Re: The March on the Delaware Indian Village of Kittanning ... Part X

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: : The Journal of Lt. Col. John Armstrong

: : ~~~~~~~~~~

: : The March on the Delaware Indian Village of Kittanning

: : ~~~~~~~~~~

: 
: : August ye 31st to September ye 10th, 2000

: 
: : The Kittanning Expedition 2000--Day 9, Part 2

: : ~~~~~~~~~~

: 
: : Written by Mike Slease, aka, Lt. Col. John Armstrong

: 
: : Saturday, September ye 9th

: : Three miles to the town. 

: : We passed my home, and I resisted with all my might the temptation to stop. I did, however, slow to nearly a stop and look up the lane, and at my buddy Butch's house at the foot of it. Ah, the times we had there! We moved out here from town in 1954, in the Spring. I had not seen it since 1991, when it was sold after Dad died. A young couple, who had a small boy, had bought it, and I was pleased to see their name still on the little sign at the end of our lane where our name had been for so long. That young lad should be about 12 by now...my age when we came out here. I would dearly love to tell him of the wonders of the woods and fields, and of the things we did as kids, but it cannot be...I only hope he has discovered them on his own. It was a wonderful place to grow up.

: : But, I digress.......

: : As we approached the town and descended the long hill and entering the town itself, I noted to Pvt. Polewchak that the cornfields were here....Shingas's Town was over there, across the river. Up there, on the flat below the Court House, stood Captain Jacob's house. Lt. Col. Armstrong came in this way before dawn to attack. The upper town was north, along the river, and the towns covered nearly a mile.

: : We turned across the river and went up the other side, to a place where it was now safe to walk the road, and where we were to meet men who would take our vehicles to the campsite, so we could march the last 2 miles. As we approached the rendezvous point, we saw a familiar face waiting for us. Pvt. Al Fine, whom we lost the first day to heat exhaustion and some other complications, was waiting for us. His doctor AND his wife had cleared him to join us for the final leg of the march. We were pleased to have him back! Also joining us were Privates Tom and Will Lisak, father and son, who had been with us for two days, from Alexandria to Hollidaysburg, and Rich Schall, one of the organizers from Kittanning, and a boyhood friend whom I hadn't seen since about 1960, until we began to put this event together. Will Lisak, by the way, is 15 years old, and is an accomplished woodsman, as good as or better than many men I know who play this game. It was a delight to have him along.

: : I had asked Pvt. Kirwin if he, being an Englishman, would like to carry the Ensign, the same kind which flew over every Pennsylvania Provincial fort during the French and Indian war, on this last leg and into camp. He replied that he would be honored to do it. We unfurled the flag, Pvt. Kirwin became Color Sgt. Kirwin, and he carried the Ensign proudly at the head of our column. The men fell into line and we started out. What a spectacle! Residents were coming out of their homes all along the way to applaud us and photograph us as we passed. It was a stirring gesture, and caused goose bumps to arise. We returned their respect with an "Eyes right!" or "Eyes left!" and as we passed I saluted each group. 

: : The silence was broken only by the sound of the cadence on the road, and an occasional chorus of "Mattie Brown" by Color Sgt. Kirwin. The cadence of twelve men, all in step at 64 steps a minute...a proper cadence for an 18th century army..., was deafening. The familiar gait fairly rang in our ears. I did not have to tell the lads to look sharp. They all had the proud look one would expect from those who had accomplished what they had. Every one knew what this moment meant to him personally and to us as a whole.

: : At last we started down the long hill we had been told would be the landmark we were to note, as the Hunting and Fishing Club would be at the bottom. We had also been told there were well over 100 people awaiting our arrival, and the armed men in camp would fire their firelocks when they saw us starting down the hill.

: : We began to see people waiting, but I was certainly not prepared for what I saw. There, at the entrance to the field where we were to go, were my own men, The 3rd Battalion Pennsylvania of the Pennsylvania Regiment, The Augusta Regiment, standing in line and as we approached, Sgt. Toot called out, "Pennsylvania! Rest your firelocks!" and the men responded, giving us honors as we passed. We returned their honors by an "Eyes left!" and a salute. I had the chills, my knees were weak, and I will admit, a tear or two snuck out of my eye and rolled down my cheek. I knew they were coming to Kittanning, but I did not expect this...

: : One of the first people I saw when we entered the field was my old 10th grade Biology and Driver's Education teacher, Herman Rupert, whose home we had passed earlier today. He was dressed in frontier clothing and was camping there, too. Not bad for an 85 year old fellow. He looked just like I remembered him, only a bit grayer. I never knew he had this interest. We had a wonderful reunion, and he updated me on quite a few of my friends and old teachers, many of whom are gone. I was very sad to hear about that. 

: : We marched past the Indian village, constructed for this event, and the Indians there shouted halloos and shot their muskets in salute. We posed for pictures forever, it seemed, and accepted the congratulations of many people. We stayed right there as long as someone wanted to take a picture. 

: : It was over. The feeling descended on us like a stage curtain. Hugs and back slaps, jibes and jokes, and the realization that we were no longer just us. This was the goal we had strived for and we achieved it. It was a bittersweet moment.

: : Camp was set in a military style, with my tent, as commanding officer, at the head of the company street set by my men from home, and I ordered that the trekkers' tents be set alongside and in line with mine, to give them the honor usually reserved for officers. After all, they certainly deserved it.

: : More visitors, interviews, photo ops, and soon darkness was upon us. Dinner was prepared, and afterwards, we just visited around until it was late. A couple of the Indians began to harass the troops with taunts and threats. Truthfully, they rapidly became obnoxious. An idea began to take shape in my head. They would regret what they were doing. I very quietly passed the word to all my soldiers and scouts, about 40 of them, that the Colonel would be waking them quite early and we would attack the Indian village at dawn...just as happened in 1756. As I told each man, a smile came to his face, a slight chuckle rolled from his throat, and his head nodded approvingly...

: ~~~~~~~

: Hi Mike,

: What a wonderful ending to your long journey!  Your description of the welcome you received from the 3rd Battalion brought tears to my eyes!

: I'm interested to hear about what you had planned for the Indian Village the next morning.

: ..Jeri


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