by Rick Revelle
“What did Corn Dog do?” I asked.
“Nothing. That is what made her even more of a mystery to the people. However, the Haudenosaunee women never bothered her again. The woman also told me that one of Corn Dog’s men tried to have his way with her one night. She sliced his cheek open from below his eye to his chin. I have seen this man. The scar is horrific. She has a heart of a warrior and fears no one! Beautiful, smart, and dangerous, with a wonderful singing voice. She is always singing while she works and forever smiling. Her daughter is her world. After the incident with the warrior, the woman who related the story to me said that Corn Dog gave explicit orders she was not to be touched or harmed, that he had future plans for her that involved an old enemy.”
“Oneega, what were this Algonquin woman’s name and the age of her daughter?” I inquired.
“Her daughter was about a summer younger than your son. Her name is Wàbananang (Morning Star) and her daughter’s name is Pangì Mahingan (Little Wolf).”
Kànìkwe
As the band of Algonquin hunters reached the top of the hill, a cascade of sounds greeted them. They could hear dogs snarling and yelping in pain, and the echoing screams of men in the pitch of battle.
Being the designated leader, I, Kànìkwe (No Hair), was the first to direct my eyes to the encounter below. It was taking place in a small clearing surrounded by aspen and birch in a valley about fifty feet further down from our present position. In the basin was a ball of bleeding, yelping, and shrieking animoshs and men, along with a bellowing, grunting wàbidì who, by this point, was fighting off a couple packs of animoshs and five hunters. The beast had a spear and some arrows protruding from his body. The front of his chest was red with the blood that was seeping from the spear wound. Dogs were charging the wàbidì and fighting among themselves as he vainly attempted to defend his life by striking at them with his massive head and hooves.
Because it was early spring, his antlers had not yet fully grown back. However, he still was able to use what he had grown as a lethal defence. The hunters were striking our dogs with spears and clubs and stabbing at the wàbidì with their weapons. I watched as one of the huntsmen strung an arrow and aimed in the direction of our largest dog. It embedded up to the feathers into the dog’s neck. The animal went down and pawed at the shaft, trying to remove it. The man then walked up to him and clubbed the creature to death.
Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan looked at me and nodded, but before they were able to take the initiative and lead the charge into the bloody valley, the two Ouendats burst from the hill yelling their war charge with the rest of us behind them. Once we were three quarters down the hill, the hunter who had killed one of our dogs hastily released an arrow at our charging group, catching the lead Ouendat, Odìngwey, in the left shoulder. The young man lost his footing and fell face first directly onto the protruding shaft. As he fell, we could hear the shaft snap and his scream of pain as the arrow went deeper into his body. The remaining five Algonquins and the Ouendat, Kekek, met the mass of dogs, hunters, and dying wàbidì head on. The two women, who were always terrifying foes, reached the hunter with the bow and as Kìnà Odenan clubbed him on a kneecap, Agwanìwon shoved her spear into his open, screaming mouth. The blade, covered with grey matter, exited out the back of his head.
I became engaged in hand-to-hand struggle with a man at least six-inches taller then myself. We both had knifes and were each drawing blood with every thrust, slicing shirts and the skin beneath. Neither of us had yet inflicted a deep wound since our heavy clothing provided a certain amount of protection, keeping the wounds superficial. I grasped the club that I kept in my waistband, and as my foe made another thrust, I stepped aside and hit him flush in the face. Blood spattered all the way up my arm and I could hear the sound of breaking bone and his gasping for air. The warrior dropped to one knee and I buried my knife into his neck, with only the handle preventing the weapon from going any deeper. He turned and looked at me, spat out some teeth, smiled, and dropped on his side with a gush of air leaving his body. I reached down and cut off the ear nearest to me, putting it into the pouch where I carried the rest of my vanquished opponents’ ears. I then returned my attention to the sounds of the battle around me.
I watched helplessly as the young warrior Kekek rushed an enemy with his lance. The hunter still had a large animosh on a rope. Upon Kekek rushing him, he released the animal. The beast grabbed Kekek by the right arm and I could hear him scream. He dropped his weapon and went for his knife with his free hand. The animosh was mangling Kekek’s arm and his muzzle became covered with the Ouendat’s blood.
I tried to pull away from the fighting dogs around me and get to my young friend’s defence, but before I got to him, I watched as the hunter jammed his spear into Kekek’s neck. The enemy looked in my direction and called the animosh, and they both ran off toward the deep woods. Kekek lay in a pool of blood, reddening the snow around him, with the spear protruding from his neck and his arm mangled and bloodied. Dying in a land far from his birthplace, Kekek departed this life fighting to keep his adopted friends from starving.
With the skirmish close to being over, I turned my attention to the sounds of an encounter to the rear of my position. The twins, Makwa and Wàbek, were having trouble with the last two remaining hunters. The boys were barely holding their own against the older, more experienced foes. Wàbek stumbled to the ground on one knee after taking a blow to the midsection from his opponent’s club. Next, I heard a war cry and watched as two more of the enemy came out of the trees toward our position. They were quickly closing ground between themselves, the twins, and their antagonists. Hastily I rushed to the boys’ aid, grabbing a discarded spear. Then, just as I reached the conflict, there was a sharp sound like a tree limb snapping on a cold winter’s day. The man who stood over Wàbek suddenly was missing half of his forehead. He looked at me in amazement, put his hand to his head, and with chunks of skin and bone oozing from his fingers, took two steps toward me. He opened his mouth to say something and dropped at my feet, face first. At that moment everyone on the battlefield heard the blood-curdling scream of a panther. One of the charging warriors from the wooded area turned in mid-stride to see where the sound was coming from and as he did Makadewà Wàban hit him with the full force of his body on the dead run. Man and beast rolled on the ground with the panther rising from the tumbling collision with the man’s throat locked into his jaws. The victim’s eyes were bulging and blood was spurting from his nose and ears. With one shake of his massive head the man flew clear and the panther stood there with blood dripping from a huge piece of his casualty’s throat.
The second man, who was battling with the twins, received two rapidly fired arrows in the base of his neck that came with such force that one protruded out through his throat and the other went through his body and impaled itself in a birch tree directly in front of the dying man.
The last remaining rival turned heel and yelled, “It is the Shape Shifters, Michabo and Gichi-Anami’e-Bizhiw!”
The women, the twins, and I all stood in amazement. Even the dogs fell silent. Where just a moment ago the battlefield had been a hornet’s nest of sounds and activity, it was now deathly quiet. Five dead enemies and our Ouendat ally, Kekek, also slain. Four lifeless animoshs and a bleeding, bellowing wàbidì floundering around on the ground. I turned and motioned to Makwa and Wàbek to put the dying animal out of his misery.
I directed my attention to the top of the hill as a lone figure started to descend. It was joined by the big panther and they continued down together toward the carnage. There was no mistaking the limp. It was Mitigomij. The man always appeared when least expected. How he managed was a mystery to all. Maybe the Haudenosaunee were right — perhaps he and the panther were the Trickster Hare and the Fabulous Night Panther and were Shape Shifters. All I did know, though, was that he was dedicated to the twins and the panther to him. Mitigomij and the cat always brought death and destruction with them when there was a battle.
/> “Kànìkwe,” whispered Mitigomij, “I will treat Odìngwey’s wound. I will need to build a fire to heat my knife and cut the arrow out of his shoulder. The warrior women can hold him down while I treat him. He will not scream out but he may thrash around as the pain intensifies. I have asin odjìbik (stone root) and àmò-sizibàkwad (honey) to treat his wound. Once that is done, I will take him back with me.”
“Mitigomij,” I warned, “you know the hunters were Hochelagans and Haudenosaunee?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Corn Dog is up to something. This is probably only one of many small hunting groups he has sent out as his warriors are on the move. Now I am sure he has a different quarry in mind. Mark my words. Our people are very close to his final plan. Kànìkwe, get the twins started on butchering the wàbidì and animoshs. The meat of these animals will sustain our people for a while and give strength for our hunters to go out on the hunt again. With the loss of Kekek and the inability of Odìngwey to aid in the return, everyone will have to carry extra. It seems some of the intruder’s animoshs have stayed with our pack. Feed them well and they will help our animals carry the meat back to the village.
“Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan, come. I need your help!”
6
THE FEAST AND GUHN ACHGOOK (SNOW SNAKE)
Mahingan
After eating, we reset the nets with the help of the three young Susquehannocks. Anokì loaded the odàbànàk (toboggan) with the fish that we had taken from the nets plus another small amount that we had caught with the lines.
We would not reach the camp before nightfall so we set about and collected some green sapling branches, birch bark, and the bark of a dead elm. Using some vines, we fastened the elm bark to the sapling and sealed the joints with heated pine gum. Then, taking some dry leaves that were still on branches and dead pine needles, we rolled the birch bark up tightly. We stuffed all this into the opening of the elm bark. These would be our torches once darkness fell. Making enough that the four adults would each have a spare, we piled all on the odàbànàk with the fish.
As we walked, I asked the boys how they came to end up half-starved at this river.
They told me that after their capture, the three of them travelled northeast with Corn Dog and his people. He was constantly raiding and building up his group with young Haudenosaunee warriors who were leaving their villages to join him. Some of the captive men that his warriors had not tortured to death were made to run the gauntlet. Corn Dog had two ways for captives to run the gauntlet. One was solo and the other was when they led the victims through with a rope tied around their neck. These poor captives led through by the rope had no chance of survival and they on the most part were old men and old women, and sometimes young children. Struck repeatedly, the sufferers made their way through the double lines, and then, bloodied and dying, they were tossed into the fires. Corn Dog’s people would cheer as the victims screamed in pain. The younger men were sent through the gauntlet solo. If they made it to the end mostly intact, they became worthy of being an adopted warrior of Corn Dog’s Haudenosaunee. Young women he gave to his warriors as wives or slaves.
“Did you boys run the gauntlet?” I asked.
“No,” answered Oneega. “We often wondered why torture or the gauntlet was never imposed on us. We were told by a couple of the women that the reason we had not been killed or used for sport was our ages; we were not children and neither were we yet warriors. Because we were Susquehannock, Corn Dog figured we would grow into great fighters and did not want to break our spirit. He would have a family or families adopt us and train the three of us as members of his warrior elite. Mahingan, he is building a massive warrior group and resources; he wants to control everything along the Big River!”
“Brother,” added Sischijro, “you forgot to tell Mahingan about Corn Dog’s brutal friend!”
“Yes! This man is scary, fierce, and huge. The tallest man I have ever seen. He raids constantly and brings many captives back to camp. As Corn Dog’s closest friend, the man is involved in all decision-making. The women told us he comes from the east and is a Mi’kmaq. They call him Winpe.”
“Corn Dog’s captives have been mainly from the Wàbanaki (Abenaki), ‘Lenepi (Delaware), Me’hiken (Mahican), and Pênâ-kuk (Pennacook) tribes. His warriors had now grown in numbers to close to one hundred and fifty and nearly one hundred women. Most of the women and approximately fifty of the men were captives from the four tribes. It took a lot of hunting to keep this group fed. Often Corn Dog had five or six groups of eight men out hunting. Only he and Winpe led raids. At no time were they both out on an attack; one of them always remained in camp to organize movement and hunting parties. When we escaped, they were planning to go into the land of the Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) and Mi’kmaq to raid. After that he said there would be a revenge raid and he would go after control of the river your people call Kitcisìpi.”
Sischijro continued, “We had been with them almost three moons when they started to let us go out with the hunting parties, but we always had to return our weapons when we arrived at the main camp. Wàbananang told us they made us do this because we were Susquehannock, mortal enemies of the Haudenosaunee. The Susquehannock had always chosen death over adoption into the Haudenosaunee tribe. Because we were young and had not reached warrior age with our people, Corn Dog hoped he could change that history. The Haudenosaunee were never able to defeat us in a major battle. Corn Dog knew this and wanted warriors like those of our nation. Nevertheless, he was going to make sure we were loyal before we were taken into their society of warriors.”
He added, “Wàbananang was very guarded in her trust. She knew Corn Dog had a purpose for her. In spite of this, she did not want to push too far for the sake of her daughter. She said Corn Dog was going to build up his force a lot larger than it presently was before he would attempt to go up the Kitcisìpi again. He knew that he could count on some of his own people to join him; still, he wanted a massive force of warriors before asking his own nation to join the force he was gathering. The defeat from six summers ago still weighed heavy on his fellow tribesmen.
“She also told us that Winpe would be crossing the river to meet with the Hochelagans and Stadaconas to convince their people to join them as they raided the eastern tribes. Corn Dog’s followers would then leave our camp and travel to the Haudenosaunee River, where they were to obtain canoes that they had cached. Morning Star told us that along this route we would find our best chance to escape. She spared us an extra skinning knife that she had obtained. Our best chance of escape was when the hunters came back with a big amount of game. They always gorged themselves and slept soundly after a huge feast and celebration dance. Telling us to eat well and to steal food for the journey, she said that with only a knife our chances were slim of obtaining much to eat until we met up with her people.
“Mahingan, Wàbananang saved our lives. In spite of this, we became lost and on the wrong side of the river. We stumbled north through the woods until we found a waterway. Thinking we were on the Kitcisìpi, we started upriver. Our food had run out five days before and we were becoming weak. Morning Star said that if we met any Algonquins we were to ask for a chief named Mahingan, the one who was missing half an ear taken by a Nipissing warrior in battle.”
“Well, you found me, and the woman who helped you is my wife. The Haudenosaunee captured her six summers ago. The battle weakened the Algonquin Nation and our allies enough that we could not follow our enemy any further. We rescued some of the captives; the rest the enemy murdered on the battlefield or carried off when they retreated.
“The three of you are welcome to stay with us as long as you want. I have a brother, Mitigomij, who will train you in the way of the warrior. With his training and your heritage, I am positive that you all will be a force to contend with.”
We were probably three quarters of the way from the encampment when the sun fell below the tree line and we lit the torches. Anokì was having a great time, following me and taking tur
ns leading the dogs, pulling the odàbànàk and riding on the sled when he tired. The light from the torches amply highlighted the path Anokì, the animosh, and I had made this morning. By the time the moon had risen, we were within shouting distance of the camp. Making the sound of a wàwonesì (whip-poor-will), I announced our entrance. We made this sound because our people in the camp knew this bird was gone for the winter and that our enemies would not use the signal of an absent bird. It was not long before my brother Kàg and the Wàbanaki Nigig came to greet us.
“Mahingan,” Kàg exclaimed, “we were worried when we caught sight of four torches approaching. I see you have friends?”
“Kàg and Nigig, this is Sischijro, Oneega, and Abgarijo, three Susquehannock brothers with a very interesting story to tell.”
“Brother,” answered Kàg, “I am sure it will make for a good campfire tale. Just before we noticed your torches and heard your call, Mitigomij arrived back in camp with a wounded Odìngwey. There was a problem. We have to head out and give aid to the returning hunting party. Kekek has died in battle and I will fill you in on everything else that happened during our journey to meet Kànìkwe and the others.”
“These boys need rest and food. They will stay with the camp while we continue on,” I replied.
Kàg, his wife Kinebigokesì, Mònz, and my sister Wàbìsì, as well as the Wàbanaki, Nigig, his wife Shangweshì, and myself, my wolf, and a couple of other dogs set out to assist the hunting party with their return.