by Rick Revelle
Many a time I have watched these omìmì blacken the sky for days as they flew by during migration. This flock was nesting nearby, and there would be as many as the insects on the ground. When the birds hatched and before they left the nest, our people would take blunt arrows to shoot into the bottom of the nest and knock the birds out onto the ground. Other times we would cut long saplings and poke the nests from their perches. Their roosts would have from twenty to fifty nests in each tree. Their diet consisted of mostly nuts, acorns, beechnuts, and chestnuts. In the summer they foraged on berries, worms, caterpillars, and snails. The young nestlings were good eating. Today, though, we would go after the adults.
Everyone rushed to the piles of rocks and sticks. The birds were flying very low and each person snatched something from the pile to hurl into the air. Birds immediately started falling. The young children raced around, gathering the fallen stones and sticks, putting them in piles within reach of the adults. During this time, if the child came across a fluttering bird on the ground, he would snap its neck to put it out of its misery. There were so many of these birds that all morning we threw at them until our arms tired.
The women and children spent the rest of the day pulling feathers from the birds, cutting them into strips and hanging them to dry. After two or three days, they would pack the dried meat in birch bark containers, along with dry grass for storage. The women saved the fat from the birds to mix with berries later in the summer.
Minoweziwin told me that the birds had been nesting now for almost three weeks and that the young fledglings would soon be big enough to go after once our families were finished at the falls.
While the preparation of the omìmì continued, the men started searching for straight saplings that we could cut and make into fishing spears. The bones of the deer that had been slain recently would now be used to make spear ends. The older boys took on the task of barbing the bones and cutting strips of the deer hide to use to help fasten the finished bone onto the saplings the men brought in. Once the men had gathered enough spear shafts, we sat down and notched the ends for the barbed bone. Sliding the bone into the notch, we heated up some pine gum using just enough to be able to fill the gaps around the bone. As the gum started to harden, we took wetted strips of deerskin and wrapped them around the end of the spear. We tied the skin on as tight as we could and then, once it dried, it would tighten even more.
While the men toiled at making spears, the women were working on the fishing nets. During the running of the fish, our people would go out onto the rivers and drop nets, spearing the fish from the canoes and from along the shore. The job of the small boys walking the shoreline was to gather the fish speared from land and take them to the women and girls to clean, dry, and smoke. The boys also made sure there was enough wood for the smoking fires. The men spearing and netting from the canoes used birch bark containers to store the fish until they came back to shore, where they would take the catch to the women.
We worked all that afternoon until dark. More family units would be coming to the camp in the next few days for the running of the pickerel at the falls. When they arrived, we would have enough spears made for everyone and then the harvesting would start. The Flower Moon would bring up the water temperature, signalling the fish that it was now time to run the rapids and proceed to their spawning beds.
Tonight we would feast on omìmì roasted over the fires, our bellies full again for a second evening. It was so different from when we suffered through the Wolf and Snow Moons of the winter, eating maybe every second day if we were lucky. The spring weather led to the Algonquin families coming together, along with new life sprouting from the ground, rivers, skies, and the emergence of baby animals. When the family units converged, there was always the sound of babies laughing and crying, new life as well for our people. The winter moons, though, took our old and weak, some from the lack of food, others from accidents or in some cases our enemies. The cold, icy fingers of Kitchi Manitou would take others when they were not careful on the hunt.
Spring, though, always brought promise along with the renewal of the land. With a bit of luck our numbers would have grown from the previous fall, with the newborns outnumbering deaths from the past winter. Our allies to the west, the Ouendat, and our enemies to the south, the Haudenosaunee, had the climate, the land, and the ability to grow their own food, a gift from Kitchi Manitou. My people only survived by hunting, gathering, and trading for food. Our friends the Ouendat lived in large villages and there was a constant strain on them to feed all their people. Fields of corn, squash, and beans surround their villages. Even though there was protection in numbers, I sometimes thought that our way of life was much more relaxed. We did not have the constant worry for rain to provide moisture to grow the three sisters. Digging in the soil with pointed sticks to plant seeds, then making sure the weeds do not take over, and the hungry animals do not devour the plants once they start to sprout, was not the Omàmiwinini way.
The Omàmiwinini were happy to hunt, gather, trade, and war. This tilling of the soil looked like too much time and bother. Our women were very successful at gathering berries, fruit, and roots to eat. We could live off the land. Forcing the earth to provide seems unreasonable. Our brothers to the west liked to trade for our furs, and we were happy to receive their corn, beans, and squash in return. Even though the winter season shrunk our bellies, our lives were still good. Our people did not grow as tall and heavy as our brothers the Ouendat, but our warriors were just as fierce and our skills as fine as all others and superior in most ways. We knew how to endure and were able to work with what the Great Spirit had given us!
Mitigomij approached and said, “Brother, the fish will come tomorrow once the sun has reached the midday sky.”
I nodded. The time was nearing for me to tell him I knew of his abilities and magic. I would require his warrior skills and the power of the big cat for what I had planned in the coming days.
That night during my sleep, a dream came to me. In it was my wife Wàbananang holding out her hands to me. As I looked at her, a young girl walked from the bright light that shone on my wife.
“This is Pangì Mahingan, your daughter,” a voice said.
Then the light dimmed and Wàbananang’s final words as she disappeared into the darkness were, “We will find you when you come for us.”
I awoke to the sounds of new voices in camp. Most of our immediate family units had arrived. My head, though, was still full of the dream. Now I had a vision to support what I was planning. A good omen to lead me to my wife and child. I would need warriors to follow me! The call would go out for volunteers after the spring fishing was over. For the Omàmiwinini warriors, taking up the war club and accompanying me would be their decision and no one else’s.
First things first — the fish were running.
17
THE WARRIOR THEY CALL CRAZY CROW
Glooscap
When we left, Migjigi and his people had promised to care for the two women and the three children who survived the massacre. His group made up a carrier with two poles and a moose skin stretched between them. Here they laid Ta’s’ji’jg. Migjigi’s warriors took turns pulling it on the trail. One of the women walked beside Ta’s’ji’jg to tend to his needs.
E’s, Jilte’g, Matues, Apistanéwj, Elue’wiet Ga’qaquis (Crazy Crow), the two big dogs and I, Glooscap, struck out after the raiders.
Jilte’g and I walked side by side. E’s had taken Tepgig and was leading the small column. Crazy Crow guarded the rear. The others were following behind us.
“Jilte’g,” I said, “tell me about this warrior you call Elue’wiet Ga’qaquis!”
“Crazy Crow,” he replied. “Now there is a great warrior and his story I will tell you to pass this time today.
Crazy Crow’s Story
Our people found him when he was very small. This was maybe twenty-five summers ago. A group of our people had been hunting near the river that the Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) called Wo
lastoq (Beautiful River in the Maliseet language, now known as the St. John River). The Mi’kmaq group was throwing fish nets from the shore when they noticed what looked like an empty canoe coming down the river, carried by the current. On the bow sat a big black ga’qaquis (crow). The crow acted as if he was guarding something. One of our warriors who was a strong swimmer grasped the opportunity to obtain a valuable boat to help with our nets. He swam out and pushed the boat back to shore. The crow never moved. Two of his fellow warriors grabbed the bow of the canoe and pulled it up on the shoreline. One of the men looked into the vessel and said, “A baby!” Everyone ran over to the canoe and looked in. Nukumi, who had travelled with the hunting party that day, grabbed the baby and lifted it out of the boat; as she did this the crow flew off and sat in a tree.
“The little one is a boy,” she said.
Nukumi kept the child fed during the rest of the hunting trip and took him to her lodge. We thought that maybe he was from either the Pestomuhkati (translates as “pollock-spearer,” also known as the Passamaquoddy tribe of Maine and New Brunswick) or Wolastoqiyik Nations, but no one ever found out or cared. Always, though, he had a crow around him, on his shoulder, following him on the ground, or sitting in a tree watching over him. Nukumi named him Ga’qaquis.
As a young child, Ga’qaquis was able to supply the home pot with rabbits, squirrel, and other small animals. When he was only nine summers, he killed his first deer, gutting it and bringing it back to the village by himself over the course of three days, not wanting any help.
By the time he was fourteen summers old, he had developed into a strong warrior and hunter, taller than the rest of the boys his age. He made friends easily but seemed more comfortable when he was on his own. Ga’qaquis would disappear for days on end, coming back with either game slung over his shoulder or a scalp hanging from his belt. He made a staff that doubled as a spear. On this staff, every time he slew an enemy, he embedded a bear or cougar tooth into the stick. It soon became a formidable weapon. Just looking at it would make you shiver. Beside his bow, arrows, and knives he had made an unusual weapon. He had taken a couple of stone plummets off one of our nets that we used for fishing. Taking a length of woven rope about three feet long, he tied the plummets at each end. Now the boy we called Crow had a weapon that he would twirl around his head and throw at the feet of an escaping deer, rabbit, or other small game, bringing them down, which enabled him to slay the animal without any further pursuit through the forest. He was also quite adept at using these stones to bring down fleeing enemies.
During the summer of his fourteenth year, Crow slew his first tia’m. After the feast, one of the elders stood up and said, “Your warrior name now will be Elue’wiet Ga’qaquis (Crazy Crow). I have decided on this name for you because nothing stops you from obtaining what you have set out to do. You seem like a man possessed at times with a spirit, there is always a crow near you, and only a crazy man would befriend a crow. Our people think that at times you are crazy. It is a good crazy! Our people are proud that you are a Mi’kmaq and our Elue’wiet Ga’qaquis!”
For the next three days the people feasted and danced. They knew that there was a future warrior among them.
After he received his warrior name, he took a sharp bone and had a fellow warrior carve lightning blots into his forehead and on each side of his face. Crazy Crow then took charcoal from a dead fire pit and rubbed it into his wounds. That was how he tattooed his face.
As he grew, Crazy Crow always was the first to volunteer for any hunting or raiding party, continually the first in battle. The Haudenosaunee and our other enemies grew to fear the warrior with the topknot and the toothed club with the spear point. He was easy to pick out in battle because he was always in the centre of the melee.
How he lost his eye is a story that all Mi’kmaq people know and tell. Crazy Crow and two other warriors were hunting one fall. By this time he was a feared warrior, strong, tall, and ruthless in battle. A leader among our people! The three hunters had just slain a tia’m far from our village.
As they were cutting the animal up to transport back, a small raiding party of nine Haudenosaunee who were also far from their homes surprised them. In the ensuing clash, one of the Mi’kmaq warriors died. The other was knocked senseless and captured, leaving Crazy Crow to fight alone. Crazy Crow stood his ground. Unable to use his bow, he grasped the big staff covered with animal teeth. His first victim he impaled on the spear end of his weapon, pulling the point from the enemy warrior’s body as he turned to meet another adversary rushing him. Catching the man behind the legs with the staff, he took the feet out from under him, flipping him on his back. Dropping to his knees, Crazy Crow reached for the knife strapped to his leg and jammed it into the Haudenosaunee’s heart. His body now spattered with blood, he rose to meet the third attacker, swinging his staff and catching the man full in the face with the lethal animal fangs. The force of the blow broke the attacker’s neck and he crumbled into a quivering ball at the Mi’Kmaq warrior’s feet. At that moment, the force of an arrow that entered his left cheek and exited his eye stunned Crazy Crow. While he grabbed the shaft and pulled it from his eye socket, four warriors tackled and brought him to the ground.
The Haudenosaunee warriors knew whom they had captured and quickly made a small fire. They did not want this man to die; this enemy was a true prize who would suffer for days before burning at the stake. Heating a pointed stick from the fire, they used it to close the wound on Crazy Crow’s face. Crazy Crow’s surviving companion, upon regaining consciousness, could smell the burning flesh from their captors cauterizing the wound. Not a word escaped from the lips of Crazy Crow.
Usually the Haudenosaunee use their teeth to pull out captives’ fingernails and then force their hands into a bed of coals. This action stopped the bleeding and prevented infection. They pulled the nails from their captives to prevent them from untying their bindings during the night. Either the Haudenosaunee overlooked this because of a lack of time or they had other things on their minds. They seemed too consumed by cutting off the fingers and ears of the dead Mi’kmaq warrior. After finishing with him, they dug graves for their three fallen warriors. They placed them in the sitting position, laying the dead men’s weapons and some food alongside them for their journey to the afterlife. They laid rocks on the graves to keep the wild animals from digging them up. The Mi’kmaq warrior they left for the wild beasts.
Crazy Crow’s friend had suffered a broken wrist during the battle. The enemy splinted his wrist and then tied both his and Crazy Crow’s hands behind their backs and a noosed rope around their necks to be led on the run to the Haudenosaunees’ homes. There they would have unmentionable tortures inflicted on them until they died. Crazy Crow and his companion knew this, and they would have done the same to the Haudenosaunee warriors if their circumstances were reversed. Their foes did not want them to die or lose strength before they administered the pain and suffering in their village. The longer they could make their captives suffer, the more enjoyment it would bring to the Haudenosaunee people. For Crazy Crow and his friend, not crying out during the ordeal would prove their bravery and strength. It was all a macabre game.
Once at the village, the mothers and wives of the men killed in the battle would have the final decision about their fate.
They ran through the forest for two days, rarely stopping during daylight for food or water. At night they tied up the two captives and then trussed them to a tree. The Haudenosaunee covered their own bodies with grease to ward off the insects. The captives, though, suffered the continuous swarms of insects that devoured them while they were bound. Death surely would be more desirable than this.
On the morning of the third day, they reached the village. One of the warriors had run ahead to announce their arrival. As they dragged the captives through the community, women and children threw stones at them. The dead men’s wives, mothers, and sisters were crying and hitting the two of them with sticks.
When they rea
ched the end of the rows of longhouses, they looked back and saw the people lining up for the gauntlet. Crazy Crow’s companion started to sing his death song. The enemy looked at Crazy Crow for his reaction. He remained silent for a long time, then “AWK, AWK, AWK!” He sounded the crows’ distress call. Soon the trees filled with crows.
The people of the village looked up in astonishment at the gathering spectacle.
Crazy Crow and his friend had food and water given to them as they stood awaiting the coming nightmare.
Crazy Crow knew they would not die in the gauntlet; their deaths would not come that easy. Their ending would be to suffer and die in the fires. Even there he knew the Haudenosaunee would keep them alive as long as possible to test their bravery. At the end, if they were considered strong and brave warriors, the Haudenosaunee would cut their hearts from their ravaged bodies and eat them.
They stripped their captives’ bodies and painted them black. Now Crazy Crow knew for sure death was in store for them. The dead warrior’s female relatives had made the decision. Painting them red destined them to captivity and spared their lives. Even half red and half black meant there was a chance of survival.
They picked Crazy Crow’s friend to go first. A large warrior at the start of the line had a club made from a huge tree knot and hit the Mi’kmaq runner square in the stomach, causing the wind to explode from his mouth, staggering him but not dropping him. As he stumbled forward, sticks, stones, clubs, and bare fists rained down on him. Warriors turned their spears around and jabbed him in the ribs, causing immense discomfort. After much torment, bloodied and dazed from a gash on his forehead, he reached the end, where two warriors grabbed and held him up to watch Crazy Crow’s suffering.