“When you first cut it you have to ream out a couple of places to make it hollow all the way through,” he told her. “Then you can decorate it anyway you like.
“In this bag I have my darts,” he said, removing one of the eight-inch long sticks from his bag. To Alice, the darts looked a lot like the pointy wooden skewers she used to make kabobs on the grill, only each one had a bit of fluff tied onto the end.
“We make the darts from the wood of locust trees because it is very hard and I can make an extra sharp point on it. I tie a piece of cotton on the end for fletching because we have plenty of cotton, but you can use thistle down, too. That’s what they used in the old days.”
“So you just put one of those darts in the tube and blow it at a bird?” Alice asked.
“That’s about it,” Billy said. “Like I said, it takes a little practice, but it’s pretty easy. Sally is getting pretty good at it, so I’m going to help her make her own blowgun and darts. We’ll show you how it works before we go after the birds.”
“Don’t you have to dip the darts in poison or something?” Alice asked.
“No, not usually. Some people boil tobacco leaves to coat the darts, but I just use plain darts.”
He pointed to a birch tree about twenty-five feet away at the edge of the woods, and said, “I’ll put a target on that tree and we can practice.”
He walked to the tree, found a two foot-square piece of the smooth, white bark that the tree had shed, stood it against the base of the tree, and then returned to where the two girls were standing. He put one of the darts into the blowgun until the fluffy white stopper was just past the mouthpiece. He inflated his cheeks with a deep breath, placed the blowgun against his lips, and blew a quick, sharp puff of air into the end of the tube. The dart stuck firmly, going about halfway through the center of the piece of bark.
“Let me try,” said Sally.
She took the blowgun, put in a dart, aimed, and puffed into the end. The dart struck the bark just a few inches from Billy’s shot.
“Your turn,” Sally said, handing the blowgun to Alice.
“Oh, dear. I’ll try,” Alice said tentatively. She took the blowgun and a dart from Billy, placing it into the tube as she was shown. Aiming carefully at the bark, she blew into the tube, only to watch the dart drop from the end not more than two feet away.
“Oh, my,” she said, laughing. “I guess I’m not going to be much of a hunter!”
“When you blow through the tube,” Billy instructed, “be sure to take a deep breath and use lots of air. When you blow, puff sharply to give the dart a good push.” He demonstrated making a sharp puffing action with his mouth, without the blowgun. He retrieved the dart and replaced it into the blowgun for her, and said, “Try again.”
This time Alice inhaled a deep lungful of air and took aim. She sent the dart through the tube with a tremendous puff. The dart struck the bark and continued on, sailing completely through it.
“Good!” said Billy and Sally in unison.
“That was quite a shot,” said Billy. “You must have powerful lungs.”
“Probably from arguing with Sal so much,” she laughed.
They each took a few more shots. Once they were all hitting the target consistently, Billy said they were ready to go hunting. “Enough practice. Now let’s get some birds for our dinner.” They gathered up the darts and headed into the woods. “I know a spot where we will have good cover and usually has many birds,” said Billy.
He led them to a clump of bushes, crawled inside, and used his hunting knife to hack out an area for them to sit. He situated Alice and Sally where they would be well camouflaged, then crouched into a position where he would have a good view of a small clearing in front of the bushes. The low-growing shrubs had been overtaken by wild grape vines, and the huge grape leaves formed a natural hunter’s blind, concealing them from view of any game that might enter the clearing. The corkscrew grapevines hung around them like bouncy green springs, and Alice could smell the moist sweetness of damp earth beneath the dripping vines. Even though it had not rained, the immense leaves collected moisture from the air, keeping their supporting bushes well watered.
“You have to be very still and quiet,” he instructed them.
The three hunters waited silently behind the foliage. Within minutes they heard the distinctive bobwhite call of the quail. Sally grinned and nodded at Alice. She pointed in the direction of the sound and whispered “guque,” which earned her a stern frown from Billy, placing his finger to his lips. Billy returned his attention to the clearing, not seeing Sally scrunch up her face and stick out her tongue in response to the reprimand. Alice gave Sally a wink, turning her frown into a cheerful grin.
They heard the sound of rustling leaves as the quail foraged just beyond the edge of the clearing. The hunters sat stock still, waiting patiently for the birds to enter the clearing. Billy slowly raised the blowgun, pointing its lethal end through the bushes in the direction of the rustling.
Oblivious of the hunters, the covey of quail entered the clearing, pecking at the ground as they foraged. Billy waited, letting the birds become at ease with their exposed position. Alice noticed his lips silently moving as he selected his target, as if he was saying a prayer. He filled his cheeks with air and placed the end of the blowgun into his mouth. He aimed carefully, puffed sharply into the tube, and sent a dart flying toward his target. The dart struck the bird in the center of its chest. Immediately the silence was broken as the quail’s legs collapsed and the bird flapped wildly about, slapping at the ground and raising a cloud of dust. The deafening flutter of wings added to the din as the other birds took flight in a panic.
“You got it!” Sally cried, as the three crashed out of their cover and ran to the clearing.
Billy knelt by the quail, and Alice saw that he once again mumbled a few words before picking up the still twitching bird and gave its head a sharp twist, ending its movements with finality. He dropped the bird, dart and all, into the bag he was carrying.
“That’s one,” he said. “We’ll do better if we move to a different place for the next one. I know of lots of good hunting spots for birds.”
“Billy,” said Alice, “I couldn’t help but notice… It looked like you said something to the quail before you picked it up. And before you shot.”
“Yes, of course,” he answered. “As my father taught me, I say a hunter’s prayer to guide my dart before shooting, and then of course I must apologize to the quail for killing it.”
“You apologize to the quail?”
“Yes, certainly. And I thank him for giving up his life. It is necessary for us to have food, so I explain that to him so he will understand.”
Alice didn’t think the quail was very likely to understand being shot, and would most likely prefer to be left alive. She could tell from Billy’s fervent look that the killing of game was not something he took lightly, and that he considered the prayer to be an important part of his hunting ritual. Her previous hunting experiences had been all about the sport, the challenge of tracking and shooting. Billy’s outlook was more spiritual, and reflective of a culture more closely tied to the earth, one that still remembered to be thankful for the bounty nature provided. It was a realistic attitude toward the harsh actions necessary for all living things to survive.
“Let’s go,” said Sally impatiently. “I want to get my bird next.”
“Remember what I told you about hunting,” said Billy, “and how it is important to be patient. But we do need to get to our next spot and get under cover.”
The trio spent the next few hours hunting. Sally and Billy both bagged a pair of quail, and they insisted that Alice give it a try. After several attempts, she was finally able to accurately place a deadly shot, to score a kill of her own. She was not averse to killing a bird; she had been hunting for both large and small game before.
The uniqueness of the blowgun gave her some difficulty; it took some effort to hit a live, moving target ins
tead of a stationary piece of bark. Once she discovered that aiming took more “feel” than sight she could place the dart accurately. The youngsters applauded her achievement, praising her skill and learning as quickly as she did.
They each bagged an additional quail and now that they had plenty of birds for everyone’s dinner Billy declared that it was time to head for home. Alice was so intensely involved in the hunting she nearly forgot she hadn’t eaten since New Echota. She was looking forward to a meal of wild bobwhite quail and whatever else Catherine was making to go along with them. Catherine had been right to suggest she go hunting; she enjoyed the afternoon with Billy and Sally. Her fury at the encounter with the offensive riffraff in New Echota was beginning to fade.
Once they were back to the farmhouse, Billy handed the bagful of quail to Silvey who made quick work of cleaning them. Alice was still uncomfortable with the idea that this family could accept slavery so readily, but she thought that having a servant, a paid one, would be something she could get used to quite easily. She enjoyed hunting, and loved to prepare meals with wild game, but cleaning dead animals was not a chore she looked forward to. It amused her to imagine herself as the Lady of the Manor—she’d love to be able to go hunting, hand the game to a servant, and have it served to her at a great long table on silver trays. “I’ve been watching too many BBC classics,” she chuckled to herself.
The quail became the main dish of the evening meal, having been roasted on a great spit in the hearth and stuffed with a mixture of cornbread and herbs. As usual, there were also plenty of side dishes of vegetables and other cold meats that Catherine and Silvey had prepared. Benjamin lavished the hunters with praise for their successful outing, promising Billy that he would take him soon for deer or possibly a spring turkey.
As per tradition, they finished up their evening chores and settled down for storytelling. Benjamin said that he would honor the hunters with a special hunting story.
“This story,” Benjamin began, “starts with the bears. Long ago, when men were first starting to invent things like blowguns and bows and arrows, the bears all got together to complain. They didn’t like the fact that the men were inventing these things. ‘They make it too easy for them to kill us,’ they complained to their chief, the great white bear. After some discussion, the bears decided they would learn to use weapons themselves, and one of them made a bow and arrow that they could use to defend themselves against the men.
“When they tried to use the bow and arrow, they found that their long claws got in the way. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t make the arrow go straight. One of the bears trimmed off his claws and tried again, and this time the arrow flew straight and true. ‘We just have to all cut off our claws,’ they decided. But the chief bear told them that they couldn’t do that, because they depended on their claws to fight and kill the other animals, and they would starve if they didn’t have claws anymore. They never did come up with a solution, so they just gave up and went home. If they had not given up, we would be at war with the bears. But since they did, a hunter can kill a bear without even needing to ask his forgiveness.
“Next, it was the deer who met, having the same grievance. ‘Too many of us are being killed by the men without any thought given to our sacrifice,’ they complained. The chief of the deer was called the Little Deer. He told them that what he would do is every time a deer was killed, he would run to the spot and ask the deer’s spirit if the hunter had asked the deer’s pardon. If he had, all would be well. If not, the spirit of Little Deer would follow the hunter, and when he caught up with him he would strike him down with a crippling disease, like rheumatism. That’s why it is important for a hunter to apologize to a deer whenever he kills one. If he forgets, or wants to make extra sure the Little Deer spirit doesn’t follow, he must stop and build several small fires in his path along the way home.
“The other animals liked this idea, so they all started coming up with their own diseases to inflict man with. Each animal named one, and soon there were so many new diseases that men might not have been able to survive if it was not for the plants, who were good friends with man. They decided that each one of them could be used as a cure for each disease the animals came up with. There are a lot of cures, and men don’t know them all, so sometimes the doctors have to communicate with the spirit of the plants to determine which plant cures which disease.”
Everyone, except Alice, had heard this story many times. No matter, they all enjoyed hearing it as often as someone was willing to do the telling. Alice especially enjoyed the part about the plants, and it led to a discussion about the various types of plants in the area and how they were used. She recalled how plants played a part at the very beginning of this adventure, remembering the poultice John Carter had made for his horse, and that his reason for being in the tiny valley was to gather those plants. Most of Alice’s interest in botany was in their use as a food source, but she was also intrigued by their many medicinal properties. She had once volunteered her time to a botanical exploration group whose focus was on discovering new plant species in the world’s rain forests. She had done some reading about the many plants, some still yet unknown, that had a possibility of use for cures of disease. She hadn’t given much thought to the medicinal plants in the forests of her own country. She asked her hosts if there were many types of medicinal plants in the woods nearby.
“Yes, there are many,” said Benjamin. “One of the most in demand is Ginseng, which grows up high on steep mountainsides. We call it the ‘little man’ because the root looks like a little old man. In the old days, it was only permitted to take every seventh plant, which meant you had to find at least seven to take one. Since the plant is scarce, that would assure there was always some available for the next person. But ginseng has become a much sought after herb, and now people take all they can find.”
“Snakeroot is another that is collected,” said Catherine. “We use it to treat snakebites and fevers, among other things. Also, orangeroot, or what you may call goldenseal, is a very important herb that can be found nearby. John probably used some Orangeroot in his horse’s poultice, as it can help reduce swelling. Goldenseal can also be used to treat cancer.”
“I think I’ve heard of people using goldenseal as a cancer cure, but medical research has determined that it doesn’t really work,” said Alice.
“That will be a disappointment to the people who have been cured by it,” Catherine said with a sly smile.
“Some of the other medicinal plants are black cohosh, cone-flower, may-apple, boneset, pinkroot, and witch-hazel,” Catherine continued. “We use partridge moccasin to treat worms, and milkweed juice to treat sores on our children’s heads. Catgut will strengthen your hair and skin. The ballplayers use that to toughen up their skin before playing.”
“If you are very interested,” said Benjamin, “a good person to speak with is Rebecca Deerinwater, Jimmy’s wife. Adam is visiting with them. Rebecca is Ani-Sahoni, Blue Holly clan, and has a lot of experience with making medicine from herbs and grows many of her own for that purpose. Her clan is well-known for their expertise at that.”
“I think that would be very interesting, Benjamin. I’d love to meet her, and hope I get the opportunity,” Alice said.
Sally and Billy had sat listening quietly to the discussion of medicinal plants, but Sally clearly had something else on her mind. “Will you tell us the story of Basil, The Builder Beaver again, Alice?” she pleaded. “I love that story.”
“Yes, of course I will, if that’s what everyone wants,” she said, looking around the room at the others.
“Please,” said Billy. “I liked it also.”
“We would all enjoy hearing it again,” said Benjamin.
Alice proceeded to tell the story again, using all the characterizations and sound effects that she used before, except this time the rest of the family joined in, each picking an animal from the story to imitate. By the time she finished, everyone was exhausted from the
storytelling and laughter.
Benjamin yawned and stretched, and Catherine declared that bedtime had arrived. Sleep came easily for them all.
Chapter thirty-three
Alice was awakened from a sound sleep by the aroma of cooking food. Jumping from bed, she quickly readied herself and headed to the kitchen, where Catherine, Silvey, and Sally were busily executing the morning kitchen chores. “Osda sunalei,” they said, greeting her with bright smiles.
“Oh, good morning. I didn’t mean to sleep late,” she said. “You should have wakened me.”
“I thought you could use some extra rest after your long day yesterday,” said Catherine, “but don’t worry, there’s always plenty to do! Benjamin and Billy have already eaten and gone to tend to the horses. We’ll join them in the fields later.”
Silvey set a place for her at the table with a huge plate of eggs and sausage, steaming coffee, bread, and a number of bowls with a variety of side dishes. Alice’s healthy appetite usually didn’t kick in until later in the day, and she normally did not eat more than a quick snack in the morning. This morning, however, she was ravenous, her appetite stimulated by all the fresh air and exercise she had been getting. She attacked the meal like a starved wolf with a fresh kill. She downed the strong, hot coffee with the same vigor, and the caffeine cleared away her remaining drowsiness.
While Alice finished her meal, Catherine began listing the chores for the day, mostly for Alice’s benefit, since much of it was routine for the others. There were the normal kitchen and household chores, along with livestock to feed, milking to do, buckets of water to fetch, firewood to stack, the kraut-barrel to see to—a seemingly endless list of routine chores—all before they got out to the fields. Catherine’s plan was to complete these chores, prepare a mid-day meal to bring to the men, and then spend the afternoon helping them to clear a neglected field of brush. It would be a typically full day on the Rogers’ farm and Alice needed no prompting to get started. She may have been less enthusiastic if this was her normal routine, but for now she was enjoying the change of pace. The sedentary routine of her regular job required her to fit in exercise during her leisure time. The physical labor required for this lifestyle was hard, but it was a wholesome feeling. Life on the Rogers’ farm was basic. The work was tough and the pleasures were simple. There were problems to be dealt with, but most were the kind of problems people could solve using their own labor and ingenuity. The way things should be, she thought. The way they were before the daily mundane chores had been replaced by the complexities of modern life. Sure, she appreciated the advantages of modern conveniences; she wasn’t so childish as to suggest technology should be abandoned. Rather she felt it was beneficial for her to temporarily do without, making her appreciate them all the more.
Timecachers Page 28