12
Abagail could find no comfortable position in this tree. It was an oak and its branches started from a higher position than those of the willow or even the maple. Finally, she chose a seat where she could sit with her back to the trunk of the tree and where there were other branches to hold on to. And, then she waited…and she waited.
The sun was high in the sky when, at last, Skenan returned to her, and, climbing up into the tree, he seemed to find her easily enough and came to sit next to her. He said, “The British, along with the Germans who aid them, as well as many Mohawk Indians are coming toward Fort Stanwix. I believe they intend to aid the enemy in laying siege to the fort. Therefore, we must hurry to the fort and warn them. Perhaps the little note in your locket is an alert about this siege and directions on what to do. We must go there with all possible speed, even daring to travel during the day.”
“And, your friend from last night? Was he with the British?”
“He was. He kept his word to me. And, I, to him to do no harm to each other. But, we neither one betrayed our true purpose to the other. Such is war, even between brothers. Now, since the danger from him has passed, we must journey to the fort as quickly as we dare. Are you ready to go?”
She sighed. “I am quite ready to do something else—almost anything else—besides sit and wait. And, whether we travel during the day or at night matters not to me.”
“Then, hold on to me or my shirt as we climb down the tree. I do not think it wise for you to try to jump down.”
She grinned. “I do not think it wise, either.”
When he smiled back at her, she was at once caught up in the simple beauty of this man.
But, when he said, “Let us climb down now,” she was more than willing to do as he asked.
Abagail and Skenan arrived at the fort during the gloom of night after having traveled fast, even though it was daylight and they could have been easily seen. For several hours now, she had smelled the smoke of battle and had seen from afar the flickering light of the struggle at Fort Stanwix. And, now she could hear the roar and the thundering of the cannons, as well as the staccato-like shots of the muskets. Indeed, the blackened night sky was alight with the flares of battle as the continuous sparks from the firing cannons lit up the sky.
She shivered. And, as she and Skenan approached closer and closer to the fort, she could hear the muffled cries of the men being hit by some bullet or unrelenting debris of a cannon. Some of those men were injured perhaps, others dying. She touched Skenan’s shoulder, her intent being to tell him she could go no farther.
She was exhausted, as well as dispirited—and the cries from the soldiers broke her heart. Her legs ached, and her calf muscles were practically crippling as the muscles contracted painfully. Indeed, the spasms affected her entire body, disallowing her to take another step. The mere thought, indeed, of going on any farther seemed beyond her capability.
But, the words didn’t leave her mouth. Instead, when Skenan looked back at her, he frowned. Then, slowly bringing up a hand to touch her cheek, he ran his fingers over her face, but he didn’t speak. Instead, as though he understood her pain, he placed an arm around her waist, and, taking her weight upon himself, he led—and most times carried—her closer to the fort.
They were soon met by a man who appeared to be another Oneida scout—a man Skenan apparently knew—and after a brief exchange of words she didn’t understand, the scout led them toward a passage into the fort. Around them were now the deafening and awful sounds of battle. Guns blasted, cannons boomed. Men who were hit cried out, some to be heard from no more.
The blaring of the guns, the roaring of the cannons, the smoke and the terrifying sparks and light from the gunfire made Abagail wish to close her ears. But, she endured the horror of the sounds instead, not wishing to bring Skenan’s attention to her at a time when all around them was the chaos of battle.
This was like no other experience she had ever before endured. Indeed, not even the storms she had experienced at sea could compare to being in the midst of a battle. So alarming was it, she didn’t know if she could bear being here another moment more. But, endure it she must.
Oddly, at this very moment, and in the midst of all this confusion of sound, smoke and fire, she realized the purpose these men were fighting for, and she applauded these Patriots who were standing up so bravely to the strongest army the world knew. This battle was being fought not to raid and divest another man of his wealth, but to free themselves from the tyranny of the English king.
And though, she, herself, was English, she became suddenly aware that she, like Skenan, sided with these Patriots. Indeed, Skenan’s enthusiasm for bringing freedom to all men, and his ideas on the fact that God created all human beings to be free, had made a deep impression upon her.
In truth, she was beginning to understand that sometimes a man or a woman had to fight for what was rightfully their own, as bestowed unto them by God. This was right and was, perhaps, the only reason a man should ever go to war: to protect himself, his family and his nation from those who would victimize and prey upon them.
And, the English were, in truth, preying upon these colonists. It seemed to her as though all these soldiers and all these people were immaterial to King George III, believing as he did that the men and women in the colonies were alive only to supply him with the fruits of their labor; and he, even though a rich king, desired the productivity and wealth of these people.
Abagail could only wonder if this rich king knew he was stealing from the colonists their work, their pay, their food and even their ability to feed their families in an effort to allow him—and aristocrats like him—to live richly.
Yes, she sided with these Patriots. Perhaps she always would.
She was jerked back to the present when Skenan helped her over a spiked fence that was not very tall, but which surrounded the fort. Then he swam with her across the waterway surrounding the fort, he doing most of the swimming while holding one arm around her. And, no sooner had they pulled themselves up out of the water than they were required to crawl over the ground underneath the cannons, hurrying beneath them while they were being reloaded.
It was frightening and impossible to hear anything except the cannons and the muskets. But, at last they stopped and crept up an embankment toward a door, Skenan at this point in their journey taking Abagail’s full weight upon his own.
He knocked on the door, called out a single word she didn’t understand, and the door opened to admit them. They were met by an Indian guard who welcomed Skenan back to the fort. Briefly, Skenan and the Indian spoke to one another until the Indian turned, and, motioning them to follow, led them into a room. Immediately, the door shut behind them. And, as it shut, the sounds of the war outside the door dimmed, though the battle still dominated the air surrounding them.
Abagail had been trying without success to regain her bearings in this loud and unforgiving environment when two men stepped forward—one was wearing a white wig with two short curls on each side of it, and the other did not wear a wig. Instead, his brown hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon.
At once, Abagail decided both men must be of some authority here within the fort, because both wore unrumpled and spotless linen shirts. Indeed, their blue coats with buff-colored trim appeared to be newly pressed. They both wore a buff-colored vest, and those vests were also spotless. The buff-colored breeches they wore hit at the knees, these being in combination with the woolen stockings pulled up to their knees.
The man who was not wearing a wig appeared to be no older than thirty years. Addressing Skenan, he said, “It is good to see you again, Skenandoah. What brings you back to the fort where, as you can see, we are now fully under siege? And, who is this pretty little girl wrapped in your embrace?”
Skenan grinned, though he did not drop his arm from around her. Nor did he make a move to take a step away from her. And, for this, Abagail was grateful, certain she was that she would have fallen.
He replied, “I am happy to see you, my friend Colonel Gansevoort, and you, Lieutenant Colonel Willett. I am arrived here from the Saratoga Inn, and I bring with me this woman, whose name is Abagail. She has journeyed all this way to bring you a message locked inside a necklace given to her by Mr. Wilson, whom you both know to be the proprietor of the inn. I have seen the message, although I do not understand it. Yet, I think it might be important, because Mr. Wilson bid us to come to the fort at once. And so, we have come here as quickly as we could.”
“Ah.” The Colonel took a step toward them, and Abagail, grabbing hold of the meager material of her dress in one hand, dipped her head and bent over in what she hoped was a proper curtsy.
The colonel nodded at her and smiled. “You are a quite a pretty young thing, are you not? May I see the message?”
“Of course, Colonel,” mumbled Abagail, feeling color creep up to her cheeks.
And, as she swept her hand into her apron and wrapped her fingers around the necklace, she heard the colonel say, “You may call me Mr. Gansevoort, Miss Abagail. We do not stand on formality here.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Gansevoort,” mumbled Abagail as she handed the colonel the locket. “There is a secret compartment in the locket. This is where you will find the message. If you have trouble opening it, I can help you.”
“Thank you, Miss Abagail, but I think I might manage it.”
Although the colonel fumbled momentarily with the locket, he soon had opened it, had also found the secret chamber, and, without delay, he read the message. Looking up, he gazed first at Abagail, then at Skenan. And, then to them both, he said, “I am in debt, I fear, to you, Miss Abagail and to you, Skenan, for your fortitude and bravery in bringing this message to me.” Turning his back on both her and Skenan, he addressed the more elderly gentleman, though even this man appeared to be not more than forty years in age. “It appears we have lost the battle at Oriskany, the battle having been unknown to us until recently. It appears those men—Patriots all—were ambushed. I fear this means for us that we can expect no reinforcements to come to the aid of this fort.
“And, yet,” the colonel continued, “we must hold the fort, for if we lose our position here, the British will have access to all our lands from the Hudson River to Lake Ontario, and from Lake Ontario to the Atlantic Ocean. We must keep these lands at all costs. But, how can we now win without reinforcement? With little food and water for the hundreds of people who have come here and are now living here, we are at a terrible disadvantage.”
No one uttered a word until Skenan spoke up, saying, “On the path here to the fort, I saw many Mohawk and Seneca Indians, as well as the Onondaga and the Cayuga, and they were helping to lay siege to the fort. There must be thousands of my brothers who are fighting with the English. Why would so many of my people leave their homes to come here and fight when this is the season of the great harvest when so many of these men are needed at home? What will their women do without their help?”
“Perhaps the English persuaded them with gifts,” answered the colonel.
“Perhaps,” agreed Skenan.
The other officer, the one Skenan had address as Lt. Colonel Willett, took a step toward them, and he said, “But, your words and your observations have given me an idea. Yes, it gives me an idea; one I would like to share with the colonel and a very few of our men.”
“Lieutenant Smith,” ordered Lt. Colonel Willett, “see that all the officers meet me in my quarters at once.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, and saluting, he left at once.
“Come now,” said Colonel Gansevoort. “I will have one of my men show you to your quarters, Miss Abagail. Skenandoah, you are to come with me. I might have more need of your services.”