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SgtMunro
Soldier of the King
USA
Bumppo's Patron since [at least]:
September 23 2002
Status: offline
Donating Member |
 Posted - February 05 2004 : 9:02:58 PM
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“A Message Delivered” by Sgt. Munro
Somewhere In The Tuscarawas Valley, The Ohio Country
26 November 1763 / 0920 Hours
Running along the trade path; the somewhat prosperous-looking Delaware Indian and his companion, a small Canadian Voyageur, both press on, with the look of purpose in their faces. They had been following this trade path for almost three weeks; the last week was spent in the Tuscarawas Valley, deep within the Shawnee Nation. The Delaware was hoping that the wampum string securing the packet would buy him and his friend safe passage to their destination. In years past, this would have been the case, but these are uncertain times and one cannot be too careful in the Ohio Country.
“I have the speed of the deer, the strength of the bear, the distance of the hawk and I am at one with the Great Spirit.” The Delaware said, still running, “I shall fly with spirits of my ancestors and I shall… Ouch, my toe, my toe!!!!”
“Wiagasksin, how many times do I have to tell you not to engage in self-aggrandizing monologue while running on an unfamiliar path?” His companion asked, while tending to his injury.
“I’m sorry Maurice” He whimpered as his foot was bandaged, “I think we are lost.”
“Let me check the directions One Nut gave us.” Maurice said, standing and looking into his possibles bag, “Here they are, first follow the Logstown Path as far as Big Beaver Creek, continue overland west by southwest…”
Wiagasksin, looking down the path repeated, “Logstown Path as far as Big Beaver Creek, continue overland.”
Maurice continued, “Stay on the trade path, within two weeks you should reach the village of… Ouch!!!”
Wiagasksin, still looking down the path, “Stay on path, two weeks we reach…” He paused, looking at his friend laying face down on the ground. Before he knew what happened, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck, and the world went black.
Both of them awoke, to find their hands trussed and legs hobbled. A young Shawnee motioned with his fusil, for them to stand. Once on their feet, they were marched to a nearby village. The young warrior secured his prizes to two posts, outside of the council lodge. He left them there, without a word, wondering about their fate.
Another Shawnee, older than the warrior who captured them, sat down in front of the two, studying them. He then filled and lit his calumet, smoking as he continued to look over the two strangers. The younger warrior returned and showed him the packet Wiagasksin was carrying, pointing to the wampum string. The two Shawnee then walked away from Wiagasksin and Maurice, leaving them to ponder what will happen next.
“Look father, a message from Uncle Duncan” Ouisaw Kitehi said.
“Yes son, it appears that he needs to see me” Welethetowaco replied, as he read the enclosed letter, “He has placed himself at great risk with his own War Chief, sending me this letter. But why did he choose two people, so incompetent, to deliver it?”
“I do not know, father.” Ouisaw Kitehi continued, “I had been following them for almost two days, before I decided to capture them.”
“Which brings me to another subject,” Welethetowaco, looking at his son, “Why did you leave the village, on your own, to go hunting. Son, you know that we are at war, no one is to venture into the forest alone, and you are the son of a war captain who should know better. You would be a fine prize for any Virginian or their allies.”
“Father, I am sorry,” Ouisaw Kitehi, explained, “I was just trying to prove my worth as a provider and protector of the village.”
“Son, what you were doing was trying to impress the young maidens with your bravery.” His father continued in his admonition, “Being foolhardy does not show your bravery. Someday, you will be war captain and you will understand that all members of a war party have value. You will also upbraid them for taking unnecessary risks, and you will feel a great loss
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Serjeant-Major Duncan Munro
Capt. Thos. Graham's Coy.
42nd Royal Highland Regiment of Foote
(The Black Sheep of the Black Watch)
"Nemo Me Impune Lacessit"
-Or-
"Recruit locally, fight globally." |
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A Message Delivered - November of 1763
