“Both of our blessed children, out on their own, at once?” she managed to sniffle. They had never conceived again after the birth of the twins. Willow Plume feared her womb had been damaged by the trauma of the birth and the severity of her blood loss.
“Every Minsi warrior must venture out on his own to reach true manhood,” Running Wolf consoled, stroking his wife’s light hair. It was the unusual color of cornsilks in mid-summer. “And sometimes, certain females must find a new way as well,” he added gently, thumbing her beneath the chin, reminding her of her many solitary adventures.
“I can think of no safer way for her to travel than with her brother and Father Allouez, as well as Chogan and White Lynx,” he added.
Jenna sniffled and wiped her eyes forcefully. “I hope you are correct, husband. That is, if that belly of yours ever wishes to see unburned stew again.”
Chapter 3
To a young girl who had known only her native forest lands, New Amsterdam was a wonder beyond belief.
Never had Katari witnessed so many people in one place, and dressed in so many varying types of apparel. Never had she seen so many impressive buildings, organized neatly along the widest paths she had ever walked on. Never had she witnessed an open market, where one could purchase delectable foodstuffs from barrels, only to turn and discover trinkets or potions or soaps in the very next aisle.
This was a White City, bustling with life and varying cultures. It was a port of both size and influence, where all manner of peoples met and traded, and flourished in the process. Her mother had prepared her well with vivid descriptions, and so she was able to comprehend, and not gawk like an utter fool.
It seemed that nearly half of the population was Dutch and the remainder included French, Germans, Scandinavians, and even a small number of people known as Jews from a country called Brazil. Even more amazingly, Katari saw ebony men, with skin so dark she first believed that they were painted from head to toe.
There were mixed-race peoples as well, she noted, and many Native women were with their White men, such as her mother and father existed. She had been told that such Native women were often known as “country wives.”
According to Father Allouez, the White men that came from overseas or aboard canoes down the great Canadian rivers to the interior trade posts were sorely in need of female companions to live with, and help them in their arduous tasks. Native women were well respected and sought after for their pleasant demeanors and innate survival skills in the harshest of climates.
“No White man would be pleased with such a handful as you, Katari,” Grey Wolf had whispered teasingly in her ear, much to her obvious chagrin.
Glancing over at her brother now, Katari noted how he kept his handsome face carefully impassive, expressing no emotion whatsoever. She sighed in familiar and exasperating jealousy. Katari could never herself achieve such extreme discipline as did her infallible brother. However, Grey Wolf was a true warrior, and she was not. She was a female, and admittedly an excitable one, often brimming with impatience.
Katari was often chastised for her exuberance and lack of decorum by her calm and collected twin. Yet, he doted on her, and was often the one to save her from the harm of her wayward antics. When Katari had positioned herself between a cranky skunk and its kits on a dare, Grey Wolf had scooped her up, only to be sprayed for his efforts. He had smelled for five full days.
When she had been stranded on a rock ledge for six hours, her ankle twisted hard and stuck in between boulders, Grey Wolf had found her, and carried limp and sobbing form her for many miles, back to their village. When a mean boy had once dared to call her a wild and disobedient brat, that same boy had later appeared with a blackened eye and a quiver full of broken arrows.
Katari loved her twin brother with an emotion that was nearly painful in its enormity. She grinned at him now. Although he did not look her way, she saw the twinkle in the corner of his eye. When she quickly poked her tongue out at him, the handsome brown eye rolled once in exasperation. She giggled.
Father Allouez cleared his throat. “We should head back to Brouwer Straet. The sun will set within the hour.”
The Jesuit had found them lodging and a stable for the ponies within the city limits, rather than making camp in the forest beyond The Wall, as many of the Natives chose to do. Katari could tell that her brother did not like rooming in a White man’s house. He did not like the way the bedding smelled, or fact that piss pots were commonplace. He did not trust walking on wooden floorboards that creaked loudly, as if under extreme duress, from even the lightest of footsteps. Yet he had given into her pleas in the end.
Katari pouted for a moment, wishing that she could stroll through the beautiful Governor’s gardens with Father Allouez once more this fine day, and peer out over the Hudson River as the sun set. The sheer breadth of the shimmering waters on all sides of the city amazed her. She had become used to the soothing call of shorebirds and the scent of the wharf on the breeze beyond the massive walls of Fort Amsterdam.
Riding astride to her left, Wapashuwi, or White Lynx gazed at her with adoring eyes. “Katari has proved magnificent in her bartering skills, yet again.” The brave was five years older than she, and there was no mistaking his obvious crush.
She smiled back at him prettily and swished her long, black hair. Maybe, it would someday be White Lynx who won her heart. Her mother certainly was fond of him, and he was quite handsome.
Grey Wolf grunted in agreement at the older brave’s assessment of their success. Each brave’s deerskin coin pouch had grown fat by their third day of trade. Katari shuddered to think that they had only a few days left in this wonderful place. Wherever would she find the perfect headband to return with?
They passed rows of wooden one story houses, with red- tiled roofs and sided with clapboard, and pointed garrets facing the street. There were stone churches built for the White’s different Gods, large warehouses to hold trade goods, and an enormous brick town hall. It was three times the size of the Minsi’s own Great House, where ceremonies and important tribal meetings were held. Katari’s eyes could barely manage to absorb it all.
Even the other Natives they passed were unique from any she had known through gatherings with differing tribes. Many of the women wore their hair bound behind them, encased in a sock much like the shape of a beaver's tail, over which they placed a square cap decorated with wampum.
Others wore head-bands around their foreheads in addition to the caps. They were ornamented with sparkling wampum as well, even more intricate in design. These were fine women, Katari imagined - women whose husbands made trade both well and often for their families, in order to secure such wealth. Katari decided that, although she did not care for binding her hair in a sock, a glittering headband on her return home might suit her very well indeed.
Katari had tried foodstuffs that were imported, and uniquely delicious on her tongue. There were wonderfully sweet Spanish cherries and plums, almonds, persimmons, figs, several sorts of currants. She had sniffed upon such floral delights as cornelian roses, tulips, and gillyflowers, their seeds brought from far across the sea. New Amsterdam was everything she had hoped for and more.
Grey Wolf reined his pony up sharply, and its thickly barreled chest pummeled into Katari’s own smaller mount, jerking her harshly to a halt. “Ow!” she protested when her knee was squashed in the process.
It was then that she noticed Father Allouez’s face. It had gone starkly ashen. Katari’s gaze followed Grey Wolf’s stiffly pointing finger, out across the waterfront to the bay beyond.
Four mighty warships hulked in the darkening waters. Their decks were lined with soldiers in uniform, holding muskets. Their menacing size took her breath completely away.
“They are English Man-of-War ships,” whispered Father Allouez. “I believe they’ve come in the name of the crown. I fear this means the New Netherlands is now at war.”
~~~~~
“What the hell do you mean ‘more’ trouble
?” Pétant bellowed. He looked at the handbill spread out on the wooden plank table and tossed it angrily onto the floor. To further make his point, he stomped on it with a giant, booted foot.
Nick put his head in his hands and squeezed tiredly. “The English are here. Now. There is naught to be done about it, but to fight. Or to submit.”
Pétant growled. “I’d rather eat the entire shit of a bear than cede to the English. They’re priggish bastards, the whole lot of them. They’ve pissed on France since the beginning of time, you know.”
The grizzly voyageur stomped about the small confines of the room cursing until Opichi approached and laid a small hand on his massive forearm. The Ojibwe girl they had rescued several months earlier was the only one who could calm – or tolerate - his intermittent tirades. Most likely, it was due to the fact that she didn’t fully grasp the true foulness of his bearded mouth.
“This isn’t Montreal,” Nicholas lectured,” but Stuyvesant wants us to hold the Fort.” However, Nick knew the most-likely outcome of this tactic. The Dutch fort was a shambles, their soldiers were a pitiful lot, and the Governor himself …well there were many who found Stuyvesant not so wonderful a leader. Corruption abounded within his council, and support for his continued control was low.
“I think we should head out on a pelt run again,” Nick added his two cents, knowing full well how that would blow over with his fellow Frenchman.
“Always something with you, Belline!” Pétant bellowed. “And you just about had me convinced that New Amsterdam was my kind of living after all. Now you want me to give it all up – just like that.”
Nicholas had to admit that the waterfront breezes and mild weather had its benefits, after knowing only the harsh severity of the interior forests and the upper reaches of the St. Lawrence River. This seaside colony had been settled for many years and boasted rolling farmland filled with fruit trees and vegetables, as well as the livestock for any pallet.
The people here were mainly a tolerant lot, and much less prone to the brawls and the drunken aggression that was rampant at many fur outposts. Even relations with the Natives were generally peaceable and far less uncertain than venturing into unknown villages for trade.
The problem was that the forested areas surrounding the New Netherlands – for many miles - were nearly trapped out. Nick’s own coffers were growing low. It was time to move south and inland, as he had initially desired. His continued time here was only turning him lazy and restless, and accustomed to quality spirits and the occasional company of women of a finer class. The very kind he didn’t deserve to be around at all.
And so many books. God, how he loved his books. He glanced at his growing collection along his prized oak bookshelf longingly. He had learned more here in the last three months than he had in many long years, due to the remarkable amount of luxury trade from overseas in this thriving port city.
Now, it seemed that England’s King Charles II had promised the whole of New Netherland to his brother, James, Duke of York. He had sent four warships and over six hundred soldiers to carry out his task. Trouble was brewing quickly. Yes, it was time to move on. The Dutch and the English never mixed well.
When he rose and began to meticulously pack the things he would need in the woods, and could actually manage to carry, Pétant’s meaty hand found his shoulder. “Nick,” the older man warned, “I’m not leaving here until I’m good and ready. I’m going to see what this resistance is all about.”
“That is simply not wise, my friend,” Nick cautioned.
“When were you ever wise, Belline?” Pétant barked back. “You’ve always been the trouble-starter, and I’ve always been there to save your scrawny cul.”
“I’ve been changing my ways,” Nick returned acridly, continuing with his packing.
Pétant picked up his heavy woodsman’s belt with an ax and knife already attached, and then shouldered a musket, as well. “I’m too damned old to change anymore,” he grunted angrily. “I’ll be back.” He stormed out the door, slamming it so hard it rattled on his hinges and Opichi jumped at the racket.
Nicholas gritted his teeth and began packing faster. He glanced at Opichi, whose face had gone ashen. She had not yet grasped his language fully, but certainly well enough to know that trouble was amiss.
He beckoned to Native girl. “Help me. Hurry.” She scrambled to do his bidding, looking anxiously at the door. She had come to adore Pétant as well, no matter which way the ugly giant’s moods swung.
“We will get him as soon as we’ve packed, Opichi.” He had learned that her name meant Robin in the Ojibwe language and that she had come to trust them both implicitly. They finished together and headed out into the falling dusk.
~~~~~
What was organized civility only minutes ago was quickly reaching a state of total chaos. As the evening deepened, visibility lessened. Swarms of people had moved into the street, all searching for answers. Some were fearful, some were angered. Most were confused.
They all were speaking so quickly, and in differing languages, that the multitude of noises became nothing more than garbled nonsense to Katari. Even Father Allouez seemed confused and at a loss.
“We need to get back to the house!” he hollered above the din. Their ponies were acting up, sidestepping and tossing their heads as people swarmed around them. “I do not know if the people will take up arms, or simply surrender to the English!”
It seemed as if many of the citizens were heading toward what was known as The Wall, or a large guarded barricade that protected New Amsterdam’s interior, anxious to escape to the farm hamlets and country manors of their relatives.
“The English are ashore!” someone screamed in the distance.
Their small party was drawn into the moving mass of people and horses intermixed. Katari was glad to be astride with her brother’s presence next to her, his knee pressing into hers reassuringly. Her legs clasped the pony’s slippery sides, and at that moment, she wished for her mother’s old saddle.
Katari heard an animal bellowing from somewhere to her left. She thought of turning her head but stayed focused on the back of Father Allouez in the throng. They were trying to keep the ponies together amidst the swarm of bodies and beasts.
“Katari!” She heard Grey Wolf call out her name in alarm, and she swung toward him, viewing his outstretched arms. What was happening?
She saw it from the corner of her eye. A yoke of four oxen thundered towards them, torn free from an overturned dray, and charging in unfettered fear. Katari had an instant to drop her reins and reach out for her brother’s protection. The collision pulled them down together in a tangle of horseflesh and bodies.
~~~~~
Opichi drew back against his arm. The girl still feared strange people, and the British invasion was causing a very obvious panic among many of the citizens who resided within the inner city walls. The handbill had spoken of peaceable surrender with terms that would please all, save other than Stuyvesant and his reigning council. The handbill must not have reached the multitude.
Placing his arm around her protectively, Nicholas propelled Opichi forward. It was an ungainly process, while carrying his pack and weapon, as well. He cursed and turned his leading shoulder against the tide of bodies that swelled in the opposite direction.
“We will find Pétant,” Nick spoke in her ear. “Then… nagadan Opichi. We will leave this behind.”
Yet, they would need a bit of luck to reach the Town Hall and locate Pétant at all, Nick was coming to realize with more than a bit of foreboding. Things were worsening by the second, and the growing confusion was nearly chaotic.
To his astonishment, a bloodied ox, with a yoke still around its neck and dragging pieces of a broken dray harness, plowed by them. The beast’s nostrils were distended with fear and its muzzle was torn. He pulled Opichi to the side, knowing such a sizable animal ruled by fear could be more formidable than an angry bear. In a state of frenzied fear, such creatures could not be calmed.
Opichi gasped and pointed. A second ox limped toward them, with one leg twisted and obviously broken. It was dragging more pieces of the broken dray, as well as various ropes and rigging. Nick could see even more carnage beyond in the distance, with both ponies and more oxen thrashing on the ground. The cries of injured people rose through the throng. He swore. Chaos ruled now.
“Ganawaabi!” Opichi still tugged his arm. Look.
It was then that he saw the female body tangled in the limping ox’s ties. Dead or alive, he didn’t know, but he reacted quickly, unsheathing his knife at his belt and ran to her aid. Her slender wrist was ensnared in the loop of a leather rein oozing blood, and unconscious, she was being dragged along in the dusty rubble, barely noticeable in the turmoil.
He tried to slow the beast’s ungainly lurches by stepping on the rigging. When the ox went to its knees, Nick was able to saw the girl’s arm free from the leather. Her long black hair was the only thing that spoke of her Native heritage. The rest of her was covered in dirt and blood. He just hoped that it was not all hers.
When he rose with the girl in his arms, she felt nearly weightless. The giant, black beast did not rise again. It merely laid its bleeding muzzle in the dirt and rolled to its side. Opichi’s worried face appeared beside him, lifting his heavy pack away from and slinging it across her back with surprisingly strength.
“Nagadan, Opichi. Nagadan, ikwezens.” She wanted to be gone from this place, with or without Pétant.
“Nagadan Ikwesens!” She wanted him to bring the girl too.
The drumbeats of approaching English troops loomed in the distance. Nicholas had to agree with her. They would never locate Pétant. The horde of people had now swarmed to the point where he could no longer even see the overturned cart in the distance.
They turned and melted into the crowd, and toward The Wall.
Savage Journey Page 3
