Algonquin Spring

by Rick Revelle

  When we had crossed the river, we had taken off our footwear and tied it around our heads with leather to keep it dry. Some runners had not, and when they exited, their moccasins were full of water, causing some to fly off the their feet, sending them scurrying to seize their wayward shoes amongst the churning feet of the other runners.

  The day before we had set out on our run, my daughter and I had put mullein leaves in our moccasins to help pad them.

  The route that the elders had chosen for the race was not overly strenuous. They were looking for skilled runners with stamina and agility. There were a lot of deadfalls and rocks to scramble around and avoid, but very little climbing.

  Every once in a while my daughter would look up and say, “How am I doing?”

  My answer was always, “We are getting nearer to the end!”

  By midmorning, we made the turn. There were many behind us. I reasoned that only about a third of the group was in front of us. Of the ones ahead, very few were women. Leading everyone was Winpe, always wanting to prove his prowess as the dominant one! Now the time had arrived for us to proceed with what we had trained for.

  Looking at Little Wolf I shouted, “Kijìkà (Go)!”

  We then sprang forward, catching those ahead of us off guard with our burst of speed.

  Thoughts again came to my head of the man I almost slew who tried to come to me in the night. Of the Stadacona warriors who had identified me as an Algonquin and also suffered the wrath of my skinning knife. Again, Corn Dog kept me safe with his words. Never because he cared for me, only because he had revenge on his mind and I was an essential part of the coming plan.

  He was showing me that my life belonged to him and that when the time drew closer he would control how I die, not someone else.

  An old Haudenosaunee woman had approached me after the first incident with the man in the night and cackled with a toothless grin, “Corn Dog wants you and your man roasting together in the fires; he has much to avenge!”

  Now, as Pangì Mahingan and I sped up, we laid our small switches on two young women running ahead of us. The sudden shock of the stinging switches caused them to break stride, enabling us to pass. I turned to look back at them; they wore a look of shock, and then they started to laugh and point at us. My daughter, hearing the women laugh, started to giggle, making the laughter contagious. The other runners within hearing as well started to chuckle too.

  For Pangì Mahingan, with her height and long legs, running came naturally. For this race I had bound my breasts tightly with a piece of leather that I had taken from a discarded pair of leggings. I noticed that others stared at me in wonderment when I ran by them with no bouncing. Even some of the warriors noticed, pointed, and smiled.

  Finally, we came to the river again, in a deeper spot. Tying our moccasins around our necks and then tucking them in our shirts behind our heads to keep them dry, we entered the river. Little Wolf hung on to my leather top and kicked her feet to stay afloat while I slowly waded through the water, not fighting the river but becoming one with it. Then I started to swim with Little Wolf hanging on. This was where we gained on all the competitors. Others fought the river while we let the watercourse’s strength guide us to the opposite shore. Praying to Michabo, the Creator of water, to guide us, we reached the opposite shore and crawled up the bank. Putting on our moccasins, we ran as fast as we could, crossing the end near the front of the racers.

  The old women at the finish were laughing. Corn Dog met Winpe at the finish and both glared at me. Now I had them thinking.

  Corn Dog

  Once the moving mass of individuals disappeared from my sight, I and the other warriors lowered ourselves from the lookout.

  Entering the village, I approached a longhouse that had a fire going by the front door. Hanging over the flames was a steaming bark container with an old man dipping a bone spoon into it and transferring the misty broth to his toothless mouth.

  Sitting beside him, I reached into my jacket and took out my own spoon. We sat there taking turns filling our utensil. Not a word was spoken until he looked at me with broth dripping off his chin. “Your enemies are stronger than you may think; they have mysteries that our people have never encountered. Beware!”

  With that, he passed gas, stood up, and disappeared into the dwelling.

  I sat there and continued helping myself to the meal. A spotted dog approached the fire and tried to stick his head into the pot. A quick motion of my hand drove him back. He stood there watching to see if I would leave. After a while he gave up, went to lie nearby in the sun, and soon went to sleep. Sitting there, I watched as the flies circled the soup and the dog. Lost in thought, I fell asleep.

  Boom, boom, boom beat the drums. Aye, aye, aye. I woke with a start. The drums were beating. Was my mind playing tricks on me? The women were singing? No, there could not be any women that close to the men in this race! Winpe and the men and women who were striving to join my war band were entering the village. As I started to stand up, the previously sleeping dog, in his anxiety to approach the noise, ran through my feet, causing me to drop to one knee. From there the only view I had was of the tangle of legs and feet of the village occupants and the onslaught of hyperactive dogs eagerly scurrying to where the gasping and sweaty race participants would finish. As I rose to join the melee, my face and mouth were splatted with mud flung in the air by the feet and paws of the anxious mob.

  After wiping my face and spitting out small bits of dirt, I was able to find a high spot to see the finish. In the first five or six finishers I could see Winpe, but to my astonishment the Algonquin woman and her daughter were right there with them.

  Approaching Winpe, I asked, “How can this be? This woman and her young daughter running a race like this and finishing so well?”

  Winpe gazed at the woman, turned to me, and said, “She is an Otkon Yakon:kwe (Spirit Woman)!”

  I thought back to what the old man had said. “Your enemies are stronger than you may think; they have mysteries that our people have never encountered.”

  Wàbananang

  After Pangì Mahingan and I had finished the race, we sat down and watched the others finish.

  Once everyone was done, Corn Dog called together the warriors and women who had succeeded in earning a spot and said, “We will leave for Sharató:ken (Saratoga Springs) in the morning to take in the strength and healing qualities of this sacred place. Then we will proceed to the Caniaderi Guarûnte (Lake Champlain). There we will pick up our canoes that our people will have made for us.”

  Unlike where the Omàmiwinini live, the Haudenosaunee do not have an abundance of birch trees in their homeland. They make canoes by peeling the bark off large elm trees. It takes five or six days to build a boat like this, but the result produces a strong boat that seems to serve them well.

  During the evening, the drums started and the people danced and sang songs about past battles. Everyone ate their fill and then near the end of the night the women brought out clay pots. Filling them with a mixture of sand and corn kernels, they hung them over the fires. Our people, the Omàmiwinini, had never done anything like this. After a while, I could hear a sound like when a bone is popped open coming from the pots. Once the sound stopped, the women lifted the pots with a pair of sticks so they would not burn themselves. Then, turning the container upside down, they spilled the contents on the ground. Standing nearby, my nostrils caught the pleasant smell of the corn that now transformed into what looked like white fluffy flowers. I hastily grabbed some. I shared with Pangì Mahingan, and we ate and smiled at each other. It was good. For the rest of the night the village women kept making this new food until all had had their fill.

  That morning, while the mist still surrounded the village, Corn Dog and Winpe gathered the one hundred and eleven who had earned their spot on this journey. Single file, we walked silently into the fog trailed by a dozen war dogs, disappearing from sight and into the legends of the people.

  16

  SPRING
HARVEST AND THE DECISION

  Mahingan

  “Anokì, Anokì,” I screamed.

  Very few of our people were strong swimmers. Most were just able to keep themselves above water and get to shore in times of peril and not much more, myself included. In spite of this, I now found myself running to the riverbank with a pounding in my head and drenched from nervous sweat. Just before I leapt into the water, I could hear to my right a resounding splash that covered my already sodden body with river water. Turning toward the sound, I was able to glimpse the head of Ishkodewan moving frantically to the bobbing figure of my son, swimming into the gushing torrent of white water. As powerful as this wild beast was on land, the dominance of the river could easily defeat him.

  For what seemed like an eternity, I stood and watched the big wolf gain on my rapidly vanishing son. It was as if I were in a trance. I could not move, nor speak. Battling through the powerful current, the huge animal never faltered; defeating the force of the mighty river, he grasped the boy by the scruff of his neck in his huge mouth and turned toward shore. Anokì was gagging and spitting water. The wolf snapped his huge head to his left side and the boy grabbed onto to the scruff of the wolf’s neck, pulling himself up onto the animal’s broad back. With renewed vigor, the beast forced his way through the flow and clambered up the riverbank. Anokì dropped down from his safe perch to the grassy ground and lay on his back. Ishkodewan stood over the boy and violently shook the water from his fur, covering my twice-soaked frame. The wolf then lay beside my son and started licking him. Leaving my dream-like state, I kneeled down, embraced both the animal and my son, and with tears in my eyes thanked Kitchi Manitou for this wondrous life-saving event and Nokomis for leading me to this big wolf when he was a pup.

  There was not a word spoken by anyone until Anokì raised his hand up, opened his fist, and excitedly exclaimed, “See, Father, I got the frog I was after!”

  Everyone started to laugh and Nigig’s two daughters came and grabbed the boy to dry him and find him warm clothes.

  I reached into my leather bag, retrieved a piece of dried meat I kept for an emergency, and gave it to the wolf, who gulped it down in one bite. Grabbing the animal by the neck, I hugged him as hard as I could while he gave me huge lick with his rough tongue.

  Standing up, I caught the eye of Mitigomij. He said, “Well, that certainly broke the stillness of the day.” Then he smiled and walked away.

  Looking to the edge of the forest, I could see the massive black cat lying there with his huge tail twitching, knowing all the time that between the wolf, the cat, and Mitigomij, Anokì had protection from all sides.

  That night around the fire I watched as Anokì sat and ate his supper, sharing it with Ishkodewan. The wolf sat patiently waiting for the boy to feed him small scraps of meat.

  The boy was a fast learner, even though he sometimes reverted to an inquisitive child at times, as he had today. Mitigomij was teaching him the way of the hunter and the boy caught on quickly. He was able to snare small game, and the time was approaching when he would become strong enough to draw back a bow sufficiently to bring down a deer, or an enemy if need be. He had been taught long ago never to pass between the fire and an elder or a visitor, never to speak when others were speaking, and finally never to make fun of a disfigured or crippled person. Being brought up with Mitigomij and his handicap, I do not think that it ever entered Anokì’s or any of the other children’s minds that his uncle was different. Then there was Kànikwe’s heavily scarred head; here again, the young children never stared at his disfigurement. They accepted him for who he was: a strong warrior they looked up to. Many times Kànikwe has told his story around the fire, recounting the battle long ago with the Haudenosaunee and the reason he had no hair.

  Because of the near drowning of Anokì, we made the decision to camp below the rapids for the night. Before I slept, I formed a plan to bring my family back together. With my son spared death today, I took it as a sign that I now must trek to the lands beyond, find my wife and daughter, and re-unite my family. Tomorrow we would continue to the falls, where our people would gather to spear and net fish, feast, and talk about the future.

  I would not stay with my group after the spearing of the ogà, name, and namebin below the Asticou (boiling rapids) at Asinabka; I had a quest to start and a sense of urgency about it.

  The next day dawned with a glorious sunrise, revealing the immense blue sky and the river sparkling and calm. We ate a hurried meal, loaded the canoes, and glided into the current, heading toward our anticipated meeting with other family groups.

  My wounds from the Battle of the Falls sometimes caused stiffness in the cold, wet weather. Nevertheless, today, with the warm sun shining down, the scars of the battle felt like they were healing just a bit more. As I paddled, my thoughts slipped back to the aftermath of the conflict. Our Shaman had to use several stitches to close up the wounds on my right arm and left shoulder. He then used a poultice of yarrow leaves to help heal the damage. The healing process took many painful days. Now all that shows are scars that the sun cannot colour. After tending to the bloody wound he used onagàgizidànibag (plantain) to help reduce the swelling of my left shin. He mashed the leaves of the plant, and after mixing with water, he applied a poultice to the shin, wrapping it with moss and tying it with leather. After the swelling subsided, a huge discolouring of the area appeared, which became tender to the touch. To help cure this, I would hold juniper branches above the fire, heating them and then wrapping them around the bruised area. After a moon, my wounds for the most part healed and I was able to walk without a limp. Still, even to this day the shin will bother me at times.

  The noise of the sacred rapids awakened our hearing before we caught sight of them. As our canoes neared, the river current grew stronger and the colour of the water started to whiten and become foamy in spots. Closer yet, we could feel dampness in the air from the spray caused by the power of the falls. The two women and No Hair directed our group toward the shoreline. Once we reached the beach, two old friends appeared from the forest and aided our landing upon the rocky shore: Pangì Shìshìb (Little Duck), the leader of Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan’s old family unit, and Minowez-I (War Dance). Two friends who had answered my call for help those many years ago.

  Once the boats were on shore, more people came from the woodland and assisted us with our possessions. The constant chatter of the women and the laughter of the men caused our dogs and the big wolf to start barking, and that brought their dogs out to the waters’ edge on the run. After a lot of growling, snarling, and posturing, the big pack of dogs seemed to merge into one contented mass. The resident pack quickly realized that there was an alpha wolf dog, and none of them wanted any part of that!

  Anokì’s feet barely touched the ground as he jumped from the canoe.

  “Stay away from the falls and the frogs,” I yelled after him.

  “Yes, Father,” he replied as he ran toward the other children with the big wolf at his side.

  I watched as Anokì grabbed Ishkodewan around the animal’s neck. The wolf never lost a step dragging the boy along with the small dog nipping at the boy’s heels, trying to pull off his moccasins, while Anokì squealed in delight the whole time. Then the wolf stopped and rolled with the boy on him and the small dog caught up in the turmoil. That was the cue the other children needed, and soon it was just a massive ball of children and dogs wrestling, laughing, and barking, adding to the voices of the already excited adults who were rapidly catching up on news; the sounds of a happy village.

  I watched as Agwanìwon and Kìnà Odenan carried the deerskin from their canoe. They were preparing to tan the hide by scraping all the meat from the skin. Once they finished that job, they would rub the deer’s brain into the hide to help cure it. They would then take the hide to the river to wash and to help soften it. After that, they would stake it on the ground until it dried. Once dried they would again scrape the hide clean of any meat they had missed, again working
the brain into the skin. Once completed, they would chew on the pelt to soften it to make shoes, leggings, and shirts from the deer’s contribution to our well-being.

  Kànikwe came ashore along with the others of the band and began to set up camp among the old wàginogàn that we used every spring and fall. It only took a few small repairs to make them livable. Some of the people would still sleep under their canoes or just by the fires. The spring will do that to the people. Forced to crowd together all winter for warmth, now all they wanted was a bit of solitude at night.

  The family leaders came together to plan the next few days and to make sure there were out guards away from the camp for protection. Mitigomij, of course, took on this job, gathering the young warriors, among them the three Susquehannock youths, Abgarijo, Oneega, and Sischijro.

  “Mahingan,” exclaimed Pangì Shìshìb, “we have a surprise for you and your people in the morning before we spear the ogà.”

  “My friend,” I answered, “I have seen the stones and sticks that are piled in the big clearing. I know what the morning will bring!”

  That evening our friends fed us, and in no time at all the food containers were wiped clean. Everyone’s bellies were bloated from eating too much. As we lazed around the fires and lean-tos, warriors searched in their pouches for nasemà (tobacco) to share. After they lit the pipes, the stories started to flow about winter hardships and successes, deaths, and births.

  That morning I awoke to the loud sound of keck, keck. I opened my eyes and watched what seemed to be an early morning soft snowfall covering the landscape around my head and my beaver blanket.

  I soon realized that it was not snow that was falling on the camp. “Omìmì (pigeon)!” I muttered to myself.

  As I looked up into the early morning sky, the birds blackened the heavens so thoroughly that it seemed like it was still nightfall. They had left their perches to find food for the young ones in the nests. As I looked up, I watched as the hawks and eagles attacked the seemingly endless flock. The raptors dove into the mass and always left with a bird clutched in their talons.