Major Jeffrey Tremaine was frustrated. He and General Burgoyne had arrived in Montreal the first week in May to find almost nothing had been prepared or made ready. Sir Guy Carleton explained that the invading army was not his and his role was the military governor not commander of a large army. The requested wagons and carts were being made from green wood and were sure to fall apart. Worse was the fact that the teamsters hadn't been hired yet and there were few to be found. It brought to mind what Jeffrey's father said about the government's support.
One of the points Jeffrey brought to the General's attention when they were back in England was the need to make sure that the Army traveled light and limited its trains. There was great uncertainty about the roads and their condition. Instead he discovered that the General intended to travel with his mistress, her wardrobe, a four-posted bed, and a complete wine cellar. Other officers were bringing their wives. The German general, Riedesel, was bringing along his wife, his three children and their teacher. Jeffrey had limited himself to one trunk but that seemed like a futile gesture.
He had tried to convince General Burgoyne that they should move now or at least move parts of the Army south. He suggested maybe as far as Crown Point, which was about halfway down Lake Champlain. There were the remains of a fort that could be used as a forward base and scouts could be sent out from there especially to spy on Fort Ticonderoga. The Army was already at St. John's on the Richelieu River and it was not that far a distance to Crown Point. The General said he meant to keep the Army together and not allow it to be spread throughout the wilderness. He also brought up the fact that the promised number of Indians had not arrived as of yet.
Burgoyne had met with their leaders a few days ago and they promised that more were on the way. Tonight another meeting had been called, this time in their camp. Burgoyne was not going to attend and he told Jeffrey that he should go as his representative. Jeffrey was not looking forward to it.
The Natives' camp wasn't that far away, just across the river and a little south of the Army's encampment. At the appointed time, three Indians rowed Jeffrey across in a canoe, each wearing a mixture of European and Native clothing. One was able to understand French so he was able to communicate in some fashion. To Jeffrey, it was unlike any French he had ever heard. Still the two got their message across to each other. For reasons Jeffrey could not understand, when he told them who he was, the French speaking one became very animated and began to talk with the others, wildly gesturing. The others began talking loudly and to Jeffrey it seemed that something he said might have been the wrong thing.
As they approached the village, he could see numerous canoes along the bank. The shelters were of all shapes and sizes showing there were a number of tribes present. Jeffrey understood that in addition to the locals, the Abenaki, and the Iroquois, there were some from as far away as the Great Lakes. He thought those went with St. Leger and were at Fort Niagara. He could see that all of them didn't go and some remained here. He couldn't tell one from the other but he did notice the different styles of hair and clothing.
Jeffrey walked up from the landing. The gentle incline led to a wide, open area, semi-circular in shape with a bright red pole in the middle and a large fire burning. On a spit over the fire, a large ox was being cooked. It's fat dripped into the fire making it crack and sizzle.
The pole was decorated with some hanging objects that he couldn't quite make out. As he got closer, he suddenly realized what he was looking at. Human hair! Scalps! There must have been at least 50 of them, all lengths and colors. He had never seen one before but he was strangely tempted to take a look. At the same time, he was repulsed by the idea.
"Quite fascinating, aren't they, Major? A voice in a heavy French accent said, startling Jeffrey.
"Yes they are," Jeffrey replied in a calm even voice.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Michel de Langlade. I will be your interpreter tonight."
"Major Jeffrey Tremaine, aide to General Burgoyne. I speak French if it would makes things easier though it seems my French is slightly different than yours."
Langlade laughed. Jeffrey had heard of Langlade and despite his age he could see that this wiry little half-breed could still move swiftly and quietly. Just the type of men Burgoyne needed and the type Jeffrey wanted.
"I know who you are, Major. Your reputation has preceded you. The General has made a wise choice in sending you as his representative. Come, be seated."
Jeffrey sat with Langlade on his right and numerous chiefs to either side. A tin plate full of hot greasy meat was given to him. He noticed the others picking it up with their fingers so he followed suit. It was hot and it slightly burned his fingers but it tasted good. Langlade gave him a pewter mug and urged him to drink. One sip made him realized it wasn't French brandy but coarse English Army rum. It burned more than the hot meat going down.
There were other foods too. Some type of beans and maize mixture, a type of gourd, all things Jeffrey hadn't tasted before. He ate it with a smile and surprisingly he found it very good. Of course the rum flowed freely and he made sure to limit his intake. It wouldn't help if he got drunk.
Then the chiefs, one by one, began to speak. Each said basically the same thing, saying great things were expected, much plunder would be seized, that the Great White Father would be proud of them, and they were great fighters. Each referred to Jeffrey by name and seemed to hold him in some kind of awe. Langlade translated each one into French but seemed only to give the highlights.
"Langlade, they mention my name only at the beginning of their talk then they seem to call me something else. Is it good or should I be concerned?"
Langlade struck him on the back, hard. "My dear Major, you are the honored guest. They believe you are a great warrior and have given you a name which does you great honor. They are calling you, 'One who stares down Death.'
Jeffrey was taken back. "Why in God's name do they call me that?"
"It seems that story has spread that you stood alone, unarmed, and faced Death. By the force of your look, Death became so frightened that he killed himself."
Good God, Jeffrey thought, the dual! But how in God's name do they know about it?
"But that is not how it happened!"
"It is what they believe, Major, therefore it is true and now they are waiting for you to speak to them. I will translate. Speak slowly and clearly."
He rose slowly to his feet. Even though he drank only little of the rum, it made him unsteady briefly. He moved to the center of gathering and raised his hands. The men grew quiet and he looked around. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever pictured this. Hundreds of brightly painted warriors, the smell of roasted meat, scalps dangling from a pole, a meeting surrounded by an immense wilderness, illuminated by the large fire, all waiting for him to speak.
"Wematin!" he began. "I call you brother because that is what we are. We are all brothers who have faced death and shown we are not afraid." He paused to let Langlade translate the words. He continued. "Soon we will set out on a great journey and will punish those who dared to disobey the Great White Father. He knows that we, we brave warriors, will not fail him. From this day to the end of the time, he who fights for him shall be remembered. He that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother. When people gather and sit around the fire, they will talk of the great deeds we will do and wish they were here." The natives began to murmur loudly and begin to gesture wildly. His talk had excited them.
Jeffrey found himself building to a frenzy, feeding on the energy of the group. He picked up a tomahawk which was lying on the ground. He held it in his left hand and threw up his right, fingers spread wide. "Alone we are like the fingers of a hand, powerless, but bring them together." He slowly closed his hand, forming a fist. "They can not beat us." He whirled and struck the wooden pole with the tomahawk, burying it deep.
A tremendous scream erupted from the warriors. They rose as one and rushed to where Jeffrey stood leaning against the post, a scalp rubbing on his face. They began to dance and sing, excited by his speech. Langlade pushed his way to him. "Very good, Major," he said. "They have invited you to spend the night."
"No, Langlade," Jeffrey said shaking his head. "I must get back to camp."
"Major, you do not understand. You must stay. You have been invited and you can't refuse. It would be a great insult and could do much harm for the General and his plan. Understand?"
"It seems I have no choice then."
