turn back.” She put her hand on his arm and looked intently into his face. “I must take Gideon’s message to Fort Ticonderoga. My father was killed fighting for the rebels in Boston. Gideon was killed because he was a soldier for the King. I don’t know which one of them was right, and I can’t do anything for my father, but I can do this one thing, this one last thing, for Gideon and maybe save those poor families from what happened to Deborah Williams. I must try, Peter.” She sat back and put her hands in her lap. “And I don’t understand, Peter Sauk, why you care who wins this terrible war.”
Peter drew long on his pipe, then blew out the smoke, all the time watching her gravely. “I think it will not matter to the Mohawk who wins this war. Whoever wins, the Mohawk will not win. But our greatest warrior, Thayendanegea, and his sister Konwatsi’tsiaiénni, who leads an important society of matrons of the Six Nations,both tell us it will be better if we stay with our old allies, the British. In return for our help, the British have promised to defend our land against encroaching settlers. I believe we have no choice but to trust them and, without our help, I do not think they can win this war. Konwatsi’tsiaiénni was wife to Sir William Johnson, the British agent in the Mohawk Valley, and she has power with the British. So has Thayendanegea. My chief has decided to follow their leadership. He has sent our warriors to fight as allies to the British general Guy Carleton in Montreal. I will follow my chief as I follow Thayendanegea, who was, like I, a student of Dr. Wheelock’s, but it grieves me, Little Bird, to turn from the path of my old teacher, Jonathan Olcott, for I honoured him greatly.” He reached out and touched Phoebe’s hand. Neither of them said anything, but Phoebe felt that there was understanding between them.
Shakoti’nisténha stood up. “Now it is time to sleep. No more talk,” she reproved Peter.
Phoebe was very tired. She settled for the night between Peter’s mother and sister, wrapped in her shawl and her cloak, her feet warmed by the embers of the fire. Her last thoughts before she fell asleep were about Peter’s mother and her kindness.
But her first thought on waking was that she could not let Peter Sauk, for all his kindness, tellher what she should do. Then there was breakfast of corn-meal samp that tasted so like the samp she had so often cooked over her own fire at home that she felt a sharp stab of homesickness. For one second she almost said to Peter that she would go back to the Connecticut River with him. And when he asked her if Uncle Josiah and Aunt Rachael knew where she had gone, she almost cried.
“N-no,” she stammered, “ I just came away.”
“Did you not think they would worry?”
Phoebe didn’t know what to say. With the shock of Gideon’s death, Anne’s turning against her in such fury, finding the message in the hollow tree, and at last making up her mind to carry it for Gideon, not once had the thought entered her mind that her uncle and aunt might worry.
“I will get word to them,” said Peter, and Phoebe knew he would no longer try to persuade her to go home.
“I must not tarry here. Nor can I take the message to General Powell. My errand is too pressing. The rebels do not deal kindly with their Mohawk neighbours and I cannot risk the safety of my mother and sister. And, Phoebe Olcott, I will not carry you prisoner to the Robinson family. While you are truly a gentle little grey bird, I know you to be as stubborn as Ohkwá:ri, the bear. I would need to watch your every move and I have no time for that. So you must listenclosely to what I tell you, and frequently consult the map I will give you.”
All the time he had been speaking to her, Peter had first peeled a deep section of bark from a large birch tree, and then drawn on it with a pencil he had on a cord around his neck.
He instructed her, pointing often to his map, to follow
Peter drew long on his pipe, then blew out the smoke, all the time watching her gravely. “I think it will not matter to the Mohawk who wins this war. Whoever wins, the Mohawk will not win. But our greatest warrior, Thayendanegea, and his sister Konwatsi’tsiaiénni, who leads an important society of matrons of the Six Nations,both tell us it will be better if we stay with our old allies, the British. In return for our help, the British have promised to defend our land against encroaching settlers. I believe we have no choice but to trust them and, without our help, I do not think they can win this war. Konwatsi’tsiaiénni was wife to Sir William Johnson, the British agent in the Mohawk Valley, and she has power with the British. So has Thayendanegea. My chief has decided to follow their leadership. He has sent our warriors to fight as allies to the British general Guy Carleton in Montreal. I will follow my chief as I follow Thayendanegea, who was, like I, a student of Dr. Wheelock’s, but it grieves me, Little Bird, to turn from the path of my old teacher, Jonathan Olcott, for I honoured him greatly.” He reached out and touched Phoebe’s hand. Neither of them said anything, but Phoebe felt that there was understanding between them.
Shakoti’nisténha stood up. “Now it is time to sleep. No more talk,” she reproved Peter.
Phoebe was very tired. She settled for the night between Peter’s mother and sister, wrapped in her shawl and her cloak, her feet warmed by the embers of the fire. Her last thoughts before she fell asleep were about Peter’s mother and her kindness.
But her first thought on waking was that she could not let Peter Sauk, for all his kindness, tellher what she should do. Then there was breakfast of corn-meal samp that tasted so like the samp she had so often cooked over her own fire at home that she felt a sharp stab of homesickness. For one second she almost said to Peter that she would go back to the Connecticut River with him. And when he asked her if Uncle Josiah and Aunt Rachael knew where she had gone, she almost cried.
“N-no,” she stammered, “ I just came away.”
“Did you not think they would worry?”
Phoebe didn’t know what to say. With the shock of Gideon’s death, Anne’s turning against her in such fury, finding the message in the hollow tree, and at last making up her mind to carry it for Gideon, not once had the thought entered her mind that her uncle and aunt might worry.
“I will get word to them,” said Peter, and Phoebe knew he would no longer try to persuade her to go home.
“I must not tarry here. Nor can I take the message to General Powell. My errand is too pressing. The rebels do not deal kindly with their Mohawk neighbours and I cannot risk the safety of my mother and sister. And, Phoebe Olcott, I will not carry you prisoner to the Robinson family. While you are truly a gentle little grey bird, I know you to be as stubborn as Ohkwá:ri, the bear. I would need to watch your every move and I have no time for that. So you must listenclosely to what I tell you, and frequently consult the map I will give you.”
All the time he had been speaking to her, Peter had first peeled a deep section of bark from a large birch tree, and then drawn on it with a pencil he had on a cord around his neck.
He instructed her, pointing often to his map, to follow
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