A North Jersey Tale

A North Jersey Tale

Richy Dick

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Richy Dick

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER I

It was late November in the year of our Lord 1714 and I was looking forward to slaying a deer for our Thanksgiving roast but got an adventure that would swiftly age me well beyond my sixteen years.

It was a chilly but sunny fall morn at the edge of the Great Marsh. I was both lonely and comfortable in my roost half way up a huge beech tree well off the ground in one of my family's game platforms. There was still a thin coat of ice in the thickets and shaded places. The beaches were shedding their leaves covering everything with a fine golden layer. With each breeze, I blended more into the brush around me. I sat there whittling the pegs and dropping them into a great pile below, taking a sip of cider with the finishing of each peg. After every fifth peg, I would blow a little cider into the air to attract any deer downwind of my stand, all the time watching the game trail below.

This trail was ancient before the arrival of the Dutch, even before the arrival of the Lenape. The game had always moved about these marshes from island to island way before the first trees grew here according to Lenape legend. These trails were the shortest distance from island to island, narrow, well-defined, mucky paths through cattails and button willows.

All one had to do was fire a shot directly down the middle of such a path to get a hit. The results were better if you waited until you could reach out and touch the deer in the manner of the Lenape. The best results came from tree stands such as mine placed at a spot where a trail came out of the marsh up onto an island. It was possible to kill a deer with a heavy stone carried into the tree for that purpose. Many had brought down more than one animal at a time using spears, bows or muskets. The tool had no effect on the harvest, only the ease with which it was gathered.

I wished for a great big beautiful buck. We wanted venison for our Thanksgiving feast and, this time, I would provide it. Food was no problem but it was a sign of high manhood to be the provider of Thanksgiving venison. This, which seems so silly now, was very important to me then. I would hold to the task no matter what.

All through the morning, there had been only the quacking of ducks and water fowl. The sun was well above the tree tops about a hundred yards opposite me. I had just begun to wonder, Where are the deer? Suddenly, the ducks were taking flight in explosions of panic. I could hear the sounds of crashing ice. Some thing was coming and coming fast.

The ducks would not panic at the sight of a deer. Whatever was coming was larger, like a bear or some other predator. With luck, it would be a herd of stampeding deer. My mind went wild with visions of a double kill using Pa's new double-barreled fowling piece. With great glee and joy aforethought, my eyes strained toward the sound of the oncoming herd.

It was a squaw! She was nothing I had expected to see. Then there were two squaws. One old haggy one and a young bare-breasted one toting a papoose board. They were making good time moving as fast as any deer I had ever seen. I watched in silent amazement.

Just as they passed midway between the shore and my island, a warrior appeared and let fly an arrow that struck the old squaw in mid back. The young one surged ahead and pulled the old one by a leash that had been dropping behind the old one. They came to rest at the foot of my beech tree.

Pa had always taught that we had neither friends nor enemies amongst the Indians and that we were better off keeping it that way because Indians who did not speak English could misunderstand a friendly gesture and you could make an enemy. Whether you meant to or not.

I had no notion of what was happening on the ground below me. As cruel and ugly as it seemed to my eyes, it must be happening for a reason. To them, I would be a foreigner trying to interfere in a family squabble. Moreover, if one warrior had just arrow-shot a squaw, you could bet he was not alone. A thought put the fear of death in me. Frozen in fear, I watched the struggle unfold before my eyes.

The old squaw was hurt bad and was trailing blood. The two talked in hushed tones, while the old squaw removed the brush from the top of a pointed beech branch that I had dropped before the peg was finished. Then she gave her belt and blade to the young one and lay face down on top of the long-handled peg. The young one threw her shawl over my pile of tie pegs.

Sitting high in the beech branches, covered with leaves, I could look down and see the blood oozing around the broken arrow sticking from the old squaw's back. Like a rabbit frozen in fear, I watched the pursuers come. Scrunched down in the blind, every muscle squeezed tight, heart pounding, but breath controlled, it was unlikely they'd see me.

The old woman lying on her face was dying. She was worn out and fading fast. I wanted to help, but was outnumbered and Pa's warning never to interfere kept shouting itself in my mind's ear. Four warriors had just entered the clearing below my beech tree.

Two walked up to the old squaw. One kicked her, but the woman did not move. The two spoke in a tongue that I did not understand. Then one reached down and threw her skirt up to her mid back fully exposing her bare bottom. They giggled and one reached down and touched her female parts and spoke. All four broke into laughter. One, the toucher, bent down to take a closer look, laughing and talking as he went down.

Suddenly, in an explosion of movement, the old squaw kicked him in the face pushing him into the feet of the man next to him. Rolling up in a death frenzy effort, she smashed another on the side of the head with the long tie peg sending him sprawling backwards. She then twice ran the tie peg straight through the gut of the man with the warrior at his feet. As she felt herself weakening, she collapsed on top of the first warrior, plunging the tie peg through his rib cage, pinning him to the ground with her dead weight on top of him.

As she lay atop of the two dying warriors, she gasped out what seemed to be an insult. The man who had been slapped upside the head, casually walked over holding his jaw and smashed her skull with a stone war hammer.

Broken Jaw, as I quickly named him, produced a jug of fire water and administered a last drink to his two dying comrades. He then took a healthy swig and offered a drink to the warrior who all the while stood staring at the young woman.

The young woman removed her papoose board and hung it on the stump of the branch. Broken Jaw moved away to a fallen log and sat there sipping from his jug.

The fourth warrior spoke softly to the young woman who only unwrapped her skirt and stood before him in all her naked glory. She spoke softly, swayed gently, rolled up her skirt into a head rest and placed it on the blanket covering the tie pins.

The fourth warrior removed his breech cloth and walked over to her. They lay down on the blanket. Broken Jaw spoke, laughed, then sucked on the jug. There was much motion on the blanket. Several times she stared straight up at my hiding place. I prayed that she would not notice me or, if she did, that she would not reveal my presence.

As I prayed, I felt my bowels release and I prayed even harder that my hiding would not be betrayed by the foul aroma or dripping yellow water.

Suddenly, Broken Jaw jumped up and spoke. As he did, he stumbled drunkenly, fell and began to laugh. The woman spoke softly, wrapped her legs around the fourth warrior, stretched, eased her hands under the blanket, then exploded, driving two tie pegs into number four's back while biting through his neck vein.

As she rolled him off and made for Broken Jaw, Number Four grabbed her by the ankle, bringing her to the ground. He held on to her in a death grip as drunken Broken Jaw crawled towards her screaming and flaying the ground with his war hammer.

I prayed to God that she would break free and get Broken Jaw before he got to her. It was not happening. She was not going to get loose in time. Number four now had both her ankles and was biting her calf. As Broken Jaw knelt before her with his war hammer raised, I gave him both barrels.

Broken Jaw rose up from the force of being double shot. Then he collapsed forward. The war hammer dropped toward the girl. The girl quickly grabbed up his war hammer and smashed the skull of her attacker.

I dropped to the ground and began gathering up my tie pegs. The girl shouted at me. I could not understand a word. She grabbed her papoose board and threw it on her back. Then wrapped herself in the skirt and blanket. She pulled the bundle of tie pegs away from me and motioned for me to reload my fowling piece. I reloaded each barrel and we rapidly made for the Butler family homestead.

As we began to flee to the safety of Butler House, I could see that the squaw was worn out and could not travel far without some doctoring. I felt sorry for her ordeal, but never having dealt with redskins before and having been brought up on stories of their sly side and having just witnessed the two squaws in action, there was no way in hell I would let this beauty get too close to me.

With a blackened eye and many scratches and bruises all over her body, she was also a killer having just dispatched two warriors in hand to hand combat. She could be faking injury so as to get a chance at me. Yet, I would help her as long as it was for the good of both of us, but I damn sure was not going to let her catch me napping. I could not risk spending a night alone with her for my own safety. So I decided to guide our flight past the house of Lax Patel.

Lax was a Hindu healer who wandered into our settlement after jumping from a British ship anchored in New York Harbor. Lax had been a medical scholar and doctor in India before signing on a British ship after the ship's own doctor died in Calcutta. Lax had taken a half breed Lenape wife known locally as Sunshine, changed her name to Bahnu and turned her large land holdings into an island of prosperity that outshone even the local Dutch Boers who were famed for their ability to extract riches from raw land. Everything Lax touched seemed to turn to gold, but the real basis for his good fortune was his ability as a doctor and his shrewd use of the Christian Bible when confronted with those few preachers who tried to get his holdings away from him on religious grounds.

When I was a youngster at our large settlement of Butler House, Lax had taught us much of simple health care and diet. Now despite church disapproval, people traveled to his house for instructions as well as healing. As wonderful as the Kingdom of Heaven may be, no one is anxious to get there ahead of time.

When we arrived at Lax's house, a black servant greeted us at the door and ushered us into a side drawing room and bid us wait there for Lax. After a short wait, Lax's wife Bahnu arrive and spoke to my companion in Lenape, then took her off to another room telling me to wait where I was till Lax's arrival.

Lax arrived soon, followed by the same black servant who had ushered us into the drawing room. The servant carried a large silver tray that contained a tea service accompanied by sweet breads and other foods. As I dug into Lax's hospitality and related the morning's events, Lax listened intently then gave his servants instructions to locate the scene of our encounter with the Iroquois and sent a message to my family.

After I had eaten by fill, Lax asked, What are your plans for the morning?

All I want is to go home for our Thanksgiving feast.

And you will take the girl to your mother?

I felt a rush of embarrassment flow to my face as I realized he thought the girl was my woman.

Lax had been very generous and kind to our family in the past. Still he'd been very cold and indifferent to others that he felt were beneath his station in life.

Squaws usually come with land and I have not seen this one's land yet.

Ah, I see, said Lax. It is always wise to check the merchandise before consummating the deal.

Before Lax could fire off another question, Bahnu entered the room and told us that she had given the girl some Camomile tea before putting her down to sleep in one of their guest rooms. The squaw had lain down on the bed and fallen into a deep sleep after relating the day's events to Bahnu.

It seems that the two squaws had been traveling night and day for three days without food before the warriors caught them. They had been captured when the Iroquois had raided their village demanding protection payments and were on their way to be sold as slaves to a merchant in Philadelphia when they made their bid for freedom. They had escaped down the old Minisink Trail which was the shortest way to New York and freedom.

Lax bade me spend the night to refresh myself for the night was dark and cold. He had sent word to my family that all was well with me. As we enjoyed the comfortable glow of Lax's fireplace and sipped warm molt cider, Lax warned me that the local people, my friends and family might not look too kindly upon my rescue of the squaw. As he did so, I could hear Pa's warning again in my mind's ear. I told Lax of the squaw's valiant struggle, about the murder and violation of the old squaw and how I just could not let her die when she was so close to getting away. Besides, what if the last Iroquois had discovered me? What, then? Was not it better that I dispatch him while I still had the advantage?

That you feared for your life is the only point in your favor my young friend. Experience among the locals teaches that they will feel that this incident was between the heathens and neither your's nor their affair.

How could they feel that the murder of a young woman was none of their affair?

Fear, my young friend, fear is a powerful force. It is as plain and simple as that. Fear breeds respect. Your elders realize that they are out-numbered in this land and, even though their arms are superior, they fear and respect the might of the Iroquois.

I understand fear full well for, when I was hidden in the beech tree, I prayed to God with all my heart and soul, as I never thought I could, that the Iroquois not discover me, but in the end, I was forced to take action. Can't they see that they will also have to take action?

Again, they feel that the Iroquois are not part of their community so that whatever the Iroquois do is none of their affair. It is only when the Iroquois attack a member of their community that they will take action.

But why?

Why? I have just told you. Your people's attitude toward your plight is a universal truth. In my country, we have a piece of knowledge called the 'Bhagavad-Gita'. These are the lessons of life as told by the Lord Krishna to Arjun, an archer, who was troubled as are you.

What did Lord Krishna say?

"Simply that God is the force within us that enables us to rise above our mortal limitations. This is how a young inexperienced boy, such as yourself, could defeat an old warrior such as your friend Broken Jaw.

Because I prayed, I could beat Broken Jaw?

It helped. Since most people do not pray, the force of God is not within them and there will always be injustice. Now you see why your people do not care what the Iroquois do as long as the Iroquois do not do it to them. They can do nothing about the injustice of the Iroquois to other people.

A man cannot ever think of accepting injustice.

Man's inhumanity to man always was and always will be. As the Lord Krishna instructed; do not waste your life on something about which you can do nothing.

I'm tired, yawned I.

Ah, at last, A thing about which we can do something. With a warm and friendly smile, Lax motioned to his servant. Ashoate show young Master Butler to our guest chamber.

I was led off to bed.

CHAPTER II

Come morning, the day broke clear and cold. When my eyes at last adjusted to the early morning shadows of the room, I was greeted by the sight of my clothes hung to dry before the glowing embers on the guest room hearth. A tub of warm water smoked gently in the early morning chill. I loved to bathe, but had given it up for the winter season with the coming of the first ice as was the local custom.

Pa was fond of the saying, Never look a gift horse in the mouth, and I sure was not gonna pass up a gift bath at this time of year. After giving myself a good and thorough scrubbing, I took a soak and began to wonder.

What fineness. I thought, "Here on the edge of a great wilderness, a heathen foreigner comes and gathers up such wealth while the natives who are here all the time just struggle to make ends meet. No. There is no wonder about it. The preachers live well off the gifts of the struggling locals. Lax who does not contribute to their coffers can afford to give his guests hot baths even in winter. The preachers are forced to let Lax alone because of his powers as a doctor. The locals need Lax's doctoring skill and will not allow the preachers to interfere with Lax's services. My family feigns belief and poverty simply to be let alone by the do-nothing preachers with their annoying ranting's of fire and brimstone. How foolish to live amongst people with such cowardly leanings.

The thought hit me. I should go off and find a place where I could become a rich and honored foreigner like Lax. I started to giggle.

While I sat there laughing in the tub, Ashoate entered my room and summoned me to breakfast. I got out of the tub and Ashoate handed me a soft cotton shawl to dry off with. I was awe-struck by the quality of the shawl that seemed to be made especially for drying oneself. Awed as I was, I saw no need to make comment on it to Ashoate. It was just everyday stuff to him. Half of my teaching had been from Lax, a scholar and healer from far off India, but the wonders of Lax's house never ceased to amaze me.

As Ashoate led me to breakfast I vowed, Someday I will have a place like this. Well, maybe a bit better.

Breakfast was held in the kitchen house which was built at a safe distance from the main house to limit any losses that might be caused by a cooking accident. It was a long open-sided affair with cooking hearths at the north end and a dense planting of privet about the other edges to act as a wind break. Here was