Sunset of the Iroquois

Author’s note

There is a tiny cemetery plot near the village of Groveland in rural western New York State that a lost tourist might stumble upon, containing a lone obelisk with the names of fifteen men chiseled into its granite base. A bulletin board near the gravel parking lot provides a brief description of the Clinton-Sullivan Campaign of 1779, informing us that it was the largest military expedition ever undertaken during the Revolutionary War and that it was an invasion of the Indian country. But there is little mention of those fifteen men except to say they were heroes, massacred by Indians.

In spite of this, the tale of those men can be fairly accurately told because a dozen or more daily journals were kept by various soldiers who took part in that campaign; by men who knew they were making history.

In contrast, the Indian side of the story is scarcely known, nor will you find any monuments honoring their fallen heroes. Saddest of all, no one will ever really know what the Iroquois were like in those days, the heyday of the Six Nations Confederacy.

Also known as the Haudenosaunee or People of the Longhouse, the powerful Iroquois League was composed of the original five tribes spread across New York State, from west to east they were the Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida, and Mohawk. The Tuscarora were adopted into the League in 1722.

This is the story of that invasion of the Indian Country, as told from both sides and as near to the truth as I can conjure it. No sides are taken; the story speaks for itself, the reader be the judge.

Preamble

They had run all night through a hard rain to get to this place in the forest before dawn, and now the forty raiders took a moment to rest and prepare. Most had shaved heads, with a topknot or buck tail roach; all were brilliantly painted, feathered, and bedecked, even the whites among them. Though excited by the prospect of taking many scalps and avenging the loss of friends and relatives killed last summer at the Battle of Oriskany, they nonetheless took the time to carefully touch up their paint and adjust their finery, for it was important to look good on the attack, to take on the appearance of dangerous animals and murdering demons, all the better to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies.

It was a chilly morning and there were still large patches of wet snow in the deep woods. Even so, Joseph Brant had discarded his red blanket and stood before them, his rifle in one hand, a long steel-bladed tomahawk in the other, bare chest and face painted a bright vermillion. A band of black covered the eyes that burned with a fierce intensity. He said nothing, but with a flick of his hand the pack of demons spread out into a long line, and then followed him into the gloomy mist.

Like ghosts they wove through the trees, their moccasins silent on the wet leaves. The gloom of the forest soon gave way to a soft yellow light where the trees ended and all crouched low behind the low piles of brush scattered at the edge of the field. Motionless, they blended into the scenery as they waited for the dawn to clear away the haze.

They heard the clink of the harness before they saw the lone farmer wrestling his plow through the mud behind a flop-eared mule. Just beyond appeared the farmer’s house, a simple dwelling of rough-hewn logs where a thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney. Out of the front door came the man’s wife. She wore a blue dress and carried a basket of wash to hang on the line.

Joseph Brant stood up, and with a bloodcurdling scream the line of warriors rose up with him, echoing the war whoop.

The farmer never had a chance. His worst fears had come to pass and he simply stood there, frozen in mortal terror. Resolved to his fate, he fixed his eyes upon his wife as a tall black-painted warrior ran up and bashed his skull in with a heavy war club, his scalp slashed off with a swift motion that scarcely slowed the Indian, blood dripping from the prize.

It was the first raid of the season by the British and their Tory and Indian allies against the rebel settlements along the frontier, to be followed by many others, though with dire consequences for the Six Nations of the Confederacy from the Hudson to the Genesee, for these raids would reap a terrible vengeance.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1

General Washington’s Headquarters

Middlebrook, New Jersey

March 1779

General Washington lay awake for most of the night with a terrible toothache. Rather than keep his wife awake with his tossing and turning, he decided to come down to his office to compose a couple of letters that he had been mulling over for some days. The letters were finished now, and noticing it was dawn, he took off his spectacles, placed them on his desk, and went to the window and opened it.

The snow was melting and water was dripping from the roof, flowing down the hill and running across the road before gurgling into the stream that ran behind the house. There in the yard were a pair of robins, hunting worms where purple and yellow crocus were already sprouting; even the witch hazel on the hillside was beginning to bloom, all signs of an early spring. Looking up he could see the sun peeking through the bare branches of some maples high up on the ridge where some of his soldiers were encamped and he could just make out the wispy smoke of their breakfast fires. He took a deep breath of the mild spring air and thanked God that his army had survived another winter.

Of course it had been nothing like that horrible first winter at Valley Forge. This time the men had been provided axes and saws so they could build themselves decent cabins with floors in them, which kept a soldier’s feet dry. And spreading the camps out over a wider area prevented the spread of disease caused by all the waste and garbage made by having too many people in one place, contaminating the water supply. And although keeping soldiers was always difficult, at least those serving now were tough, hardy and loyal, and were provided with more than just the bare essentials, thanks mostly to the French, of course. Even better was the news from his spies who were telling him that the British seemed in no hurry to renew offensive operations against them, for they were still awaiting supply ships from England.

Not that all was rosy. Pay to the soldiers, when it did come from a stingy Congress, was so low it scarcely provided for their most basic needs, and the suffering and discontent of the men was only made worse when they saw how the profiteers rode about in gilded coaches, living in the lap of luxury by selling goods and services to the army at outrageous prices, causing inflation to soar. Washington sighed at the thought as he went back to his desk. He was perusing both letters when he heard the familiar footsteps on the front porch.

We have received plenty of shoes, and can you believe it…twenty thousand new uniforms from France! exclaimed his aide as he came bounding into the office. But inflation is ruining the country! Prices have doubled in the last week! Why, tea is up to four dollars a pound!

First the toothache, and now reminded of the criminal avarice of the profiteers, Washington could scarcely contain his outrage as he looked over his spectacles into the cold blue eyes of Colonel Alexander Hamilton. You don’t have to tell me! I tried buying a pair of stockings yesterday; they wanted a hundred dollars! It’s that tribe of black-hearted gentry! They hold back necessities and pretend there are shortages just to hike up the price, and at the expense of our army! They’re more dangerous to us than the whole military might of Britain; murderers to our cause!

I don’t know why the government doesn’t do something, said Hamilton.

They ought to be hunted down and hung!

Well, I don’t see how we will be able to pay the men, Sir.

How many enlistments are due to expire? asked Washington as he struggled to regain his composure.

Four thousand, three hundred and eighty by last count, said Hamilton, ever ready with the correct figures.

Well, we won’t have to pay them, at least, which should give the national finances a breather. Since financial limitations had long been a depressive topic, Washington abruptly changed the subject. But tell me, Hamilton, what was your impression of our review yesterday?

I thought the troops were in fine mettle, Sir, and I believe the Delaware chiefs were quite impressed, especially with the artillery demonstration. More impressed than Mrs. Washington had been with the Indians, he recalled. What was it she had said? Never had she seen such a band of cutthroats, worse than Falstaff’s gang.

I hope they were impressed enough to remain our friends, and who knows, perhaps with a bit of canny diplomacy, we might even be able to persuade them to provide some assistance.

Are you referring to when d’Estaing’s fleet arrives, Sir?

I had hoped the French ambassador could have reassured us of his coming. But you were there; he made it sound as if we should not be expecting a French fleet, that the West Indies were to be secured over all other objectives. No, I was thinking along the lines of a different endeavor entirely.

Well, it would seem that rum, sugar, and bananas are more important to the frogs than colonial military victories, noted Hamilton with a wry grin, knowing that Washington had little love for the French, his former enemies.

The French and their obsession with food, sighed Washington.

And Miralles, his Spanish protégé, Hamilton reminded him. Did you see the look of horror on his face when he sat at our table, General?

I confess I wish my cupboard had not been so bare, lamented Washington. Ah, but didn’t he promise to send us some things?

I believe he did mention something along those lines, but then promises made by diplomats… Hamilton had once again allowed himself to be charmed by Washington, but returning to business was a simple matter. You were mentioning a certain endeavor, General.

If we can’t do much here, we must consider these depredations along the northern frontier, said Washington. If he had little love for the French, Washington had even less for the Indians, to his mind a cruel and crafty enemy, having fought them in the French and Indian War. Those savage wolves did us enough damage last year at Cherry Valley and Wyoming, and Clinton and Schuyler are telling me that the farmers up there are already being driven from their fields by Butler and Brandt. The public is outraged, and Congress is howling for something to be done. Besides, without a harvest this fall our army will be reduced to eating the soles of those shoes we just acquired. Washington had been discussing the possibilities with his generals, namely Philip Schuyler and Nathanael Greene, all winter and had made a careful study of the situation on the frontier. Spies had been sent to scout various invasion routes, and maps of the trails and geography of the land had been made up; even old journals of explorations into the Indian country had been made use of.

It does seem an idea whose time has come, and I’ve always thought that it would put a strain on the British supply system if they had to feed their Indians all next winter, but would that include going as far as Fort Niagara, Sir?

Certainly Fort Niagara is the key to the frontier all the way to the Ohio country, said Washington peevishly, and the source of supplies, bribes really, to the Indians, but I doubt we have the resources or the manpower to go that far. No, I was thinking of something more affordable; you should be able to appreciate that, Hamilton. A quick and devastating strike into the heart of the Indian country, throw them back onto Niagara, and let them know we can take the fight to them whenever we wish; give them a lesson they won’t soon forget.

Have you settled on a commander for such an expedition? Hamilton had been on Washington’s staff for two years now and was beginning to resent the menial tasks he felt Washington stuck him with. The idea of commanding at least a regiment in such an expedition had always been a cherished hope, and now the hope was raised once again.

Washington knew that Hamilton yearned for honor and glory in a more active military assignment, knew this talk of an expedition into the Indian country had again raised his hopes, but in his mind there were two good reasons to keep Hamilton right where he was. The first was that he had come to rely on the brilliant young man’s blunt and honest opinions, and was simply loath to let him go. The second reason served to justify the first, and was the problem of how to bestow a plumb assignment upon one his closest aides without the appearance of favoritism, especially when there were plenty of able young officers hoping for the same thing.

Washington picked up the two letters on his desk and handed them to Hamilton. I’d like you to have a look at these, if you would.

One letter was addressed to General Horatio Gates, the other to General John Sullivan, both offers of command over the same expeditionary force. Washington had to offer Gates the command first since he was senior. He had also been touted as the hero of Saratoga, though both men knew that Gates had stolen the glory from General Benedict Arnold, who had done all the fighting. Even so, Gates was old and tired and Washington expected him to decline the offer.

Sullivan, Sir? asked Hamilton, no fan of Gates or Sullivan. Armstrong of Pennsylvania is going to holler.

Not to mention Joseph Reed.

They’ll both want Brodhead.

Having served with Sullivan on many a campaign, Washington knew him well. Yes, one could never question his courage or resolve, but Sullivan could be pompous and histrionic, and his loose tongue was always his own worst enemy. Outflanked on Long Island, Sullivan had been ingloriously captured in a cornfield by the British. Then, after being fortunate enough to be exchanged for a British General, he made some disparaging comments about Arthur St. Clair who had been forced to abandon Fort Ticonderoga to Burgoyne’s massive army. Speaking ill of a fellow general was bad enough, but then Sullivan’s poorly handled attack on Staten Island left him open to the same kind of criticism. Then there was that fiasco at Newport, where Sullivan had prepared his forces and planned his attack well enough, but when the French Admiral d’Estaing, who was to have supported him, decided to go chase after a rumored British fleet, Sullivan had made some nasty and unnecessary comments to the newspapers about the French, which made a shambles of allied ties and gave Sullivan’s critics plenty to harp about. What had Sullivan said? Fortune is a fickle jade, and often gives us a tumble when we least expect it.

One would hope he’s learned some lessons in humility, said Washington, admitting, I would have preferred Schuyler, but he tells me he is quitting the army. I know I’ll have to defend his appointment, but then I must work with such means as I have.

Of course, Sir. And I will have these letters on your desk in thirty minutes, said Hamilton before bounding upstairs to his office.

True to his word, Hamilton soon returned with his usually brilliant editing improvements, …and I suggest we send the letter to Sullivan with the letter to Gates, Sir. Should Gates refuse, he can then send the offer to Sullivan himself and no toes are stepped upon.

I can only concur. See that they are posted immediately, was Washington’s curt reply.

Two days later a coach arrived at Washington’s Headquarters. In it were four crystal flasks, six cases of French wines, two cases of Spanish reds, including some excellent Madeira, ten boxes of fine chocolates and various candies, a dozen jars of guava jelly, a dozen large bags of sugar, a crate of lemons to make punch with, and a living sea turtle weighing over a hundred pounds, all compliments of Juan de Miralles, the Spanish ambassador, who had been so horrified a week earlier by Washington’s spare table.

Chapter 2

Sullivan’s Headquarters

Providence, Rhode Island

March 1779

Major General John Sullivan was not a tall man, but because of his broad shoulders and the way he carried himself, he had the solid, imposing look of a leader. A study in contrasts, he was more than handsome, almost pretty, with a straight nose, pouting lips, and a heart-shaped face framed by delicate rings of curly black locks. His eyes were black, too, and penetrating. And from his pouting lips came a rich, resinous voice of authority.

Sullivan had always dreamed of being a rich landowner, and he made a good start as a young lawyer by suing his neighbors over debts. Though lucrative, the work was not easy, for when countersuits were filed against him and the decisions of the courts always went his way, his fellow citizens began to assault him on the street and he had to move to another county. A social climber, Sullivan had early on supported the crown and was made a major of the local militia by his good friend John Wentworth, the Royal Governor of New Hampshire. But when the Revolution broke out, Sullivan sided with the New England rebels and grabbed up a seat in Congress. He first distinguished himself by leading a fearless raid on Fort William and Mary to procure arms and powder for the colonies. Now, after a military career with more than its share of controversy, his hands were shaking as he read with trepidation the letter from General Washington that Gates had forwarded, dated March 16:

"Major General Sullivan:

Dear Sir:

Congress having determined upon an expedition against the hostile tribes of the Indians of the Six Nations, the command is offered to Maj. Gen. Gates as senior officer, but should he decline, it is my wish it should devolve upon you. That no time may be lost by General Gates’ nonacceptance, I have put this letter under cover to him, and have desired him to forward it to you, should that be his determination. Should it therefore be sent to you I must request you to set out, as speedily as possible after the receipt of it, to Headquarters, as the season is already far advanced. Upon your arrival, the whole plan of the expedition shall be communicated to you, and measures concerted for carrying it into execution. Nothing will contribute more to our success in the quarter where we really intend to strike, than alarming the enemy in a contrary one, and drawing their attention that way. To do this, you may drop hints of an expedition to Canada by the way of Coos. This will be more readily believed, as a thing of that kind was really once in agitation, and some magazines formed in consequence, which the enemy are acquainted with. You may also speak of the probability of a French Fleet making its appearance in the spring, in the St. Lawrence to co-operate with us. It will be a great point gained if we can, by false alarms, keep the force already in Canada from affording any timely assistance to the savages, refugees and those people against whom the blow is leveled. I would wish you to keep the motive of your journey to Headquarters a secret, because if it is known that an officer of your rank is to take a command to the westward, it will be immediately concluded that the object must be considerable.

I am, with great regard, Dear Sir,

Your most Obedient Servant,

George Washington."

Sullivan was surprised and flattered that he had been chosen for such a bold undertaking, the very invasion of the Iroquois country, but there was also much to consider. As the Commander of all forces in Rhode Island, he had just emerged from a controversial court of inquiry in which he had accused a certain Captain Amasa Sessions of stealing and reselling flour from their commissary. Heated and protracted deliberations ensued, and in the end the court took no action, causing many of Sullivan’s fellow officers to question his judgment, thinking he had made too much of too little, wasting his energy, and affecting his health. Always high strung, in addition to making too many enemies, he ate too much, drank too much, and spent too much. Though wanting only to go home to his wife and family, here was a chance at a fresh start, and so, after a sumptuous farewell dinner and thirteen gun salute given him by the town of Providence, fellow officers, and brother Freemasons, Sullivan borrowed enough money to make the trip to Washington’s Headquarters, arriving in the first week of April.

Washington had his cook prepare a delicious soup from the sea turtle that the Spanish observer, Juan de Miralles, had sent him. Glasses were filled with the exquisite Madeira, and the two Generals and their staffs sat down to discuss the coming campaign.

As per your instructions, General, I have told no one of our plans, Sullivan informed Washington, although I have been able to drop a hint or two, here and there, as to the possibility of invading Canada.

I am pleased to hear that, General, said Washington. Surprise is often our most powerful ally.

Of course, Sir, allowed Sullivan, which brings me to the question of exactly what my objectives are to be.

The immediate objects of your expedition shall be the total devastation of the Indian settlements, primarily those in the Seneca country, and the capture of as many prisoners of every age and sex as possible, as a bargaining point for the exchange of hostages. Being less agriculturists than nomadic hunters, the Indians can easily rebuild their villages in a few weeks, therefore they would only be stung by the complete destruction of their crops and orchards.

Sir, if my soldiers are regular Continentals, as you say they shall be, then I am confident they will be a match for anything the Indians can throw at us.

I share your confidence, Sir, but I doubt they will be eager to join you in battle, observed Washington. And to kill or capture warriors might prove difficult, since I expect their war parties to keep out of the way of superior numbers; in my experience I have found that only in a sudden way can an enemy so vigilant and desultory be surprised into battle.

I will take your advice into deepest consideration, said Sullivan who knew Washington to be an experienced Indian fighter.

Colonel Tilghman here shall be happy to provide you with all the information we have managed to collect to date; maps, descriptions of the Indian country, suggestions for the best routes, ideas for the transporting of your supplies, things of that nature. Oh, and there is also a recent letter from General Schuyler which I think you will find quite elucidating. He has been in the country for some time and has provided us a wealth of information, as has General Greene.

I am certain these things will be of inestimable value, General. And I understand that General Schuyler has put the enemy strength at around two thousand. I would think that a much larger force of loyalists would join them, and if such were to be the case, I would need at least four thousand men to ensure success. As you are quite aware, Sir, an attacking force is always at a disadvantage.

It did not take Sullivan long to begin his complaining, noted Washington, but he answered with tact. I would not be at all surprised if more loyalists joined with Butler and his Indian allies, but I would think that a concerted attack from different directions should have the effect of dividing their forces.

Which brings up another of my concerns, said Sullivan. If I assemble my main force on the Susquehanna, then the enemy will certainly realize that an attack on Canada is not the objective, and they will most likely turn their attention against any secondary forces first, with the danger of overwhelming them before attacking me.

Open to suggestions, Washington asked, So what is it you propose, General?

I believe a main force of four thousand should begin at the Mohawk and march due west, with that necessary firmness which consciousness of superiority seldom fails to inspire. By this design I will have a better chance of cutting off their retreat than if I advance from the south, where I propose to place another force of twenty-five hundred which can advance into their right flank.

I don’t see how we will be able to muster that many men, observed Washington with raised eyebrows.

But with all due respect, General, you yourself said that we must show without doubt that we have the power and the means to carry war into the Indian lands. If we fail in this, we will be the laughing stock of the Six Nations. Why, their resultant confidence and insolence would bring greater tragedies than either Wyoming or Cherry Valley.

I can only agree, said Washington. And insofar as it is possible, I will see to it that your request is given the greatest consideration.

I could not ask for more than that, Sir.

Sullivan was pleased that he had made his point and backed it up with what he felt was sound logic. Driven by his fear of failure, he had made his own study of the tactical situation and with practiced argument, had seemingly convinced Washington of his plan; he had even elicited Washington’s consideration for the number of troops he felt were necessary, and now the dinner proceeded with an air of camaraderie and mutual confidence, with toasts all around. If he had been apprehensive that certain of his past embarrassments might be brought up, especially his capture by the British on Long Island, Sullivan was relieved when hearty and sincere toasts were made in his honor, wishing him success in his coming endeavor. In return, Sullivan toasted Washington and his officers and army. Hamilton especially, impressed him with his charm and intellectual brilliance, although he could not agree with Hamilton’s assessment of the tactical situation when he predicted that the British would most likely turn their operations to the south, and felt he went too far in advocating that Negro slaves be recruited into the army and given their freedom.

The contempt we have been taught to entertain for the blacks, said Hamilton, makes us fancy many things that are founded neither upon reason nor experience. I believe that with equal opportunity, it will be shown that their natural faculties are as good as ours. Of course, they would have to be led by white officers of sense and sentiment.

So you believe they are good enough for cannon practice, but not good enough for officers, argued Colonel Tilghman.

But Hamilton was not to be put off, pointing out, I do not believe we are apart in intelligence or ability, but only in status, education and training. In time, I am certain they will have their own officers.

The subject was deftly closed by Washington who raised his glass and gave a toast to both officers, erasing all contention, and afterwards Sullivan raised a toast to Hamilton’s fiancé, none other than General Schuyler’s enchanting daughter, Betsy.

That night, however, and in spite of the prodigious amount of alcohol he had consumed, Sullivan spent carefully going over the materials Lieutenant Colonel Tench Tilghman had turned over to him, a full winter’s worth of research of the Indian country by a network of spies and professional soldiers, maps, and the assessments of General’s Greene and Schuyler. General Greene argued for a main thrust up the Susquehanna; Schuyler thought the main army should come from the Mohawk. Concerned lest the British should attack from Canada, Sullivan chose the Mohawk route, and wrote up a carefully reasoned proposal for an army of four thousand leaving from the Mohawk, with another twenty five hundred coming up from the Susquehanna to serve as a feint. But then Sullivan changed his mind the next day after seeing a recent letter from General Schuyler, warning of a shortage of flour in New York State. In order not to appear quixotic, he gave as his main reason that provisioning an army from the Mohawk to Cayuga Lake would be almost impossible due to the lack of adequate roads through the area. In this way did Sullivan come around to the initial assessment made by Washington and his staff, accepting that the southern Susquehanna route would serve best for his main body, with a smaller force marching west from the Mohawk. He did, however, raise his request to three thousand troops for the main body, with another 1500 for supply, guards and boatmen, arguing that the Indians would be no Despicable Enemy, and reminding Washington that Fort Niagara would probably send reinforcements against him.

While Washington thought Sullivan’s request for so many troops unrealistic, he promised he would do all he could to provide them, and gave Sullivan May 12th as the date on which the army was to gather at Easton on the Pennsylvania frontier, from there to move immediately to Wyoming, with the greatest stress laid on moving quickly so as to keep the element of surprise.

Chapter 3

A Glade in the Forest

South of Cayuga Lake

April 1779

His uncle had waited until after the Maple Festival before making him fast for two days, and then had given him a bitter concoction that caused vomiting and violent bowel movements; afterwards an herbal bath. Thus purged and cleansed, both inside and out, Many Tears was already weak and hungry when his uncle roughly pulled him out of his warm and cozy bed in the middle of the night and dragged him from their lodge while his family pretended to sleep.

A half-moon revealed their path out of the village between stump-strewn fields surrounded by rickety fences. Then it was into the pitch-black forest where the light of the moon could scarcely penetrate, yet his uncle only increased their pace, pushing and shoving him along a rough trail of twisted roots and jagged rocks that cut and scraped his feet until they were raw and bloody.

The trail took them over a mountain to a narrow ravine on the other side. From there they followed the stream down the hill where large rocks and boulders that he could not see in the dark stubbed his toes and banged his shins, and left blood on the wet grass. Twice his uncle led him into brambles that scratched and tore at his body, and each time his uncle admonished him as he pulled him free, saying, What are you doing in the berry bush? They are not ripe yet, and besides, you are on a fast. When he voiced a complaint after being attacked by hordes of mosquitoes in the swamp, his uncle grabbed him by the legs and dragged him through the slimy mud, telling him, Now you are protected from mosquitoes and your wounds are filled with the healing power of the earth.

Then it was back into the black forest, up a steep hillside and over another mountain and down the other side before he was deposited in a shallow depression filled with leaves. His uncle rubbed sunflower seed oil on his forehead, and then smeared four bars of green paint over his eye, while reminding him, Remember my instructions, and do forget to chant your prayers until I return. And with that he was left alone, naked, with no food, shelter, tools, or weapons of any kind, in a hole in the ground, in a clearing of the forest, in the middle of the night. At least he was near water, for he could hear the gurgling of a nearby brook.

Now it was midmorning and Many Tears sat in the center of the clearing, rocking gently in his leafy bower, his mind drifting, his song forgotten, weak from hunger and the exertions of his torturous journey; only dimly aware of the warm sunshine on his bare shoulders.

In spite of the rough treatment shown by his uncle, Many Tears knew that it had been mildly and lovingly tendered, and he was glad he had chosen his uncle to help prepare him and guide him through this dream fast, for He Who Looks Both Ways knew many things, possessed many skills, knew the ways of power, and had already taught him much.

From his uncle he learned how to make his own hunting shirt, breechclout, and moccasins, made from the skin of the deer. He showed him how to build simple shelters in the forest, and how to start a fire with the friction of wood, and he helped him make simple but hearty meals out on the trail. He taught him how to select the proper woods for different uses, and how to carve wood, and how to make strong bows of ash, and accurate arrows from the branches of the cherry tree. From his uncle he learned to make fishhooks and arrowheads, and learned that the best fletching for arrows came from turkey feathers. They even made a bark canoe two summers ago that they still took out on the big lake. And from his uncle he learned the ways of the animals, the deer and the bear, the wolves of the deep woods, the beaver, the porcupine, the fox, coyote, turkey and partridge, and all the many fishes of lake and stream. He also learned reverence and respect for all the animals he hunted, trapped, and fished, to speak words of gratitude to their departing spirits for the sacrifice of their flesh, fur, or feathers; to never throw their bones to the dogs, and to sacrifice the first deer of the hunting season to the crows so that they would not warn the other animals during the rest of the year. He learned the medicinal uses for many plants and was always encouraged to remember his dreams so that the spirits of the plants might reveal their secrets to him.

And since his uncle was the fire keeper of their village, he had listened to him tell the many myths and legends around the fires during the winter months, an oral literature of stories, lore, and tradition, that had been passed down through the generations, about how the world came into being with the help of the Muskrat diving deep into the bottom of the waters to bring up mud to start the land, and of how Turtle volunteered to carry this earth on his back, and of how Sky Woman came and brought people to live on the earth. There were many such tales and Many Tears marveled at how his uncle could remember them all, of the twin brothers, the spirits of good and evil, of the rain and thunder, of the sun, the moon, and the stars, and stories of the birds, and the fish, and all the animals. In addition to the traditional stories, his uncle also told him strange tales of witches, and because He Who Looks Both Ways had great medicine and knew much about the ways of the Creator, he even tried to explain difficult-to-understand spiritual ideas when Many Tears expressed a curiosity about such things.

And while the father of Many Tears was a great warrior, and laughed at most of the stories He Who Looks Both Ways told, his uncle always took them seriously and tried to explain the meaning behind them that always made Many Tears think more deeply about life and the ways of the spirits. By his teachings his uncle let it be known that he hoped Many Tears would turn his talents to more peaceful pursuits, and he never taught his nephew the arts of war, but left that area of expertise to his father. Instead, Looks Both Ways showed him the different dances in their proper seasons. He sang to him the traditional songs and taught him how to create his own personal songs. He learned from him how to stay clean in body and in spirit, and he learned how he must treat others with respect, especially women, the elderly, and children. Most important, Many Tears learned from his uncle the value of always thanking the Great Spirit for making the world and all things in it for the benefit of The People.

When it came time for Many Tears to gather items for his medicine bundle, he asked, Uncle, how will I know what to select?

Why not start with a small pebble with power.

But how will I know if it has power?

If it has power for you, you will know it.

Many Tears wanted his questions to stop; yet he had to ask, But how will I know if it has power for me, Uncle?

Looks Both Ways did not respond for some time, seemingly unable to answer. Many Tears worried that perhaps he had exhausted his uncle’s patience, but finally his uncle said, It will speak to you.

The next day his uncle took him on a fishing trip to the lake. There were many stones and pebbles on the trail, but Many Tears heard none speak to him. When they reached the lake there were many more pebbles and stones along the shoreline, but not a single one called out to him. He sat on the beach and listened, in vain, for the voice of a stone along the shoreline, wondering what it might sound like, wondering if a big stone sounded different from a small stone, and even more, what it might say to him, and since he was seeking a tiny stone, a pebble, he began to worry that he might not hear a small pebble calling out to him unless he put his ear very close to it. He wanted to question his uncle about these things but Looks Both Ways had already waded far out into the shallows with his fishing spear.

Many Tears began to toss stones into the water. A few small pebbles at first, then larger stones as his anger and frustration grew. Then he picked up a heavy, jagged rock that he threw with all his might, insensibly, narrowly missing his uncle, who looked up in surprise at the nearby splash. Ashamed, Many Tears sat staring into the water and was about to loudly proclaim his defeat when he saw the reflection of an osprey flying out of the pines across the bay.

The eagle screamed as it passed over the sun, the rays momentarily blinding him. When Many Tears opened his eyes he noticed a tiny white stone in the shallows, contrasting sharply with the dark, rough gray stones surrounding it. When Many Tears absentmindedly picked it up, Looks Both Ways, called out, Skanoh! A stone that speaks to you!

I heard only the call of the fish eagle, said Many Tears.

His uncle laughed. Little Brother, stones do not always speak with words. Sometimes eagles speak for stones so stubborn boys can hear. Stones are heard better when one is not listening, and best found without looking for them.

Many Tears could not say that the stone had spoken to him, yet it did seem as if the eagle had shown him the stone somehow, perhaps even spoke for it. And at a moment when he had given up listening, and had forgotten that he was looking for a stone. He tucked the smooth white pebble into his pouch while marveling at the mystery of such things. In this way he added half a dozen more items to his medicine bundle that he wore on a rawhide thong tied around his neck. Soon the small leather pouch was filled with tiny treasures; the tiny white pebble, colorful feathers, bits of bone, leaves of certain plants, dried nuts and seeds, even dried organs of a frog, a bird, and a snake, all these things invested with power for him.

A pair of blue jays startled him out of his reverie with their scolding. Blue jays! he greeted them, thank you for allowing me the use of this clearing. I hope you will find some good food to eat today for you and your family!

But the chattering pair only flew off at the foolish speech, leaving Many Tears feeling guilty over his failure to follow his uncle’s instructions. It was already light and he had wasted half the night, instead of singing and chanting his prayers as he had been told to do. The mud on his body had since dried in long chalky streaks, and he took a moment to pick some of its crusty residue out of his eyelashes before he turned his face toward the rising sun and began to sing:

"Oh Great Spirit, my heart is open, my soul is in your keeping, and I think only of you!

Let my Manitou come to me; let him give me a promise of power and protection!

Let me see his form and his face so that I may know and obey him!

My heart is open and I give my heart and soul to him!

And bring to me a great dream to see myself and my future!"

He sang this song many times, over and over again, until it made a straight and narrow trail in his mind and he forgot he was saying it. Then he said other chants and prayers for many hours and with great emotion as the day wore on, but by noon he was once more beginning to slump drowsily forward, with sweat running down his forehead from the heat of the day. Feeling clammy, thirsty, and sleepy, he jumped up and splashed in the brook to refresh himself. Then he took a few sips of the cool, clear water before returning to his bower to continue singing, praying, and chanting.

After repeating many times over all the songs his uncle had taught him, by noon he began to lose his concentration. He became lost in thoughts, some repeating themselves in circles in his mind. He thought many times of what new name the tribe might give him, and this would lead to the thought that everything depended upon what would happen while he waited in his bower, what might take place, what dreams he might have, and this would lead to remembering the seemingly contradictory words of his uncle. Try to stay awake and sing your songs for as long as you can before you sleep and let the dreams come. Don’t forget to keep a close watch on everything around you; the forest, the rocks, the trees, the animals, the wind, and especially any spirits that might visit you. But do not look for anything to happen. His uncle was always telling him things whereby his last words canceled out his first words. Once, when Many Tears asked, Uncle, how do I do two opposite things at once? the only answer was, Do not think about it too much.

And so he tried not to think, and by midafternoon, his songs and prayers exhausted, he sat in silence and allowed his attention to be caught by anything and everything around him, a leaf on the wind, a beetle crawling over his toe, the dappled sunlight on the leaves around him. He noticed how the bright shifting patterns of sunlight seemed to be chasing after the dark shadows on the forest floor, almost as if they were alive and playing with one another, and it made him laugh and it reminded him of a conversation he had had with his uncle when he tried explaining how the Great Spirit worked through all the things of the world. Interested in the mysteries, Many Tears had asked, Uncle, where does the Great Spirit live? The answer, Everywhere at once, seemed most puzzling; it seemed as if his uncle were toying with him, giving him another answer that contradicted itself. Unable to comprehend, Many Tears pressed him and asked, But how can this be? The simple answer rang with truth. To know this is to know the Great Spirit.

In spite of the grueling night hike, an empty stomach, bumps and bruises, aches and pains, and the itching scratches and mosquito bites, this test did not seem like much of an ordeal; he had been beaten and had suffered worse than this practicing running the gauntlet with his gang of age mates. Pine boughs and dry leaves comfortably cushioned him in his bowl-shaped bower, he did not yet feel the gnawing pangs of hunger, and the spring weather was warm and mild. He would feel little pride if this test came too easily; he wanted something big to happen, something memorable and momentous that would make Looks Both Ways sagely nod his head and say wise things, something that would require a brave heart. But here he sat with nothing but a tiny black beetle crawling over his toe, squirrels scampering about in the forest, and an occasional bee buzzing by his head, left with his songs and his thoughts.

The fact that he had been told not to move from the area troubled him somewhat, but then he could hear his uncle admonishing him, You can be too rebellious; this is not the way of The People, which would serve to settle him. A good thing Looks Both Ways had told him. If his father, Too Tall Pine, had told him that he was not to wander, he would have been sorely tempted to leave the clearing. But his father had left three weeks ago, eager to go on a long spring hunt. He had wanted to go off and join with one of Brant’s war parties in raids upon the frontier settlements, but the village sachems had decided that the Cayuga should stay out of the white man’s war.

Many Tears could not say that he missed his father. Instead, if he was truthful, he had to admit that he always felt a sense of relief when his father left the village, for his father could be harsh and unpredictable, even mean and unsympathetic to a young boy. If his father never returned, if he were killed somehow, Many Tears wondered if he would grieve for him. Not that he hated his father, but respect that comes from fear could sometimes come close to hate and bring spiteful thoughts.

Having no authority over him until he became a man, Too Tall Pine mostly ignored his son, and left him in the care of his mother, leaving his uncle to teach and instruct him. To Many Tears it seemed as if his father had not noticed that he was growing into a man, and he had been thankful when his uncle had remained behind to help him with his dream fast instead of going on the spring hunt with his father. His uncle had told Too Tall Pine that with the rumor of armies gathering against them some warriors should remain in the village, but Many Tears knew that Looks Both Ways did not always agree with Too Tall Pine’s assessment of what was best for their people. His uncle thought that they should stay out of the fight between the English that lived on their lands and those that lived in England. To the mind of Looks Both Ways it was a fight between brothers and he knew it was always dangerous to side with one family member against another, for no matter who won, the other would always hate you. In the eyes of Looks Both Ways, a white man was a white man, not to be trusted; were not they all greedy for Indian lands; would not all of them rejoice when the Indian was no more? Besides, Looks Both Ways had seen enough of blood and killing, and his heart was not in it any more, especially since his younger brother had been killed at the battle of Oriskany only two summers before.

In contrast, Too Tall Pine was a warrior first and foremost, interested in personal glory in battle over all other considerations. He had never been one to distinguish how his impulses of the moment might bring unfortunate results in the future. He was never sophisticated in the ways of the council house or much interested in considering opposing viewpoints in a decision-making process, nor was he attuned to the ways of oratory and persuasion to advance his arguments. Life looked simpler to his father than it did to Looks Both Ways, and his father had expected his uncle, friend, and best scout and tracker to seek revenge for the death of a brother. It was what he would have done, and he was puzzled and disappointed, even angry, when Looks Both Ways seemed not interested in retaliation against those who had taken his brother’s life. It had pained Many Tears to hear his father chiding his uncle when he refused to consider making war against the rebels, telling him his heart had grown soft, and that he was becoming an old man with womanly ways.

Ten summers older than his father, Looks Both Ways had taken his father on his first raids against the Susquehannocks, Delawares, and Shawnees before peace was made with the southern tribes, adventures whereby they had taken many scalps and prisoners, some burned alive. So ferocious and deadly a warrior did Too Tall Pine become that his enemies named him Night Panther." Many of his own tribe still sometimes call him this, and always naming him war captain. While never a great orator, his father could be stubborn in council, rarely giving ground, and never when matters of honor and prestige affected the tribe and the braves under his protection. It was a great honor to have a father always in charge of the war party, awe-inspiring to see young braves gladly follow him with confidence, knowing that his father would never ask a single one of them to do what he himself would not, knowing that he would sacrifice his life for them. He always knew each man’s strengths and weaknesses, and showed his trust of them by always explaining their purpose and intentions. He was a master organizer, assigning all to their tasks; moccasin carriers, pot and kettle carriers, cooks, and cooks helpers that carried the food supply, fetched water and made the fires. Above all, because of the respect he had earned through his deeds and his daring, Too Tall Pine was always instantly obeyed by those warriors who followed him.

Since Looks Both Ways was known as a better hunter and tracker and a trustworthy man of high rank, he had always acted as Too Tall Pine’s chief scout, functioning as the eyes and ears of the party, keeping Too Tall Pine informed of enemy whereabouts, possible ambush sites, and sneaky ways to enter enemy encampments. In addition to his adventures on the warpath, Looks Both Ways was also known as a kind husband and good provider of his family. He was always the first to share his game with others in time of need. More than this, he had earned renown among all the tribes as a wise counselor and a persuasive orator. Both men belonged to a secret society of warriors, but while Looks Both Ways could be merciless in battle, he did not constantly feel the need to make others fearful of him.

Though inheriting some of his father’s temper, Many Tears doubted whether he could ever be the fearsome warrior that his father was. One thing he was certain of, however. He would be glad to give up his name, a good enough name for a child, perhaps, but lacking honor, given him in the winter when he had cried from the cold and his father promptly threw him out of the lodge, naked, into the snow, which only made him cry the more. His father often dipped him into cold water, but this was to harden him and give him endurance, and never made Many Tears cry. But he had cried then, not so much because the snow was wet and cold, but more from the indignity, and the realization of the cruel nature of his father.

His mother, Dark Spring, had come to his rescue, had admonished his father, telling him, This is not the way The People treat their children, for Iroquois children were rarely punished. Your son will have a great name some day…he will be more than Too Tall Pine.

To which his father, in anger, had replied, But now he cries too much, and a child of The People must learn to be silent and strong, and it was for this reason that his father took to calling him Many Tears, thinking it a challenge to his son, and so Many Tears could never blame his father for the name, sometimes even believing it was his mother’s fault for indulging him. There were times when Many Tears wished that Looks Both Ways could have been his father, for his uncle understood him better than his father ever would and possessed a good sense of humor, while his father seemed incapable of appreciating a good joke. Many Tears especially enjoyed his uncle’s jokes when his father grew angry or took things too seriously.

Once, when his father had been badly wounded in the leg, his uncle had made a joke that compared Too Tall Pine to a one-legged stork, and then he began hopping comically around the campfire, an antic that brought howls of laughter from the other warriors. No other man but Looks Both Ways could have dared such a thing. Even now Many Tears cringed when he remembered the murderous look his father had given his uncle, which brought him to the happy conclusion that perhaps it was better after all that his father was Too Tall Pine and not his uncle and teacher, for his father lacked patience, saw it only as weakness, and it was through patience, not fear, that Many Tears learned best, for he had always been a sensitive boy who matured slowly. Regardless, nothing would ever change who his father was, and so Many Tears would be glad when his sitting was over and he could go back and tell his uncle something of import that would make him nod his head and perhaps even inspire the clan mother to give him a new name, a name worthy of a man, a name that would make his father proud.

But so far there seemed nothing to tell anyone about. He noticed a rustling of leaves at the edge of the circle and saw that a colony of ants had formed a long line that crossed the clearing. Busy, cooperative creatures, ants. Good morning, he greeted them, I see you are already gathering much food so that you can live underground until the Strawberry Moon warms the earth and melts the snows away. Many Tears thought of the ways of the forest creatures. Squirrels, too, gathered and stored for the winter. His people did the same, gathering corn and squash and saving it for the starving times, and the tribe had weathered the winter well this year because of an abundant fall harvest and good hunting. Then the maple sap had provided syrup and sugar and even vinegar, and now it was the Planting Moon and the cycle would start all over again. He wanted to say more to the ant tribe, but could think of nothing that might interest them. Looks Both Ways would have known what to say to ants. Why, Many Tears even heard him speak to a rock once.

He remembered that when he questioned his uncle about the wisdom of talking to rocks, Looks Both Ways had told him the story of a boy who was returning from hunting birds and had stopped to rest under a big standing rock. The rock spoke to him and said it would tell the boy a story if it gave him one of the birds he had killed. This magical rock went on to tell the boy