by Rick Revelle
My sister, Wàbìsì (Swan), had survived the massacre at the village and had been saved along with Kinebigokesì at the Battle of the Falls. Her husband was the great warrior, Mònz (Moose). Wàbìsì had changed the pronunciation of her name from Mànabìsì because of a dream she had had after the battle, wherein a swan came and spoke to her and called her by the name Wàbìsì.
There was our younger brother, Mitigomij (Red Oak), and his Black Panther, Makadewà Wàban (Black Dawn). The Haudenosaunee still feared Mitigomij and his panther as Shape Shifters. They thought that he was Michabo (the Great Hare) Trickster God, inventor of fishing. The panther was even more feared since the Haudenosaunee were positive the animal was Gichi-Anami’e-Bizhiw (the Fabulous Night Panther).
Also with our family unit were three vicious warriors, of whom two were women. They were Agwanìwon (Shawl Woman), Kìnà Odenan (Sharp Tongue), and their close friend Kànikwe (No Hair).
A Wàbanaki (Abenaki) warrior named Nigig (Otter), his wife Shangweshì (Mink), daughters Àwadòsiwag (Minnow), Ininàtig (Maple), and his mother Àbita (Half) had been with my family for five years now.
Finally, there were the two young Ouendat (Huron) warriors, Odìngwey (Face) and Kekek (Hawk).
With twelve warriors the encampment was well looked after. They all were good hunters and providers. The camp also had eleven dogs and my wolf Ishkodewan (Blaze) as pack animals, hunting dogs, and in time of starvation, food.
I had brought the group here in the fall. We had not wintered in our ancestral homeland area for six years now. It brought back too many memories of my wife, Wàbananang (Morning Star), carried away by the Haudenosaunee that fateful summer six years ago. Before Wàbananang suffered capture, she managed to hide our son with two guardian dogs, saving him from suffering the same fate as her. Nevertheless, I still brought this group back to the summer meeting place each year to trade, hunt, and, on occasion, war against our enemies with the rest of the Omàmiwinini (Algonquin) Nation.
The area we now wintered in had a decent supply of game that we were able to hunt in the fall. Winter, though, was still a lean time. We were lucky if we had enough food every other day most of the time. The one game that we were able to access on an almost constant basis was fish. The power of the waterfall kept an open area that we were able to put a net in for a good part of the winter. Some days we caught enough to feed the village for a couple of meals that day; other times we were lucky if we could feed the women and children. The animoshs (dogs) were on their own a large amount of the time for food. If there was a good catch of fish or someone slew a deer or moose, the animosh ate well from the guts and bones.
Further down the watercourse toward the Kitcisìpi, we kept some nets near a bend in the river. We set the nets in the ice by chopping open a big hole and slipping in the net. We would then cut another hole nearby, passing the net along with a stick under the ice. We did this until the net stretched out its length. Cutting another large hole, we then staked both ends of the net to the ice to keep it from slipping into the holes.
The first morning of the Kòn Tibik-Kìzis (Snow Moon, February) dawned bright and cold with blue skies. The winter was still hanging on, causing the open water close to the falls to freeze over, making it difficult to fish in this area. We would now have to rely more on our nets downriver.
Mitigomij entered my shelter with a steaming bowl of kìgònz kabàsigan (fish stew) and a bowl of kìjik anìbìsh (cedar tea).
“Mahingan,” he said, “I have heard a wàbidì (elk) in the woods above the falls. I could also hear the cracking noises when it walked. By the tracks I have seen and the height of the marks it is leaving on the azàd mitigs (aspen trees) after eating the bark and twigs, I can tell it is a young bull. The snow is still deep and I think we can run him down with the dogs before the pack of wolves that claims this territory decide they can run and corner him. A kill like this would almost take us to spring.”
“Yes, brother, we could definitely use the meat. It would certainly save us from having to kill some of the dogs. The last wàwàshkeshi (deer) that we were able to kill was over a moon ago. Kìgònz (fish), wàbòz (rabbit), and pine (partridge) with the odd kàg (porcupine) from our snares keep us barely alive. A wàbidì kill would keep our people strong and our warriors would have the strength to go out again and hunt more game. This moon we have been fortunate. There has been food almost every other day.
“What do you think of letting the twins and the two Ouendats go out for this hunt?”
Mitigomij replied, “I would like the two warrior women and Kànikwe to go also. If there is any trouble with wolves, their experience will go a long way in making this hunt successful. They will need to take seven of the animoshs. The hunters will need that many animosh to chase down the wàbidì and to bring back the meat if they are triumphant in the hunt.”
“What about you and the big cat?” I replied.
“I would just slow them down,” answered Mitigomij. “However, I would like to take them to the escarpment and show them where to start the quest. They will have to use snowshoes, which I can manage, but again I would hold them up.”
“By sending seven warriors out, the camp will be left with just five fighting men and the nets downriver need to be checked. I will take Anokì and a couple of animosh with me; it is time he learned to help more.
“Our only enemies at this time are the Hochelagans, Stadaconas, and the Haudenosaunee. The Hochelagans are our closest danger because we are near their hunting grounds. Mandàmin Animosh (Corn Dog) is always a concern. He and his band of warriors have created havoc all along the Big River and its feeder lakes. Ever since he escaped from the battle at the Island and I killed his friend Mishi-pijiw Odjìshiziwin (Panther Scar) at the falls on their river, Corn Dog has taken it upon himself to destroy everything in his path. One day he will gain the courage to come back to the land of the Omàmiwinini and we will settle what was left unfinished from the Island six years ago.”
“Yes, brother, but Corn Dog has been gaining strength in numbers and may be a force too strong for our people to defeat.”
“We will worry about that, Mitigomij, when the time comes, but right now you must get the hunting party together to leave as soon as possible.”
We met with the seven warriors who would be going out on the hunt. I asked Kànikwe to lead the group and to take all responsibility for any decisions that should have to be made.
They left at midmorning with Mitigomij leading them up to the escarpment. Once he had taken them to the area where he had last heard the beast, they would continue without Mitigomij and try to pick up signs of the animal.
Wàbidì could travel long distances in a few days, but if they found good forage, water, and cover, they would stay in that vicinity overnight and eat. Then, in the morning, they would travel to find more of the same.
When we slaughter the animal, we have found they have four stomachs. We use their teeth for ornaments and their antlers for weapons. However, the bulls would not have any racks at this time of the year.
After watching the hunters disappear up over the hill, I approached Kàg and asked him to make sure to post a couple of people on watch while the hunters and I were gone. I then went and woke my son, giving him the rest of the fish stew to eat. Once he was finished, I told him to get his weapons, because he was leaving with me to check the nets downriver. Giving him the responsibility to gather up Pìsà Animosh (Small Dog) plus Ishkodewan and another dog was a step in his growing from a child to a young man who could take on responsibilities and make decisions. Even a small decision like picking a dog for a small hunting trip was a step in the right direction.
We left with the one remaining odàbànàk (toboggan) that was left by the hunting group. Anokì strapped one of the dogs to the sled and threw extra rope onto it in case our catch was large enough that we needed two dogs to pull it back. I was hoping for a good catch of odawàjameg (salmon), because if our hunters were not successful, this fish would be all that
would separate my people from life or death by starvation.
During our journey we walked along the river, staying close to the shoreline, staying out of the wind. I could see the cold wind blowing snow across the ice. We protected our exposed skin from the wind and sun by smearing on bear grease.
The surrounding woods were quiet. Occasionally we would hear the sound of a tree limb snapping in the cold or a pikwàkogwewesì (blue jay) announcing our passing. The sound of our àgimag (snowshoes) made a crunching sound as we walked and the cold air made our breath look like steam as it left our lungs.
Anokì was full of questions, and he always wanted me to tell the story of how his mother hid him in the small cave with the two dogs during the attack on the village five summers ago. Both dogs that had guarded Anokì were now dead. The red one was killed by a bear a couple of years later and the white one died of old age. They were the parents of the small dog that was a constant companion to my wolf. Every time I told the tale, he asked the same questions. How old was he when he she hid him? Was his mother alive? Did he cry? How did I find him? I never tired of answering his questions; it always reminded me of how brave his mother was and it kept her in my heart these last six years.
I broke trail. Then came Anokì, followed by the dogs. My son and I both wore snowshoes. The boy was strong for his age and I watched to see if he would tire. If that happened, I would put him on the sled. We stopped just before the noon sun and ate some dried meat I had brought. We drank from a moose bladder, which I had brought to carry our fresh water. After our quick meal we continued on, arriving at the river bend soon after. As I stepped out from the shadow of the trees on the curve of the river, I saw something that froze me in my tracks. Quickly I backtracked and told my son to take Pìsà Animosh and the other dog into the tree line and stay very still. I kept Ishkodewan with me.
Once Mitigomij had sent the hunting party on their way toward the shàwanong (south), they gave the dogs their heads and let them run ahead, searching for scent. The warriors kept a quick pace on their snowshoes, following the dogs, which were bounding through the snow, taking turns leading as the one ahead would fall back when it tired. For short distances the dogs came upon crusty snow that enabled them to run along the top without breaking through. One of the dogs had cut his dewclaw and was leaving a path of blood. The wàbida’s scent was old but the dogs were able to pick it up and now became even more high-spirited for the chase. The group came to an open spot blown clear of snow and was able to see where the wàbidì had grazed the previous day. There was scat on the ground and they could see where he had stripped the bark of the aspen trees and had lain down to rest in the cedars.
After running around chasing scent, the dogs found where the big animal had been, and off they went barking with anticipation. The warriors were now sweating and they could see steam rising off their bodies as they kept up the chase behind the dogs. Near midday, the dogs disappeared over a bald, rocky knoll and the men picked out the sound of dogs snarling and yelping in pain. The hunters crested the hill and came upon a bloody sight on the snow.
Mahingan
Motioning Ishkodewan to follow, I stepped out onto the river ice and watched three men hunched over one of the nets. They were trying to break open the ice hole with a rock to pull the net up. I was not close enough to them to recognize to what tribe they belonged. Raising my bow, I snapped off an arrow that landed close to them, immediately getting their attention. They rose up, and holding their hands high told me in broken Algonquin that they had no weapons and were at my mercy. I recognized them as young Susquehannock warriors.
“Please do not kill us! We are starving and have not eaten anything other than bark and clumps of meadow grass in the last five or six days.”
As I approached them, I could not see any weapons other than the rock that they were using to try to break the ice hole. When I drew near them, I noticed that they were emaciated, pale, and weak.
Just after I arrived at where they stood, I took my axe and finished chopping the ice from the hole they been standing over. After breaking the ice there, I continued onto the next opening and broke it free as well. Now that we had the holes free of their ice covering, the four of us were able to pull the net up onto the river ice. We then went to the second net and proceeded to do the same. There were seventy-four fish trapped in the nets, enough to feed the village two or three more days and ourselves before we headed back. We had to work quickly before the nets froze. If they stiffened in the cold air, we would not be able to get them back into the holes again. The three boys and I prevailed and were able to get the netting back into the river.
Our people call this way of fishing shìbàskobidjige (set a net under ice).
I called for my son to come out of hiding. With his help, we loaded the fish onto the toboggan and moved toward the shore to start a fire and feed the famished young men. I was about to ask Anokì to collect wood when I noticed him go to the toboggan and grab something.
“Father, see what I was able to kill with my bow while waiting for you?”
He held up a wàbòz (rabbit) and smiled.
“Anokì,” I replied, “I will get the wood. You butcher your game and we will have rabbit and fish for this meal. Good hunting, son! You will also be able to make yourself a pair of mitts with the fur.”
Before I left, I gave one of the young warriors my knife to clean the fish. The tallest one produced a woman’s skinning knife and the two immediately started. I gave the third boy some bone fish hooks and line that were in my pouch, along with my stone axe. Then I instructed him to break open a couple of holes and bait the hooks with fish guts, tie the lines to sticks, and secure the branch in the snow so they would not be dragged into the opening. I hoped that we would be able to catch more fish before leaving for the village.
Telling Anokì to help watch the lines after he was finished with the wàbòz, I set out to get wood. The last sound I heard as I walked into the woods was the yelping of the dogs and wolf as they fought over the fish guts.
Once back with my son and the others, it was not long before I had a roaring fire, the rabbit on a spit, and the fish roasting on sticks. As we waited for the food to cook, I melted some water and made kìjik anìbìsh. The boys told me that they still had their childhood names. Captured close to two years ago, they never had a chance to earn warrior names. In the Susquehannock language, they divulged their names. The taller one called himself Sischijro (Eat); the eldest one, who was more muscular than the other two, they called Oneega (Water); and the youngest went by the name Abgarijo (Dog).
Oneega did the talking and related that they fell into the hands of a band of Haudenosaunee while they were on a hunting trip with their father and uncles. The three of them were brothers, all under the age of seventeen summers.
“We were camped in the midsummer beside a small stream and were around the fire, eating. Being deep into our own hunting grounds, we did not fear intruders, so we had no guard out. They struck quickly and silently. Many arrows thudded into the adults and then they were set upon with clubs and unmercifully hacked to pieces and thrown into the fire. My brothers and I never had a chance to help; we were pushed face first into the ground and held there, all the time listening to the sickening thuds of our relatives’ mutilations.
“They jerked us roughly to our feet and prodded us at spear point into the woods just as our attackers finished their gruesome work with the fire. The attackers then ran us through the forest all night. Branches were slapping us in the face, shoulders, and chest. I was bleeding from scrapes and cuts, as were my brothers. Just as daylight approached, we stopped. They gave us each a handful of corn and allowed us to drink from a stream. I counted fourteen warriors, each one painted and only a breechcloth and moccasins for clothing. After a short while they started out again on the run. I presumed they wanted to get as far from our lands as quickly as possible. The Susquehannock and Haudenosaunee have been enemies forever and our people have always held their own when
it comes to warfare with them. Many warriors from both sides have died defending their respective hunting grounds. They knew that if our people came across them, they would suffer terrible retribution. By midday, we met up with the main group of about forty warriors and some women and children. They presented us to the leader and he just looked at us and nodded. We understood the Haudenosaunee language, since it is very close to ours, and were able to comprehend the man as he talked to me and my brothers.
“‘You will help the women with all camp duties. Attempted escape will bring death.’
“He talked in a very low voice, but you knew he commanded respect.
“‘My Algonquin enemies call me Mandàmin Animosh (Corn Dog); to my people I am known as Ò:nenhste Erhar. To the three of you I am the only person who stands between you living or dying. Never forget that!’”
After listening to Oneega talk, I was curious. “How did you learn our language?”
He replied, “After we were captured we had to help the women cook, collect firewood, help tan animal hides, and whatever else they needed. Once in a while they took us on hunting trips but only as slaves to carry back the game. They were constantly raiding for the rest of the summer but always would leave enough men to guard us. Being so far from home and never knowing where we were, escape was always out of the question. During this time we became acquainted with an Algonquin woman and her young daughter. She had long black hair and attractive facial features. She taught us her language while we worked beside her. This woman, though, was a mystery. No one bothered her, ever. One day as we were out collecting wood with a woman from Corn Dog’s group, we were able to obtain information about the Algonquin woman. Corn Dog had acquired her in a trade with another member of his tribe. The woman told us that when the Algonquin’s daughter was about two years old, one of Corn Dog’s wives, whose daughter had drowned, decided that she was going to take the Algonquin’s daughter for her own. The Algonquin woman always carries a skinning knife and a stone club. They said that when Corn Dog’s wife grabbed the young girl to take possession of her, the Algonquin struck quickly and violently. The Haudenosaunee women was dead before she hit the ground, her throat slashed and head bashed in.”