant joinedhim.
Co
lonel Claus sneaked North; old John Butler went in the night with ahorde of Johnstown and Caughnawaga Tories. McDonald followed,accompanied by some scores of bare-shinned Tory Mc's. Walter Butlerdisappeared like a phantom.
But Sir John remained behind his stockade and swivels at the Hall,vowing and declaring that he meditated no mischief--no, none at all.
Then, in a fracas in Johnstown, that villain sheriff, Alexander White,fired upon Sammons, and the friends to liberty went to take themurderous Tory at the jail.
Frey was made sheriff, which infuriated Sir John; but Governor Tryondeposed him and reappointed White, so the plain people went again to dohim a harm; and he fled the district to the mortification of theBaronet.
But Sir John's course was nearly at an end: and events in the outerworld set the sands in his cloudy glass running very swiftly. Schuylerand Montgomery were directing a force of troops against Montreal andQuebec, and Sir Guy Carleton, Governor General of Canada, was shriekingfor help.
St. John's surrendered, and _the Mohawk Indians began fighting_!
Here was a pretty pickle for Sir John to explain.
Suddenly we had news of the burning of Falmouth.
* * * * *
On a bitter day in early winter, an Express passed through Fonda's Bushon snow-shoes, calling out a squad of the Mohawk Regiment of DistrictMilitia.
Nick Stoner, Andrew Bowman, Joe Scott, and I answered the summons.
Snow-shoeing was good--a light fall on the crust--and we pulled foot forthe Kingsborough trail, where we met up with a squad from the PalatineRegiment and another from the Flatts.
But scarce were we in sight of Johnstown steeples when the drums of anAlbany battalion were heard; and we saw, across the snow, their longbrown muskets slanting, and heard their bugle-horn on the Johnstownroad.
* * * * *
I saw nothing of the affair at the Hall, being on guard at St. John'sChurch, lower down in the town. But I saw our General Schuyler ride upthe street with his officers; and so knew that all would go well.
All went well enough, they say. For when again the General rode past thechurch, I saw waggons under our escort piled with the muskets of theHighland Battalion, and others heaped high with broad-swords, pistols,swivels, and pikes. And on Saturday, the twentieth of January, when ourtour of duty ended, and our squads were dismissed, each to its properdistrict, all people knew that Sir John Johnson had given his parole ofhonor not to take up arms against America; not to communicate with theRoyalists in Canada; not to oppose the friends of liberty at home; norto stir from his Baronial Hall to go to Canada or to the sea, but withliberty to transact such business as might be necessary in other partsof this colony.
And I, for one, never doubted that a son of the great Sir William wouldkeep his word and sacred parole of honour.