Chapter 1
Bang…and They’re Off!
Young Matt Scull’s heart began pounding when the three Indians emerged from the early morning shadows. What’s that one doing here? Matt thought. He inched closer to his father and the other six white men standing in a circle near the Quaker Meeting House.
The youngest of the Lenape braves, John Combush, fought the urge to smile when he saw the look on the boy’s face. So, Combush thought, little Scared To Death is going on this walk, too.
“Good. Everybody’s here now, Sheriff, so let’s get this walk under way,” grumbled James Steel, the man who liked to think he was in charge.
Sheriff Tim Smith stepped forward and spoke to the Indians. “Do any of you speak English?”
All three Indians gestured that they didn’t understand, but one of the three was lying.
Smith answered his own question. “Looks like none of them speak our language.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Steel said.
The sheriff pointed to Matt’s father, Nicholas Scull. “Mr. Scull, you know their language, right? How about you make some introductions?”
“Is that really necessary?” Steel interjected coldly. He tapped his pocket watch. “It’s almost 6:00. If we’re going to get in a full day’s walk before the sun sets, we need to get started.”
“Make it quick, then, Scull,” the sheriff said.
The land surveyor stepped forward, raised his hand in the air, and said to the Indians, “Walatopnamik.”
“Walatopnamik,” the Indians responded. Scull then walked around the circle, pointing to each white man as he called out his name. When Scull came to the three men chosen to walk for Pennsylvania’s colonial government, he used the index and middle fingers of his right hand to “walk” up his left arm. As he did this, he said “walkers.” Then he pointed and called out their names. “Edward Marshall. James Yates. Solomon Jennings.”
When he finished, Scull pointed to each of the Indians who were walking for the Lenape tribes. As he did, each one said his name. “Tom Whitewater.” “Joe Tuneam.” “John Combush.”
“Fine,” Steel snapped. “Now everybody knows each other, so let’s get started.”
But just as the circle of men broke up and headed toward the Meetinghouse, the Indian Combush took three quick strides and stopped only inches away from Matt, blocking the boy’s attempt to follow his father.
Matt held his breath. He looked around the Indian to find his father, but the shadows had already claimed him. Matt then looked down, afraid to ever again look this Indian in the eye. That’s what got me in trouble before, he remembered. With a quick move, Matt tried to step around Combush. But the Indian moved quicker, blocking the boy’s escape.
Again, Combush hid his smile. He knew the white boy was afraid of him, though he wasn’t sure why. Combush pointed his finger at Matt, imitating the gesture Nicholas Scull had made when he’d introduced everyone-everyone but his son.
Matt resisted the urge to call his father. Both the boy and the young Indian stood perfectly still, their bodies just inches apart. When Matt finally breathed, he could smell the Indian’s leather breechclout and the smoky blanket draped over his shoulder.
Using every ounce of courage he possessed, Matt swallowed, took a breath, and without looking up, said his name weakly. “Matt Scull.” The Indian waited a moment to see if the boy would look at him, but he didn’t. So he turned and walked back to his two companions.
Matt hustled to find his father, thankful that he’d once again escaped unharmed from that Indian. “Must I go along?” he again asked his father when he caught up with him.
“Yes, Matt. We’ve been over this before. You’re my apprentice, and you need to learn every part of this business. And I’ll need you to carry the chains once the walk is over and we start surveying the last line.”
Matt knew better than to argue. He still didn’t have the courage to tell his father that he’d rather go back to school than train to be a surveyor. Surveying the wilderness was a tough job that required Matt to fell trees, clear brush, and drive survey pins into the ground. Thanks to this, Matt was mature and strong for his age, though small. And he didn’t mind the hard work; he just preferred his Quaker schooling.
As dawn began to erase the shadows from the forest, Sheriff Smith took charge. “I want all six walkers to put their hands on the corner of the Meeting House, now.”
Matt watched the three white men obey Smith’s command. Matt knew Edward Marshall personally, as he was a family friend. And he knew of James Yates because he always won the races at the county fair each summer. But he didn’t know the third man.
“Who’s that with Mr. Marshall and Mr. Yates?” Matt asked his father.
“That’s Solomon Jennings,” James Steel answered as he came up behind the Sculls. “He farms a little spread up along the Lehigh River, near the Forks. He was my choice for third man,” Steel beamed.
“Which gives him plenty of reason to walk fast and far,” said Scull. Matt saw his father and Steel exchange winks and smiles. At the treaty conference with the Lenape three weeks earlier, Matt sensed that the white men had a secret that he wasn’t in on. During the trip home from the conference, he and his father had stopped by the Pennypacker’s tavern, the Tidy Goose, and Matt had shared his suspicions with his good friend, Sarah. But neither one could guess what secret the men could be keeping.
Matt wondered if the Indians were suspicious, too. They’d complained at the conference that white men were settling on their lands near the Forks without permission, and if that’s where Solomon Jennings’ farm was, then the Indians were telling the truth. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt watched the Indian he recognized peel flakes of bark from a big sycamore tree. The other two fussed with the ratty blankets and old guns they carried.
Steel said forcefully, “Mr. Scull, would you please tell those Indians we’re ready and that they need to get over there and put their hands on the church. I’ve been patient long enough.”
Scull opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t know the Lenape language all that well, but then thought better of it. So leaving Matt firmly planted next to his horse, Scull walked over to the Indians and said, “K’metenaxi yúcke?”
The three Indians smiled at Scull’s Lenape, but they understood and nodded that they were ready.
Scull pointed to the three white men who each had one hand resting on the cold, brown stone of the Wrightstown Quaker Meeting House.
The Indians sauntered over to Marshall, Yates, and Jennings, but when they made no effort to put their hands on the church, Steel impatiently motioned for them to do it. The Indians shrugged and complied.
Steel then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He waved it around to all present as he said, “Just to make this official, we are here today to officially fulfill the terms of the Treaty of 1686 signed by the Lenape Indians and our colony’s founder, William Penn. We’ll walk for a day and a half, starting here. From the end point of our walk, a straight line will be surveyed east to the Delaware River. All lands inside these boundaries will become the property of Thomas Penn, son of William Penn.”
“Should that be translated?” the sheriff asked Steel.
He shook his head. “No need to. They know why we’re here. Besides, they should have sent Indians who could talk right.”
I can talk “right,” Combush said to himself as he ran his hand over the scalp lock that extended from his forehead to his neck.
Steel now turned to Sheriff Smith. “Was somebody sent ahead to smooth the trail and pick a spot for lunch?”
“Yes. Chapman. He left just before you got here.”
Now that Matt had seen which Indians were walking for the Lenape, he wished his father had been the advance man. He would have preferred to keep as far away from that Indian as he could.
“What time is it?” Steel asked.
The sheriff, who was the walk’s official time keeper, said, “It’s two minutes to six. Guess it’s time to saddle up.”
Matt willed his shaking legs to walk over and mount his horse, Nag. The other walk observers mounted their horses, too.
Then a solemn quiet settled over the scene as everyone waited for the signal to start. Two blue jays argued in a nearby tree, and a warm breeze kissed the leaves, warning that the day would be unusually hot for September. One of the horses snorted as it chafed at the bit.
Matt stole another glance at the Indian he now knew as Combush, only to discover that Combush was watching him. Matt fidgeted in his saddle, then nudged Nag a step closer to his father’s horse.
Combush once more saw the fear in Matt’s eyes. Why is Scared To Death so afraid of me?
The seconds ticked by as Smith stared at his watch.
Steel said, “Let’s be precise, Sheriff. Thomas Penn wants this walk done fair and square.”
In the stillness of the moment, Combush forced himself to make mental notes of all that he saw and heard. Those were the instructions he’d received from his Uncle Lapowinsa, his tribe’s chief. For the hundredth time he wished that he hadn’t been chosen to walk for his people, but his mother and brother-for very different reasons-had persuaded Lapowinsa to choose him, and now here he was.
A streak of sunlight broke through the leaves just as Sheriff Smith raised his rifle into the air. And when the hand on his watch struck 6:00 A.M. on that morning in 1737, Sheriff Smith pulled the trigger and yelled, “Let’s go for a walk!”
The crack of that rifle echoed through the leafy forest, startling the blue jays and piercing the stillness of William Penn’s peaceful colony.
And the crack of that rifle also startled the Indian hiding behind a distant bush, clutching a rifle of his own.