Chapter 11
Braxton didn’t like Indians. Most white men didn’t. They considered them drunken ignorant savages who would steal anything that wasn’t nailed down and that included white women. In particular, Braxton didn’t like Joseph Brant and his Iroquois. He thought Brant was arrogant, and as to his so-called Iroquois warriors, Braxton considered them to be nothing more than animals that happened to walk upright. He knew it was a strange distinction from someone who had committed so many murders and atrocities, and the few men of his who had survived the massacre at the so-called farm reminded him of it whenever the occasion arose. Sometimes he agreed and actually thought it was funny.
Thus, it was with a degree of pleasure that he fostered a friendship with Simon Girty, one of the few men whose reputation was more fearsome than his own. Girty had been accused of rape, the murder and torture of innocents, and cannibalism.
Braxton doubted that the rumor about cannibalism was true. It was something he’d never do, unless, of course, he were truly starving. Then nothing counted. Still, he made sure not to get Girty angry at him. The two men were approximately the same age with Girty being just a few years older. They shared many attitudes towards the war and how to survive in it.
Girty had lived in a cabin outside Detroit the last several years after changing sides from rebel scout to loyalist. The rebels wanted to hang him for a multitude of crimes, including treason, and that made Girty a good man for Braxton to follow.
Girty took a swallow of raw homemade whisky and smiled. The two of them and some of their men had just come back from a patrol, and had tried to intercept the group of rebel spies fleeing from Detroit. To no one’s surprise, the spies had too much of a lead for Girty, Braxton, and the dozen men they’d taken to catch up to them. Still, they thought they’d only missed them by a couple of hours from the signs they’d read in the forest. The carts they’d taken with them had slowed them considerably. They called a halt when they decided they were too close to where patrols from Fort Washington were likely.
“Would’ve been fun,” Girty said wistfully. “The Jews we would’ve skinned and then crucified. You ever hear someone squeal when they’ve been skinned?”
“Can’t say as I have,” said Braxton. He had, but he didn’t want to annoy Girty by saying so.
“Almost as much fun as when the Indians take a long time burning someone alive. A real long time,” Girty said and looked at him coldly. “Killing like that don’t bother you, does it? Hell, all they are is rebels.”
“Don’t bother me at all,” Braxton said sincerely as he took another swallow from his cup of whisky. He wanted to ask if Girty had ever eaten the people he’d cooked, but decided against it.
Girty took a swallow. “Then we would’ve fucked that blond bitch until it came out her ears. Gawd, that would’ve been funny. I saw her around the post a number of times with that tight-ass major she was fucking, and it would’ve served both of them right. When we were through, I would’ve cut off her head and tits and sent them to that fucking major as a present. I hear he’s still moaning for her. I’d like to have heard him moan when she arrived all in pieces. Hell, maybe it’ll still happen.”
Girty laughed hugely and yawned as exhaustion and the liquor took control. “Joseph Brant is a fool and his Indians are worse. Brant thinks he’s a white man because he can read and write, or he thinks he’s as good as one. Either way, he’s wrong. He’s an Indian and not a damn thing more. Worse, his big, bad Iroquois will run like rabbits when the actual fighting starts.”
“Why?” Braxton asked. The whisky was taking him over and he felt like nothing more than sleeping. Still, Girty had a lot that was important on his mind and Braxton wanted to hear it.
“Because they’ve been here too long and they’re too far away from whatever swamp they call home. And when they’ve deserted and all run back to upper New York, then Burgoyne will have need of people like us to scout and run the woods for him. How many men you got left, Braxton?”
“A dozen.”
“Tell me the truth, damn it.”
Braxton winced. “Maybe six.”
“I got maybe twenty. We’ll have to start recruiting hard if we’re going to get our share of loot out of Burgoyne’s victory. I want two hundred or more men in Girty’s Legion.”
“Girty’s Legion?”
Girty laughed again. “How about Girty’s Scouts, or Girty’s Royal Americans, or Girty’s Murdering Fuckers? I don’t care what the hell we’re called just so long as we get to kill a lot of rebels and, when the war is over, we get our share of the loot. How’s that sound, Braxton?”
“Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Good. Now let’s have another drink and see if we can find some people who think like we do.”
* * *
The return of George Rogers Clark and his small band of explorers was met with apprehension. What would be the results of his exploration of the lands to the west? Would they be able to transport Fort Washington and their concept of a new nation out into what people were openly referring to as a Great American Desert? And if they could, it might mean that a battle with the British could be deferred, perhaps permanently. If the rebels could only get far enough away from King George’s claws, they might live a bit longer as free people. They knew they could never fully escape. Their only hope was to be far enough away for a long enough time to establish themselves and let England either forget about them or be willing to let them live in peace.
There would be no secrets. After Hancock and Schuyler met briefly with Clark, anybody who wished to was welcome to come to the room where Congress usually met and hear Clark’s report.
During the war, George Rogers Clark had conquered much of the area around Fort Washington when he captured the British forts of Vincennes and Kaskaskia, and even threatened Detroit. They respected him and admired him; however, everyone at the meeting saw that he was ill at ease and that did not bode well for any who had hopes of a farther retreat.
Clark spoke softly at first, and then gained strength. He told them that the area to the west was a vast grassland, and not a desert, although there were long stretches without much water, and where crops would not grow. It was a paradox since he and his men had to cross a number of rivers, including a few that were extremely wide and deep.
These rivers, however, weren’t all that far away and most people already knew about them. The British would be in striking distance if they moved along their banks. Thus, they would have to flee past the rivers.
Beyond the rivers was an endless plain. Clark said it could and did support life, just not much of it. The buffalo herds were immense and were chased by the Indians, many of whom were on horseback, although some were still on foot. According to Clark, some of the Indians were getting horses from the Spanish to their south and rapidly learning to use them to advantage.
“The savages are taking to horses just as fast as they can get their hands on them, and that generally means stealing them. If we go into their land, we’ll have to be mounted and they’ll try their best to take our horses. A lot of the Indians have guns as well, and they don’t like us at all.”
Clark added that only small communities would survive in such an environment, since there was no place where food was abundant. Small communities would, of course, be juicy targets for the Indians. “In order to move into the plains,” he continued, “we’ll have to fight the Indians and destroy them.”
Farther to the west was what was referred to as a great salt lake. Clark hadn’t seen it, but the Indians all agreed it was there. Since the lake was salt, it was obvious that any land around it must be barren. He had talked to Indians who had been to the lake and beyond, and added that he believed it was indeed a lake and not an arm of the Pacific Ocean which was much farther away.