When Blue Feather was asleep in his mother’s arms, Grass Child moved beside Water Woman, who loosened her tight wrist bindings. She loosened the bindings on Moon Woman so she could help Small Man and Something Good eat more of the warm, sweet yellow seeds.
Grass Child wondered at the seeds. They were so good, so different from the parched corn used by the men on the trail. Soon her stomach felt full, nearly bursting. All the women ate the yellow seeds and remarked at their goodness.
“The People should have these,” said Fish Woman, her mouth full. “They would taste fine with the wind howling outside the tepee.”
Suddenly Grass Child felt as though she were being swallowed by her own stomach. Her hands and face were cold and clammy. The tightness at the pit of her stomach grew to a swollen ball that suffocated her. She was afraid to open her mouth for fear her insides would break apart. She could think only one thought: Nothing could be the same. The Agaidükas had lost their great chief. Grass Child could not say the name of her mother or father aloud to anyone. She was now no one. The captors did not know she was the daughter of a great chief; they did not even know her name.
Suddenly, involuntarily, her mouth flew open and she heaved. The half-chewed yellow seeds lay sour onthe ground. As the heaving subsided, she felt anger and fear of these kidnappers who spoke words that made little sense. She crawled to the other side of her group. Water Woman clicked her tongue and impassively pushed dirt and pebbles over the fermenting discharge, all the while holding her breath.
Grass Child’s sadness returned, but it was mixed with the pride of being Shoshoni. She vowed to conduct herself in a manner befitting the daughter of a great Agaidüka chief.
Grass Child raised her loosely manacled wrists and dropped her arms around little Blue Feather and hugged him. Then she leaned toward Drummer and gently nudged him with her chin and nose. His eyes opened wide, and he smiled when he saw it was Grass Child.
In the cold darkness a guard forced the Agaidükas to their feet and led them beside the great council fire. The warmth slowly edged through their stiff bodies.
Directly in front of the huge fire sat the chief sachem, titular head of all the Minnetarees, and his family. He was very old, his face as wrinkled as a dried apple, his graying hair piled in a spiral on his head. The Minnetaree women chanted one word, “Omsehara, Omsehara.”
Moon Woman whispered, “That is Black Moccasin. He is chief of all the Minnetarees. His word is law. People jump when he speaks. Not like the People, who can rule themselves. These people have someone tell them when to plant seeds, when to hunt, when to sing. This chief makes a fence around his people.”
Swaying to the chant, Black Moccasin stood. He spoke slowly so that all his people might hear and understand. His voice was strong and confident. It came from deep within his chest, and it seemed that he was kept alive by his heart that refused to grow old. He spoke two names. Moon Woman again whispered, “They are warriors who did not return from the hunt. They were killed in the Agaidüka raid.”
The women of the two warriors immediately mourned them in high, shrieking cries that could be heard throughout the entire village. The warriors’ names would not be mentioned again by anyone, since it was also taboo for the Minnetarees to speak of those announced dead. Yet their women and families might mourn them for many years.
Black Moccasin then brought his people good news. There were many new, beautiful horses in their herd. The fine horses of the Agaidüka Shoshonis. And besides that, there were four Agaidüka boys to replace the two warriors. There were five women; he showed them by holding up the fingers of his right hand. In time, these women might be taken by men of the People of the Willows and bring good warriors into the tribe.
Moon Woman whispered her translation as best as she could remember the language. Water Woman kept shaking her head up and down to indicate she understood perfectly well what he was saying if Moon Woman would keep up her explanations.
The Minnetarees shouted their full agreement with their tribal leader with “Ai!”
The fire showed in his face as old Black Moccasin called out the names of those who would care for the little Agaidüka boys. His choice was made carefully. He gave Something Good to a couple who had lost two boys with winter sickness. Something Good held his little back straight and his chin high, just as Grass Child had told him, when his new family came to take him to their lodge. Little Man clutched tightly to Moon Woman’s fingers as he was pointed to by the old chief. A middle-aged warrior with many scars running down his neck grabbed Little Man by the arms and swung him high for the crowd to see. Finally he had a son. Before this there were only girls in his lodge.
Suddenly the chief pointed to Drummer. Water Woman whispered something to her elder son and pushed him toward the old man. The boy did not whimper, but held his face straight and fixed his eyes on the old man. Back at the center fire, with Drummer at his side, the chief began a speech.
“Speak up. What is he saying?” asked Water Woman.
“I cannot be sure. I think he wants Drummer for himself,” answered Moon Woman.
“Why would he want a papoose like mine? Should I claw his eyes out?”
“Be still. If your mouth keeps barking, I cannot hear
what he is saying. I think he wants vour other son,
also.”
“You do not tell it straight! He cannot want two babies. You are a wart-faced toad!” Water Woman was beside herself with fear of the unknown thing to happen to her babies.
Slowly, Drummer was walking back to the prisoners. The crowd became silent. The boy put his hand on his little brother and pulled him to his feet; then, part dragging him, part toddling, he brought him also beside the chief. The four Agaidüka women huddled together in fear of what was to come next. Grass Child could not control her shivering.
Black Moccasin called out a name. The people became alert, and every eye was on the young woman who stood beside the chief, cradling little Blue Feather in her arms.
“That is the same vulture that had the boy in her arms earlier,” hissed Pine Woman.
“Shut your mouth,” snapped Moon Woman. “I want to hear what they say.”
The chief had moved to one side so that all the people could see the young woman with the baby in her arms. A deep “Ooooooo” went through the crowd. They approved. The woman held the child up for all to see that she now had a son of her own. Two sons of her own. She pushed Drummer in front of her. Her face reflected her joy.
“That is the old chiefs youngest and favorite wife,” translated Moon Woman. “Her name is Sunflower. It is known that he is beyond the age of giving life to children. It would be considered a great shame upon this chief if any of his wives bore a child fathered by anyone but himself. But these people recognize it as a great thing if an old man and his young wife adopt a child, two children.”
Water Woman sobbed quietly, her arms around Grass Child. Pine Woman and Fish Woman sat with their heads bowed, moaning softly.
“The young wife is whispering something to her husband,” said Moon Woman with surprise. “I cannot remember that women are allowed so much freedom here. She does not have good manners at all. The chief issmiling at what she has said and nodding his head. You don’t suppose he takes orders from her? Pagh, what a weak old man. Not really fit to be chief, I’d say.” Then Moon Woman stopped. She stood on her tiptoes. “It is strange,” she continued. “The people around the chief look displeased at something. Not at what the woman said, but at something the chief said.”
Soon all the Minnetarees were chanting, “Eeeech, eeeech, aaaagch,” in disapproval.
“What is he saying now?” ventured Grass Child.
“He is explaining that he does not need another woman as long as he has the young one, Sunflower, and his other women to keep his lodge neat and cook his meals. He is shaking his head no. He is glaring at the young woman, Sunflower. He says his word is law and final in this matter.”
“That’s how it should be
,” snorted Pine Woman.
“Wait,” continued Moon Woman. “He raises his hand for silence. The woman called Sunflower is smiling; she holds Blue Feather gently so he can see the chief. The chief is now holding Blue Feather.”
“That’s enough to make that baby cry,” sniffed Fish Woman.
“He cradles the baby and sways to and fro. He is talking. He says he wants a woman. No, it is not he, but the baby who needs a woman. His woman, Sunflower, is not able to nurse her new baby, and so in order to please this Sunflower and his new son, he wants to take in his tepee the mother of the baby.”
“Me be one of his women!” Water Woman stood up. “Oh, no! I’d rather have death.”
A warrior motioned for Water Woman to follow him to the chief. She went, cowed. Not another word was heard from her lips as she stood beside the chief, her face still as stone.
The young wife, Sunflower, smiled as she placed Blue Feather in Water Woman’s arms and pushed Drummer close beside his own mother.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
“She is to be a slave in his household, taking care of all the children,” said Moon Woman. “I think she will soon find her darkest moment to be her brightest.”
Another cheer went up from the crowd. They couldunderstand that. A slave to take care of the children. Yes, their chief had good use for that now.
“A slave!” sobbed Pine Woman. “How horrible!”
“Wonderful,” said Moon Woman, with tears spilling down her cheeks. “She will not mind being a slave when she can raise her own children. Her work has just begun. These people do not like to see young children separated from their mother. A child needs his own mother’s milk to make him strong.” Quickly she wiped her face dry with her fingers and stared stoically into the flames.
“Their own mother to care for them,” Grass Child repeated.
CHAPTER
4
Bird Woman
The five river villages, two Mandan, two Minnetaree (Hidatsa), and one Wetersoon (Amahami) at the head of the Missouri River used a round boat, built like a tub, of raw hide stretched under a frame of willow. Women carried the boats on their head from the lodge or storage place to the water and back again. They stood in front and propelled the tub by dipping a paddle forward and drawing it to them instead of paddling by the side.
This is exactly the technique employed by the men in Wales today who use a small round boat, called a coracle, made in the same manner, for fishing. The paddle made by the American Indians of the river villages had a claw at the top of its loom, which was identical with the type of paddle used on the River Teifi in Wales today.
With this sort of navigation, both men and women of the upper Missouri were very expert. In summer they killed buffalo, made round boats of the hide, put the meat inside and paddled their boats home. Fifty, sixty, or a hundred tubs could be seen, all loaded, each manned by a single paddler, plying its way, even in a high wind, against the rapid, dangerous current of the Missouri.
RICHARD DEACON, Madoc and the Discovery of America. New York: George Braziller, 1966, pp. 224-26.
It was evening in the Minnetaree big Hidatsa village. Moon Woman, Pine Woman, and Fish Woman had each stood before the old chief and then been led off to an empty lodge that had once belonged to a family that had all died of dysentery. The women had not been given to any specific family, but would serve as general servants to the entire village. They would remain this way for the rest of their lives unless traded to another tribe or chosen by a brave to take a place among the other women in his lodge and become like them, no better, no worse.
Grass Child’s pinched, worried face had lost its scowl. She was more relaxed. Surely her fate would be the same as the women’s, a general slave in the big Hidatsa village. That could be endured. So, to make certain the nearsighted chief thought she was truly a woman, the child grabbed handfuls of dried grass and turned from the firelight to stuff the wads down the front of her loose-fitting tunic. It was her turn to approach the ceremonial fire.
The old chief shifted his feet and stared with his near-sightless eyes from his great moon-shaped face, all furrowed with folds of dry skin. The chief’ 8 hands were energetic as he called for one of his braves. Grass Child was startled to see Buzzard Beak step forward. He proudly held his flintlock and lance above hie head. Grass Child tried not to look at the neat black braid that swung in the firelight from the stock of the flintlock with two other tiny tufts of shiny black hair. The story of the raid was retold. The crowd listened with a kind of quiet frenzy. Their eyes flashed and their fists clenched as Buzzard Beak relived the battle again.
As another bronzed brave took up the story. Buzzard Beak moved away; and someone pushed Grass Child forward, so that she stood facing the old chief. The bronzed brave pushed up his flintlock for all to see the scalp lock dangling at the butt. A red feather was twisted in the long hair. Only one man that Grass Child knew had worn such a red feather in that twisted manner—
Chief No Retreat. She felt her insides rise to her throat, and the darkness enveloped her.
The young squaw, Sunflower, lifted her up and tried to comfort her. At that moment there was no one who could offer comfort. A large hole had been torn inside Grass Child. Was anyone left of her blanket? Had her two brothers and older sister shared the same fate?
Buzzard Beak grabbed at Grass Child’s shoulders and spoke sharply to her. She shivered uncontrollably: urine slid unchecked down her legs. Seeing her father’s scalp lock had been too much: her head swam. Chief Black Moccasin beckoned, and she regained some composure. She remembered the grass wads inside her tunic and held her chest out tight against them. “I am woman of the Agaidüka,” Grass Child said in Shoshoni, fighting down her fear, trying to keep her voice relaxed and even.
“Umph,” said the chief as his hands began their slow descent over her skinny body, over her chest. Her heart skipped, but the grass did not slip. It was almost over, she thought. Now they would take her to the lodge. Chief Black Moccasin was making an announcement to the crowd and they were yelling in approval. Grass Child began to understand. She was not to go with the other captives. She was to be a gift from the old chief to one of his honored warriors, Buzzard Beak.
The chief began to pass Grass Child over to Buzzard Beak, then stopped and gave her a fast, sharp slap in the belly. Her stomach and chest caved. She vomited the meat and corn she had eaten earlier in front of her feet, spattering the wads of grass that fell from her tunic. After retching, she hung her head in shame.
The old chief smiled, and the folds of flesh around his chin quivered. His laugh was deep and hearty. Buzzard Beak whooped and jumped up and down. The Hi-datsas slapped each other on the back and guffawed. It was a great joke. She was now fully accepted as a member of the Minnetaree tribe, of the big Hidatsa village, of the People of the Willows.
It was smoky in Buzzard Beak’s lodge. He pulled his horse inside first, then came back and led Grass Child past the horse that stood in the narrow entry passage, about the length of two grown men. She was shivering, although the round earth lodge was overheated. A sharp gust of wind blew smoke back down the smoke hole. Her eyes stung. She could no longer stand on her shaky legs, so she fell onto the dirt floor. She was aware that her hair was matted with dirt and sweat. Her body was covered with scars, scabs, and half-healed welts from the quirt lashings. Her tunic and body smelled strongly of urine. She was feverish and thirsty. She was unable to focus her eyes on the people moving in and out of the faint light of the fire.
In the morning she was awakened by shouting. It was one of Buzzard Beak’s women, called Talking Goose, a short woman with fat legs, a fine cook, but possessed of a tongue that made everyone quake. She was stirring the fire with a peeled willow stick and yelling for the other woman Buzzard Beak supported, Antelope, to put on the iron pot of stew. Antelope, the younger woman, good to look at, skilled with her hands, sat on the dirt beside Grass Child. Her cool hand was on the child’s feverish cheeks.
/> Slowly Grass Child looked around the lodge at the curtained compartments against the walls of the big room. These were for sleeping. On pegs were finely tanned and decorated skin garments, weapons of war and hunting, and a medicine bag. On posts fixed in the ground in the small space between two sleeping compartments was an elaborate headdress made from the woolly black head and horns of a buffalo. Grass Child did not know the significance of all the things she saw. Drowsily, she felt a huge curiosity about her captors. Antelope dipped her fingers in a nearby clay pot of water and wiped them across Grass Child’s parched lips, cheeks, and forehead.
Grass Child awakened suddenly from a sharp slap on her bottom. She cringed, blinking her eyes. The sky was blue, and the sun shone through the smoke hole. Catches Two—the tribe called Buzzard Beak by the name of Catches Two because he had two women— pulled her from the sleeping compartment and pushed his flintlock against her chest. Grass Child wondered if he were going to shoot her, but her body did not stiffen in fear; she could not muster up any emotion so strong.
She wished he would shoot quickly; she was so tired; her legs ached and folded involuntarily. Catches Two lowered the gun, chuckled, and kicked Grass Child so that she lay sprawled on the dirt floor. She was curious about him but unable to move or ask what he planned for her. Exhaustion was overpowering, and she was beyond doing. Catches Two placed the charge in the barrel. Grass Child watched steadily as he poured powder into the muzzle, dropped a lead ball in, and forced even more powder down with a ramrod. He grunted and put the cold barrel against Grass Child’s hot forehead and fingered the trigger. Her eyes closed and she thought of cool spring water. The trigger snapped. The cock, pushed by a spring, moved forward in a tiny arc. The flint, held fast in the cock, glanced against the blue steel, and a shower of sparks dropped into the priming pan. But there was insufficient priming powder and the flash did not penetrate to the powder in the barrel. The gun did not fire, and Catches Two tossed the weapon aside disgustedly.
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