Journey Home Chapter Nine

Eighteen years he had worked with Indians.  First as a factor for the Miami, and then as agent to the Shawano, Seneca and Wyandot.  There had been hard times and times of temptation both – when his wife had been ill, when their eldest girl had died; when the British Canadians had tried to burn them out.  He had been tempted then to walk the easy path, one of anger and revenge, but two things had stopped him: his faith in God and his family.

Both were in jeopardy now.

John Johnston was a free man.  He walked unfettered and was called a captive no more.  Or so it seemed.  In reality he was chained more surely than he had ever been; chained to a path he did not want to take, and to a man he despised.

Hawk was watching him now from his position near the fire.  Gloating over his victory.

In a moment of weakness John had agreed to meet with the remnant of the Wyandot living in Kentucky, just south of the Ohio, and to tell them that Hawk spoke the truth.  To tell these restless men that the United States Government was not to be trusted, and that the men running it intended to cheat them out of everything they still owned.  He had chosen to betray everything he believed in –

To save everything he loved.

Overcome, John dropped his head into his hands.  In his mind’s eye he could see his sons, happy, healthy, laughing and smiling.  Hawk had told him they were being held somewhere he would never find them, and that if he did not do as he was told they would die – horribly.  He had seen the worst of Indian behavior before, when his brother Stephen had been killed during the last war.  While trying to escape the garrison at Fort Wayne – coming to Upper Piqua to join his expectant wife – Stephen had been overtaken.  His brother had been shot, scalped and stabbed over 20 times. 

Horrible didn’t begin to describe it.

And yet, if he did as Hawk asked, other men’s sons would die – tens, if not hundreds of them.  It was Hawk’s wish to start a war and to destroy the white men who had taken his land and killed his son.

The sins of the father, John thought.  And suddenly it seemed as if God was immensely unfair.

“You are quiet, white man,” Hawk said before pulling a bit of meat from a rabbit leg with his teeth.

“Is conversing with you a part of the bargain?” John snapped, looking up.

The Wyandot took a moment to swallow.  “No.  Words are of little value.”  Hawk formed his fingers into a fist.  “It is action that makes a man what he is.”

“Action?  Like killing innocent children?”

“No white man is innocent.”

“And I suppose all red men are?”

Hawk met his gaze.  The Indian’s black eyes were cool as a snake’s.  “Yes,” he avowed.

“Does it not trouble you that your people will die as well if you start this war you so desire?”

The Wyandot renegade shrugged.  “Nothing is gained without sacrifice.”

“That is a convenient truth – when the sacrifice is made by others.”

Hawk laughed.  “I like you, white man.  You are not afraid.”

John shook his head.  “Oh, I am afraid.  I am afraid of what I have allowed you to turn me into.  Of what I have become.”

“You are a father protecting his children.  Nothing more.”

“If I do this, I am a traitor,” he answered, his voice breaking.  “And I will pay the price of traitors.”

Hawk tossed the remnant of the rabbit leg he had been chewing into the grass.  “You could kill me,” he suggested.

“I have considered it.  But I know it is not that easy.”

“No.  My men have orders to kill your sons if I do not return within two days.”

John was appalled.  “They are children!  They have not harmed you. Why?  Why murder them?”

“My son was innocent as well.  First he was taken from me.  Then he was murdered.  Where is the justice in that?”

“The men who killed him should be tried, in a court of law.  There should be no difference between white and red when it comes to justice.”

Hawk looked away.  The renegade’s voice too on an odd tone.  “My son’s murderer has already been tried, found guilty, and executed.”

“What?  You killed him?”

The Wyandot shook his head.  Then he looked at him.  There was an unholy mirth in his black eyes.  “In the white man’s jail they hold another white man for the crime –  Daniel Boone’s son.  It was not my hand that did the deed.  But the execution of the one who did, is my delight.”  Hawk hesitated and then he laughed – loud and long.

“You devil!” John declared, rising to his feet.  “Who is left that your evil poison has not infected?”

As the renegade’s laughter died away, a wicked sneer twisted the corners of Hawk’s lips.

“I have only just begun.”

~

 “Where do you suppose Pa is now?” Robinson whispered in a small unsteady voice.

Stephen Johnston glanced at his brother who sat beside him on the ground.  Their hands and feet were bound, but their captors had not gagged them.  That suggested to him that they were far away from anyone who could help.

“Working to free us.  You know Pa.  He won’t stop until it’s done.”

“I’m tired,” Robinson complained.  “I want to go home.”

“That doesn’t sound like an officer in General Harrison’s army.”

“I don’t want to be in the army anymore,” the boy whined.  “I want Ma.”

Stephen leaned against his brother.  It was all the contact he could make.  “A soldier doesn’t just get to quit, Rob.  When the way gets tough, they get tougher.  Pa wouldn’t want you to give up.  What we need here is some expert thinking.  I need my captain.”

It was a game they played.  His little brother was the ranking officer and he was the private.  Robinson would order him around and he would obey. 

“I’m not a captain.’
            “You won’t be if you don’t believe it.  An officer never surrenders.  He never deserts his men.  Robinson, I need you.”

His brother’s dark eyes turned up.  “You do?”

“You bet.”

Stephen watched as Robinson’s fear and fatigue faded, replaced by a new resolve.  The boy thought a moment and then suggested, “Maybe we could untie each other?”

The knots were tight.  He doubted it.  Still…  “Maybe.  It can’t hurt to try.  Turn so your back is to me.”

As Robinson did as he said, Stephen cast his gaze on the men who guarded them.  They were bent over the ground playing the game of bones right now.  One advantage they had was that the Indians thought of them as children.

If he ever got free, he would show them how wrong they were.

~

 John glanced up at the sky.  As far as he could tell, it must be near nine.  Only a few hours remained in the day.  Tomorrow he would speak to the Wyandot and Shawano Hawk had gathered.  John knew that his words and his alone could ignite a war that would rival anything they had feared back in 1812.  Then, he had used his influence and sheer will to keep the Indians peaceful.

            How ironic that it would be used now to incite them.

            Hawk had left him alone.  Another older native dressed in buckskins, with a regiment of young men backing him, had joined the Wyandot about thirty minutes before.  From his words of greeting, John judged the newcomer to be some type of Cherokee.  The two were still conferring, speaking animatedly and – it appeared – arguing at times.  He could have run.  He could have taken off into the woods, and escaped the role that awaited him the coming day.  But if he did – if he chose to do what was right – his sons would pay the price of his integrity.

            And he did not know if he could do that.

            Closing his eyes, John envisioned his wife.  He did not know if Rachel was safe but assumed, since Hawk had made no threats, that she was – as were the girls.  Rachel was his rock, his center; the fulcrum upon which all that was pure and clean and true in his life pivoted.  Already she had made him into a different man – a better one.  What, he wondered, would she say?  What would Rachel’s advice be in this situation?

            Of course, he knew.  His wife would have told him to call on his God.

            Rachel’s faith was her breath.  It was her strength and her life’s blood.  His wife did nothing without consulting God, who seemed particularly disposed to answer her.  When he prayed all he felt was frustrated.  It seemed at times that God did not listen, that Providence did not care.  Rachel told him that was because the Almighty did not work on John Johnston’s schedule.  That he must have patience.  That God was there, it was just that He knew better.   

            “God,” John whispered, staring up at the stars, “are you there?  If you are, give me a sign.  I don’t know what to do.  My sons…my precious sons….” 

            As if in reply an image came into his head – that of Abraham with his knife raised above Isaac’s breast.  Only by trusting, by choosing to sacrifice his son, did Abraham save him.

            Only by choosing to believe and to obey.

            John looked at Hawk.  The Wyandot was still speaking with the other man and paying no attention to him, so certain was he that he had him under his thumb.  The man was pure evil, as close to a Satan as he had ever known.  But God through Christ had conquered that devil long ago.

            What had he to fear?

            “All right,” John whispered at last, “I give them to you.”

            With his choice, there came a kind of peace.  He would not lead the Wyandot or Shawano astray.  He would not be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents.  He would bide his time, watching and listening until the moment was upon him, and then he would escape. 

God willing, in that time, he would find out for certain where Hawk held his boys. 

~

            Robinson groaned and fell back against him.  “It ain’t doing any good, Stephen.”

            “It’s ‘not’ doing any good,” the older boy corrected quietly.  “Ain’t isn’t proper.”

            “Why not?  I heard the men talking to Pa use it.”

            “It’s…well, common.  You don’t want to be common, do you?”

            Robinson yawned mightily.  “I don’t know.  Do you?”

            Stephen closed his eyes and leaned against his brother’s form for just a moment.  It sure would be nice to be allowed to be common.  Their pa expected a lot of them – good reports from the schoolmaster, perfect attendance at church, proper behavior even when no one was looking, and a lot of hard work.  On their way to town to find the blacksmith, they had had a long talk.  His father had told him to settle for nothing less than the best he could give.  That he should strive to be a ‘man of distinction’, and be useful – meaning he shouldn’t take from society, but should work to give back more than he got.

            Sometimes he just wanted to go sit by the river and throw stones into it.  To lay on his back and stare at the sky and wonder if some other boy, half a world away, was doing the same – and if he would ever meet him.  Sometimes he just wanted to do something wrong.  But he never did.  Every time he thought about it, he saw his father and mother’s faces and knew how much he would hurt –  and even worse – disappoint them.

            “Stephen?”
            “Sorry, Rob.  I was thinking about what Pa said to me on the road.  I know you’re little, but it goes for you too.  ‘Preserve your honor and integrity, and be second to none.’”

            “How do we do that?”

            “For one thing, by not quitting.”  Stephen’s wrists were raw.  He could feel the thick paste of blood on his palms.  He wanted to quit, to rest; just to go to sleep.  When he looked over at Hawk’s men, he saw that was what they were doing – sleeping and paying them no mind.  If they got the ropes off, then maybe, just maybe, they could escape.  “I think the rope on my left wrist is a little loose.  Try working that one.”

            For a moment Robinson said nothing, then he asked, “Is that an order, private?”

            Stephen laughed.

            “Yes, sir!”

~           

About an hour later, his left hand was free.

“You did it, Rob!” Stephen declared, and then looked at their captors to see if they had heard him.  The Indians had not stirred.  “I told you that you could,” he added more quietly.

“My fingers hurt,” the little boy replied.

“So do mine, but that isn’t anything compared to how we’re going to hurt.”  As he spoke, Stephen slipped the rope off of his hand and began to work its companion on his right wrist. 

“What do you mean?”

“If we escape, we’re in the middle of a wilderness we know nothing of.  We have no compass and, even if we did, I don’t know what direction we need to go.  We have no supplies, no food.  We’re just going to have to run like rabbits and live off the land like they do.”  He glanced at the Indians again.  They hadn’t wakened, though one had shifted and was facing another direction.  “Give me your hands.” 

“Black Hoof showed me how to make a poultice out of moss and roots,” Robinson offered.  “I can do that if one of us gets hurt.”

Stephen paused with his fingers on the knot.  “Let’s hope we don’t need that.”  Black Hoof was the chief of all the Shawanoese.  He had lived on their land with most of his tribe during the last war.  The Shawano warrior had been old then – in fact it was rumored that he was almost 100 years old.  He was a kind old man, and had often kept them in his care when his mother and father were gone.  “There.  You’re free.”

“What do we do now?”

Stephen fixed his eyes on the Indians.  They seemed completely unaware of what he and his brother were about to do.  He squinted and tried to count them.  At first there had been only two, but in the early evening hours three more had arrived, making a total of five.  He could clearly see four, and thought he could make out the head and shoulders of the other. 

“I say we go for it.  As long as we’re here, Pa’s hands are as tied as ours were.”  He didn’t want to add the fact that he believed Hawk meant to kill them whether or not their father did what the renegade Wyandot demanded.  He glanced at his brother.  Robinson’s face shown pale against the dark leaves at his back.  There was a cut on his cheek that was growing inflamed.  It had infuriated him when he first saw him that the men who held them had abused him.  “Do you think you can do it?” 

Robinson’s smile was weak.  “An officer can do anything his private can.  Only better!”

“Okay.”  Stephen shifted onto his knees and then waited.  When none of the Indians moved, he gestured for Robinson to do the same.  Then, they both waited.  “Stand up,” he whispered at last, lending his brother a hand.  “You ready?”

Robinson nodded.

“Boots and saddles then,” he grinned.  “Let’s go!”

Stephen pulled his brother back and melted with him into the leaves.  By the time they made it through, his heart was pounding in his chest like the hooves of a horse flying to win a race.  It couldn’t be this simple, he thought as he moved Robinson onto what looked to be a path created by the constant running of deer. 

Or could it?

His pa had taught him that when you delegated authority you had to be certain the one you gave it to was worthy of the trust.  Pa told him about the soldiers during the war at Fort Wayne, about how the officers gave orders to the men but no one did what they were supposed to, and how close the fort had come to being conquered.  If not for General Harrison, it would have been.  As it was his pa’s brother had been killed, and the post his uncle Stephen operated for trading with the Indians was burned to the ground.  It seemed Hawk’s men weren’t worthy of the Wyandot’s trust.

Which was a good thing for him and Robinson!

He felt a tug on his hand.  “Stephen….”

“What?  What is it?”

Robinson was pointing.  When he looked, Stephen saw a shadow shifting through the trees.  There was the glint of something shiny, and then he heard Wyandot words shouted in an alarm.

It must be that fifth man, the one he hadn’t been sure of.  Someone had set a watch!

“Run!” Stephen shouted, catching Robinson by the hand.  “Run for all you’re worth!”

Fortunately for a little boy, Robinson’s legs were long.  He did pretty good keeping up.  They bolted down the deer trail like those rabbits he had mentioned earlier and turned sharply at the bottom, rounding an outcropping of rocks topped with stubby trees.  The trail kept going , running up the other side.  Stephen propelled his brother along it, all the while listening to the cries of the Indians behind them.  He didn’t know much Wyandot, but he knew enough to realize the whole camp had been roused.  The Indians knew they were missing. 

Hawk’s men were coming after them!

About a hundred feet along his brother stumbled and Stephen turned to help him up.  When he did, he saw movement in the trees close behind them.  The Indians were quickly closing the gap.  Tossing Robinson over his shoulder, Stephen continued to run, heading up the trail that had suddenly grown very steep.  A moment later he realized why.  It wasn’t a trail for deer….

It had to be for crazy goats.

The trail ended abruptly at the top of a rise.  There was a ten foot gap between it and the next hill.  Between the two there was a black sea of shadow that his weary eyes could not penetrate.  It might have been five feet to the bottom – or it could have been five hundred.  He couldn’t see anything.

“What are we going to do?” Robinson whined.
            Stephen considered his options.  Behind them was certain death. 

Before them….

He drew a deep breath, took his brother’s hand, and then said it.

“We jump.”

~

            “You have grown silent, John Johnston.  Do you petition your God to save you?  Or are you, at last, afraid?”

            John stirred.  He was tired.  Bone tired.  And yet, he wanted nothing more than to turn and snatch the renegade Wyandot by the throat and force him to the ground, and there to choke the life out of him.  But that would do no good.  It might mollify his anger for the moment but, in the end, would harm him as much as the villain who stood there, baiting him. 

            “Squah-eh-steh yah-rohn-yih-yeh ih-stah reh.  Ooh-rah-meh tih sheh-shehn-dooh-tih,” John said as he rose to his feet, quoting the Lord’s Prayer in Wyandot.  “Ooh-tah-wah-teh-steh sah-reh-wah.  Teh-zhooh-tih teh-kyooh tih yah-rohn-yih-yeh.  Your language, Hawk.  Words from God for your ears.  Thy will be done.”

            “Translated by white priests who aid the white man in the destruction of the People!”

            John shook his head.  “Translated by a young boy in my care, who loves God with all his heart and soul and mind.”

            “Where is your God now, John Johnston?  He has not protected you, or your family,” Hawk snarled.  “My will, my desires are god here!”

            “Other evil men have said such things,” John answered quietly.  “And they have paid the price of that arrogance.”

            “You call me ‘evil’?  You who have aided the white man in taking my people’s land?  Who have made my people weak and dependent on a government that cares nothing for them?”  Hawk strode forward and unexpectedly struck him hard across the face.  “It is you and your government who are evil.”

            John touched his lip where Hawk’s strike had left it bleeding.  “I do not kill little children,” he answered quietly.

            “I do, white man,” Hawk replied.  “Remember that.  I do.”