Algonquin Sunset

by Rick Revelle

  I relayed this information to Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan. Agwanìwon replied, “Crazy Crow cares for his friends and will never see any harm come to them if it’s within his power to protect them. We’ll see him again. I’m sure of that.”

  The following winter I found myself in the Ouendat village of Ossossanè, sitting across a fire from the great warrior Crazy Crow, who was about to tell his story of the adventure he had just returned from four moons after leaving the battle against our Onöndowága and Kanien’kehá:ka adversaries.

  Crazy Crow had come back with a story about his friend, Glooscap. The narrative he told to us became part of the Legend of Glooscap.

  Crazy Crow’s Story

  The day I left, my crow friends led me on a trail straight to Erielhonan. I was on a constant run and still I couldn’t gain on my large friend, Glooscap. After many hours, I became fatigued and had to stop to make tea and hunt for roots and berries to eat. I was intent on saving my corn and dried meat in my pouch and only using it under conditions of extreme hunger. My more immediate hope was to keep up with Glooscap and hopefully stumble onto small game during the journey.

  After eating, I signalled my readiness to my feathered companions resting in the surrounding trees or on the ground eating insects and we again took to the trail. That first night I was so tired that I didn’t even build a fire; a couple of handfuls of berries and some corn washed down with cool water from a spring nearby staved off my hunger pains. I cut enough cedar boughs to make a bed, caked myself with mud from the banks of the small stream to ward off the bugs, and crawled under a deadfall. The aromatic smell of the surrounding pine forest and the continual buzz of the insects as they tried to find bare skin on my mud-caked body gently put me to sleep.

  Waking before dawn the next morning, I watched as an apalqaqamej (a-bach-caw-a-mitch: chipmunk) ran back and forth from his hole to the forest and then back again with his mouth full of nuts. The little fellow scampered so fast that he caused the leaves in his path to flutter. When he neared the hole, he dived into it. Starting to feel early-morning hunger pangs, I waited until the small busybody left his hole, then took my knife and dug into the storage area. There I was able to retrieve a handful of nuts that was enough to satisfy my immediate appetite.

  Racing through the forest, I got to the lake just in time to watch from a hill as Winpe first assisted his wife and son into the canoe, then proceeded to roughly handle his captives in after them. Nukumi’s and Apistanéwj’s hands were bound, and the two dogs, Na’gweg and Tepgig, followed meekly.

  Glooscap arrived in time to see the boat leave, so he called to Nukumi to send back his dogs. She cast a spell and shrank the animals to a size small enough to enable her to put them into a wooden bowl, even though her hands were bound. Then she pushed the bowl toward the shore where Glooscap received them unharmed. The big man took the dogs and put them into his medicine pouch for safekeeping.

  After that, Glooscap strode to the shoreline and sang, bringing a bootup (whale) to the shore. He jumped onto the bootup’s back and commanded the marine beast to follow Winpe and the others.

  Having no song in my heart to call a bootup, I was able to find a hidden Haudenosaunee canoe and went after Glooscap. When I next caught sight of him, I watched as he came upon a lodge in the forest. Out of the lodge emerged a sorceress whose hair was filled with toads. Glooscap picked the toads from her hair, tricking the sorceress by pretending to kill them by cracking a cranberry branch between his teeth. Each time he made a cracking noise he released a toad to Turtle Island and freedom. The sorceress, realizing she had been tricked, exacted her revenge on him. Her attempt on Glooscap’s life failed when he returned the dogs to their full size and they made short work of her.

  After three more days of trailing Glooscap, I watched as he encountered another lodge, this one housing an old couple who were wizards. They sent their two daughters to slay Glooscap, and again the dogs saved their master.

  Finally, after many suns, Glooscap came across Nukumi and Apistanéwj. The two were lagging behind Winpe, unable to keep up because of hunger and suffering. Nukumi told Glooscap of their capture and cruel treatment.

  He could see by their appearances that they had suffered greatly and said, “I’ll punish the wizard Winpe for what he’s done!”

  Glooscap caught up with Winpe and confronted his foe with a challenge. Winpe then summoned all his powers and grew in size to fight the battle. Glooscap, in turn, called upon his powers and towered over the wizard. Taking his bow, Glooscap tapped the top of Winpe’s head with it and the wizard toppled to his death. Glooscap then turned to Winpe’s wife and son and told them to leave and go anywhere they pleased.

  When Crazy Crow finished telling his story, he stood and said, “Glooscap never needed my help.” He then turned from the fire and disappeared into the darkness that night along with his Legend of Glooscap.

  6

  The Feast of the Dead and the Ogà

  ANOKÌ

  After the story Crazy Crow told us, we received news of Glooscap from an Innu band that came to trade with the Ouendat. The Innu said they had met Glooscap on their journey to us and had camped with him at the rapids below the Kitcisìpi Sìbì (Ottawa River) on the Magotogoek Sìbì (St. Lawrence River). Glooscap had told them that Apistanéwj, Nukumi, and the two dogs, Na’gweg and Tepgig, were returning to the land of the Mi’kmaq. The messenger informed us that Glooscap now realized where his permanent home was and that he had a responsibility to protect his adopted tribe to pay them back for taking him in and giving him shelter, food, and protection after they found him those many years ago on Natigòsteg (Forward Land: Anticosti Island). For that he owed them his life and his lifelong devotion. He would stay there to defend them from all dangers and had asked the Innu to thank us for the adventures he had experienced and the friendships he had made with us. Glooscap wished us all well and hoped we would meet again someday before our deaths.

  The message saddened us all, but we knew Glooscap was happy in the lands to the east and from there, to the best of his ability, he would also protect our people from dangers rising from the big ocean.

  Zhashagi, his brother, Omashkooz, and their accompanying warriors had stayed another few suns after we returned from the Haudenosaunee battle, long enough for their wounds to heal so they could make the trip back to their people. Zhashagi told our female chiefs, Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan, that his people intended to trade with their friends, the Omashkiigoo (oh-mush-key-go: Cree), the following spring.

  “If you ever need our help in the future, send us a wampum belt and we’ll come to your aid,” Kìnà Odenan said.

  The winter spent with the Ouendat was uneventful. Mitigomij and his panther disappeared into the wilderness, Glooscap was gone, but my immediate family and my wolf dog, Nìj Enàndeg, were here in the Ouendat land to keep me company.

  The Ouendat were proficient in growing corn, beans, and squash, so there was never any shortage of food. Kìnà Odenan and Agwanìwon made sure our Omàmiwinini band hunted and contributed our share to the supply of food for the community. The two Warrior Women were always leading hunting trips for moose, deer, and elk to help sustain the diet of the village with meat. My mother, Wàbananang, and the other women hosted feasts every ten to fifteen suns for the Ouendat with the game that our hunters brought back. When we weren’t hunting, our time was spent repairing weapons and making new arrows, clubs, spears, and clothing from the skins of the animals we slew. We also assisted in the repair of the shelters, made pipes, and crafted snowshoes to get around in the snow. Some of the clothes we fashioned were traded with the Ouendat or given to our hosts to repay their hospitality.

  The longhouses we stayed in were always smoky, even though there were holes in the ceilings to allow the smoke to escape. I and my fellow residents’ eyes constantly watered and stung from the woodsmoke. To aid in the remedy of the irritation, the Ouendat women prepared a tea from
goldenseal leaves that we used as eyewash. This helped to ease the inflammation but wasn’t a cure.

  The rodent problem in the longhouse was looked after by a resident fox that seemed quite well fed for his work. It wasn’t the same fox I had befriended the previous winter, but another just as efficient at hunting.

  The matter of head lice was another concern. Even though I had covered my sleeping quarters with cedar boughs to ward off the lice, the number of people and closeness of quarters aided these little pests to spread without any limits. Finally, I had to give in and shave my head like my Ouendat companions, leaving only a scalp lock on the top that I made stand up with an ample application of bear grease, next attaching three turkey feathers on the back to a braid of hair that I left long on the nape of my neck. The women would never shave their heads, so they took turns combing one another’s hair, using very fine bone and wooden combs. This was usually done while sitting by the fire and flicking the bugs into the flames from the combs.

  I said we spent an uneventful winter among the Ouendat, but there was one incident that created a stir that broke up the dullness. A little Ouendat girl decided one afternoon during a bright, unseasonably warm winter’s day to search for dried berries while there was a crust on the snow, making her travels easier. She took a reed basket with a lid on it with her and returned to the longhouse after foraging for a good while outside the village walls. When she got back, I was sitting beside my cot eating corn and squash soup with Nìj Enàndeg at my feet.

  There were about twenty men, women, and children sitting around a fire closest to me, eating, playing games, and laughing. The young girl sat unnoticed among everyone. Grabbing a wooden bowl, she reached into her basket to take her berries out, cleaned them in water, then tossed them into the bowl. All the time she did this she had a huge smile on her face, seeming very much like any other child enjoying her chosen task.

  After a short time watching her clean the berries, I observed the basket lid move when she replaced it after taking some of the berries out. A small black nose poked out from under the lid, followed by a pair of eyes, then a head. A pair of feet with long claws emerged and grasped the side of the basket, knocking off the lid without making any sound. The lid rolled among the unconcerned and oblivious people gathered around the fire — until a sudden exodus of people took place as the occupants of the longhouse and the animal simultaneously recognized each other’s identities, causing a sudden rise in the noise level. The stress level of the small animal then escalated along with its black-and-white tail, which shot into the air, releasing an aroma that quickly permeated the longhouse.

  When I first spied the animal appearing out of the basket, I had dropped my soup bowl, startling my dog, and we both beat a hasty retreat. The two of us got to the door before everyone else, closely followed by a stampede of scurrying occupants laughing and screaming. Some of the slow-rising groups basking lazily in the warmth of the fire were the recipients of a disgusting odour that stung their eyes and marked their clothing with an unbearable stench.

  It was many days before the smell left the longhouse. Some of the residents departed for a while to stay with friends while the men burned cedar and juniper to get rid of the stink. I could never figure out how that little girl got the shigàg (skunk) into the basket without it spraying her. Maybe it was hungry and the berries were the lure. It did break up the monotony of the village and was the talk of everyone for six or seven suns.

  Once the warmth of the spring sun arrived, the people of the village decided to move in a day’s time. They had lived on this spot for ten winters, and the soil to grow their corn, squash, and beans hadn’t been as fruitful for the past couple of years. A judgment had been made to move when the snow disappeared. Community members were sent to the new place to clear the land, opening up areas to plant crops. My people lent their labour to aid in the work. We helped cut down the larger trees with sharpened bone and stone axes, piling the chopped wood for future use in fires. The smaller saplings and logs, along with split logs, would become building materials, and the peeled bark would be used for roofing and siding cover for the new longhouses. The underbrush was then burned off to clear the land, and the women planted seeds.

  When an Ouendat village moved, the people had a celebration called the Feast of the Dead. Now that they had decided to move the village, their dead ancestors also had to be brought along and reburied before the spring hunt and planting took place. Other villages would be invited and gifts exchanged at this celebration.

  The Feast of the Dead took place over ten suns. The first eight suns involved family members of the departed digging up the bodies in various levels of decomposition, cleaning the remaining flesh off the bones, and preparing them for burial at the new village. The bones were then wrapped in a set of beaver furs. Some men participated, but on the whole it was women who handled the task. At no time did any of the people performing the cleansing of the bodies show any revulsion toward the activity.

  Once the bones were cleaned and wrapped, they were transported to the homes of the relatives where a feast was held in memory of the dead person or persons. Gifts and food were placed next to the fur packages, and visitors were treated to victuals and water.

  The village leader then made the decision concerning when the bodies were to be moved. With so much to transfer, the number of people, and the mourning that took place, it required two days to reach the new village site. During the journey, the relatives carrying the deceased cried out in anguish until they reached their new homes. Once there, a burial pit was prepared and the dead were laid to rest with everyone gathered around to grieve their losses.

  Our small band of Omàmiwinini participated as best we could during the ten days and were surprised to learn that when the village moved again after the next ten or twelve winters the whole process would be repeated in another Feast of the Dead with these deceased remains and any others who passed away in the meantime.

  After our people helped the Ouendat relocate and assisted in building their new longhouses, Kìnà Odenan called a meeting of our small group. “Agwanìwon and I have decided we’ve imposed on our allies, the Ouendat, for too long. It’s time we moved on and made our own way. Kànìkwe has told us that the ogà (oh-gah: pickerel) will be running at a waterfall of a river that empties into the ‘place of the bay,’ what the Haudenosaunee call Kenhtè:ke (gan-da-gay: near present-day Napanee, Ontario). We leave at sunrise tomorrow.”

  My sister’s husband, Ki’kwa’ju, came to me and asked, “How long will it take us to get to this waterfall?”

  “Six or seven suns,” I replied. “Once there we’ll spear the fish and use weirs to capture them, clean them, and then smoke them on drying racks.”

  The next morning our group departed. Kànìkwe led us on the trail followed by the twins, Makwa and Wàbek, and their wives, Àwadòsiwag and Ininàtig, the daughters of the dead warrior Nigig; my mother, Wàbananang; my sister, Pangì Mahingan, and her husband, Ki’kwa’ju; and me. Uncle Mònz and Aunt Wàbìsì were behind us. Mònz’s face had healed and was now just a deep pink slashing scar across his cheek. His nose, where the axe had struck him, was now rounded where the tip had been severed. At the end of the column were our Mi’kmaq friends, E’s and Jilte’g, and the Ouendat warriors who had been with us for many years, Achie and Önenha’. The two Warrior Women chiefs were on each side of our procession, guarding the flanks. Our family unit consisted of seven women, who were as much warriors as each of the ten men accompanying them. In fact, the women at times were fiercer and more skilled than the men in the act of war.

  Each of us carried our own weapons, food, and water. The twenty or so dogs travelling with us carted our bedding lashed to their backs. Nìj Enàndeg, my wolf dog, was one of the exceptions. He and a couple of other fierce dogs were our sentinels on the trail and were unencumbered with burdens.

  When we arrived at the big lake that the Ouendat called Ouentironk (Beau
tiful Water: Lake Simcoe), we found some canoes the Ouendat had hidden along the shore. We took five of their larger vessels and loaded the dogs and ourselves into them and made good time across the lake. Reaching the other side, we discovered a birchbark map on a split-ended stick that was left behind by a previous group who had ventured through here from the other direction. A circle on the map meant a day’s travel and an overnight camp. Along with Kànìkwe’s know-ledge of the area from a past trip here many years ago and the guidance provided by the map, we were able to proceed quite easily.

  On the fourth day, E’s, Mònz, and my mother broke off to hunt for fresh game. They returned with a large wàbidì (wah-bi-dee: elk) and some added company to the delight of our group. Mitigomij and Crazy Crow had come upon them as they were gutting the animal. E’s said they had celebrated the occasion by making a fire and roasting some of the meat. Surprising to them, E’s also said, the big cat, Makadewà Wàban, had lain by the fire and eaten his fill before disappearing back into the shadows.

  I was always amazed by the sudden arrival of Mitigomij and Crazy Crow after they disappeared for months at a time. Crazy Crow, I noticed, had a few more notches and teeth on his fierce-looking weapon that was a combined staff, spear, and club.

  The decision was made not to go to the big lake Ontarìo (Shining Waters) to search for Ouendat canoes we had been told were well hidden and then paddle along the shore to our destination. Instead we stayed inland to avoid detection from any Haudenosaunee who might be on the lake. As we walked, I told Uncle Mitigomij about the recurring dream of my father’s death.