by Rick Revelle
We had almost approached the end of the cornfield when it started to rain lightly. The drops, though not numerous, were the size of peas, and when they hit the broad leaves of the corn plants, the noise they made was similar to the racket of stones thrown against the side of a longhouse by children as they play. Today, though, no children were playing.
Glancing around, I noticed the rain was splattering some of the paint on my companions’ bodies, making their appearance even more ominous. As we neared the village through the cornfield, the sounds of the battle cascaded into our midst: the screams of victims, the barking and yelping of dogs, and the distinctive war cries of the Haudenosaunee attackers. Leaving the cover of the stalks, we came upon a heart-stopping scene. The heat and flames from the burning longhouses leaped toward me as if fuelled by my presence, reddening my bare skin. As I turned away from this fiery inferno, my nostrils caught the stink of death from burning bodies. Stumbling across corpses lying on the ground with stunned expressions on their faces and horrendous wounds caused a sudden gagging to rise in my throat. Then the sweet scent of burning nasemà from the village’s storage hut gave me a false sense of calmness.
The din of the surrounding battle soon brought me out of my dreamlike trance. Hand-to-hand fighting raged throughout the village — individual battles to the death, spears jabbing, knives slashing, and the sickening crunch of clubs breaking bones.
Running a step or two behind my mother, Wàbananang, I watched as a lithe Kanien’kehá:ka emerged from the smoke and raised his club on the run to take a swing at her. Quickly bringing my spear up, I released it in one motion, hurling it at my mother’s assailant agonizingly close to her right shoulder. The spear hit the top of the Kanien’kehá:ka’s left shoulder, ripping a furrow through it and sending him spinning in a half circle. Then Ki’kwa’ju dashed in and took a two-handed swing with his axe at the man’s back, breaking his spine and doubling him over backward to fall in a heap at my mother’s feet. Simultaneously, two other Kanien’kehá:ka warriors rushed my mother and Ki’kwa’ju. In an instant, Wàbananang had two knives in her hands, and with the sweep of her right hand she cut one of the charging warrior’s ears off, while with her left hand she buried that knife in his throat. The man’s eyes bulged, and when he opened his mouth, no words came out, only blood.
I intercepted the other warrior, and with a two-handed swing of my round wooden club, hit him full in the stomach, the clout driving the air from his lungs in a huge gust from his mouth, the warmth of his breath hitting me square in the face so that I picked up the scent of what his last meal had been. As the Kanien’kehá:ka knelt to catch his breath, Kìnà Odenan swung her war club at his right side. The force of the blow was so powerful that it broke his neck and his head spun until it was opposite his chest.
There was no time to think about what had just happened. Our group was now being assailed by charging Onöndowága and Kanien’kehá:ka warriors. The battle was brutal. Myself, my mother, my sister, Kìnà Odenan, Mònz, and Ki’kwa’ju fought back to back, trying to keep a group of eight bloodied enemy warriors from killing us. Nìj Enàndeg was beside me snarling and snapping at one persistent warrior who kept lunging at me with a long-handled spear. The big wolf dog had finally had enough and pounced at the man in mid-thrust so that animal and assailant crashed to the ground in a screaming, snarling bundle. That action incited the remaining enemy warriors to make a headlong charge into our ranks. At that precise moment I heard the distinctive crack of a slingshot and watched as a man dropped at my sister’s feet with a hole in the back of his head the size of a child’s fist. Then there was the scream of a panther, and a black blur passed my head and collided with a huge man brandishing a vicious-looking war club. Man and beast hit the ground with a thud, and the panther finished his work as fast as I could bat an eye.
Once the Haudenosaunee realized Mitigomij had entered the battle, they all turned their attention to attacking him. Gaining the scalp of that great Omàmiwinini warrior would be the biggest prize of the whole conflict, and the man who killed him would become famous. But Mitigomij was a man who didn’t die easily. Once these attackers turned their backs on us and diverted their attention to Mitigomij, we charged them from behind. Between my close family members, the wolf dog, and the panther, the battle quickly swung in our favour.
When we were done, four enemy warriors lay dead, we were covered with blood, and Mònz had a horrific facial wound. As we stood over our slain foes taking our battle souvenirs, I heard my mother gasp. Glancing at where she was looking, I saw the object of her sudden nervousness. Rounding a burning building in the distance was Mandàmin Animosh (man-dah-min An-ney-mush: Omàmiwinini name for Ò:nenhste Erhar or Corn Dog) followed by the wizard Winpe and a dozen warriors. They were headed straight to where Agwanìwon and the rest of our group were in a frantic battle for their lives.
Kànìkwe, Nigig, and Glooscap broke from the others to defend against Ò:nenhste Erhar and his approaching warriors. Nigig charged ahead of his two companions and made a two-handed thrust at Ò:nenhste Erhar with his spear. Ò:nenhste Erhar sidestepped him and hit Nigig in the middle of the back with a stone axe, knocking Nigig forward into Ò:nenhste Erhar’s accompanying men, who clubbed Nigig to the ground and brutally beat him to death with their clubs.
“Mitigomij!” I cried. “Look!”
Spying where I pointed, Mitigomij turned to his panther. “Makadewà Waban, go!” Then, turning to my wolf dog, he roared, “Follow!”
Both animals took off, and the rest of us tried to keep up with them. The two dogs headed straight for Ò:nenhste Erhar.
Mitigomij shouted, “Ò:nenhste Erhar,” as the canines raced toward their quarry.
Ò:nenhste Erhar turned and stared into the distant eyes of Mitigomij, then gazed at the rapidly advancing animals. He yelled back at Mitigomij, “You’ve picked a good day to die! Once I finish with your animals, I’ll be coming for you! I don’t believe you’re as invincible as they say!”
Mitigomij reached into his shirt and pulled out a bone whistle hanging from his neck. Putting the whistle to his mouth, he let loose with three shrill blasts, immediately stopping the animals. With one more blast, the two beasts turned and went to the aid of our other family members nearby.
Then, from an unbelievable distance, Mitigomij released three arrows in rapid succession that struck the Kanien’kehá:ka warrior’s chest. I was close enough to see the look of astonishment on Ò:nenhste Erhar’s face as the first arrow hit him in the heart and he took a stumbling step backward. Then the next arrow struck him in almost the same spot, causing blood to trickle out of his nostrils. When the last arrow hit with a resounding thump, the famous Haudenosaunee warrior took a short step forward, released the grip on his war club, and let it drop onto the rain-soaked ground. Slumping to his knees, he tried to say something, but only blood issued from his mouth, which when mixed with the warm summer rain flowed down his chin to the ground, reddening the puddle of water he was kneeling in. In that instant, he toppled face first into the bloodied mud, dying a warrior’s death far from his homeland.
Winpe and the other warriors watched as all this unfolded close by. The wizard stared at my uncle, and I watched as he grasped and re-grasped his club, his face and eyes contorted, the veins in his neck bulging. As I watched him standing there, I saw more hate in his face than I had ever seen before. His whole body trembled with rage. I knew Winpe wanted to take on Mitigomij, but after noting the distance my uncle had made those shots from, the wizard had to be rethinking his vengeance.
As Mitigomij made his way to my side, Winpe screamed, “This is not over!” He then turned and directed his companions to take Ò:nenhste Erhar’s body away while the other warriors made menacing lunges at Glooscap and Kànìkwe. As they escaped with the body of their fallen leader, I noticed Winpe diverting his attention to something in the distance. Saying something to one of his men, the wizard then disappeared into the cornf
ield.
The rain was now coming down harder, and my war paint started to run, mixing the colours and symbols I had painstakingly applied previously. The Ouendat warriors led by Waughshe Anue were taking losses but gaining ground and driving the Onöndowága from the village. With the death of their chief, the Kanien’kehá:ka were leaving the field.
Nìj Enàndeg and the panther had come upon a pack of about twenty enemy war dogs covering their masters’ retreats, and with the help of some Ouendat dogs were forcing them to withdraw. The two packs were a snarling, howling, bloody mess of teeth and fur. The panther had one huge dog in his jaws and was shaking the life out of it, blood and fur flying with each shake of Makadewà Wàban’s head. Nìj Enàndeg, meanwhile, was in a struggle with two ferocious dogs, and to even up the odds, I let fly with an arrow that felled one of them.
The Anishinaabe, led by the two brothers and with the help of the Tionontati warriors who had arrived as our groups exited the cornfield, had also turned back the enemy they were struggling with and were able to recover some captives the Onöndowága attempted to take with them on their retreat.
With the battle’s end, the Attawandaron women began to wail for their lost husbands and sons. The rain, now a downpour, put out the fires, filling the air with the pungent smell of wet, smouldering wood and the stench of the conflict. Our people and allies removed their losses from the field of battle. Wounded allied warriors lay in the field, moaning for the attention of the healers.
Enemy bodies lay in the forming puddles of water, while dogs emerged from the shadows to creep up on the corpses and snatch chunks of flesh to satisfy their hunger. From the sky, crows cawed and ravens croaked, wheeling in the air as they waited for their chance to take a piece of the dead. The aftermath of a battlefield wasn’t for the faint of heart.
The enemy wounded sat up if they were able to, never uttering a word, no matter how horrific their injuries. This wasn’t a time to show weakness to their adversaries, for they knew the worst was yet to come before they passed on to the other side. The healers would also come to them with herbs for their wounds and food; their captors would want them to regain whatever strength they could for the tortures that lay ahead. There was no sport in putting a weakened warrior through the coming agony. He needed all his strength to show his bravery!
I stood in the midst of all this carnage, thanking Kije-Manidò for watching over me and my friends this day, and made an offer of tobacco. My heart was heavy for the loss of Nigig, a great friend and Wàbanaki warrior who had died fighting to protect his daughters and their husbands, the twins. Mònz, my uncle, had a horrific facial wound, and if he survived, would be scarred horribly. The Anishinaabe and Tionontati had each lost five or six men, and a few more were disabled with wounds. The Ouendat had suffered several losses and wounded. The Attawandaron, though, had endured the most because they had been vigorously defending their village before our arrival. More than thirty of their warriors had been slain and another twenty or so were wounded, close to half their male fighters in all. The attackers had also slain seven women who had fought to defend their children. In the end, the invaders had gotten away with more than a dozen women and children to take back to their villages.
The battle had been devastating for all of the participants, both attackers and defenders.
The rain stopped and the surrounding air became cooler. As we stood near a fire with my people, the Anishinaabe brothers, Zhashagi and Omashkooz, joined us. Kìnà Odenan thanked them for their strong battle skills that day and told them that if they ever needed the talents of our Omàmiwinini group to send for us.
Zhashagi replied, “My people have a very powerful foe we call the Nadowessioux. They call themselves the Lakȟóta. Our battles with them have been going on for years, with many fallen warriors on each side. I foresee a time that we might need your help and skills, especially that of the lame one, Mitigomij. That man has powerful magic. The other, the one you call Crazy Crow, has no equal in battle. Your group is experienced and ruthless in battle. I’m happy to have your Omàmiwinini force as friends. You may very well hear from me in the future.”
That night the remaining Attawandaron took their revenge on the Onöndowága and Kanien’kehá:ka warriors who had been captured or were too wounded to flee. Fourteen of the enemy were forced to run the gauntlet and were then put to the stake to die in flames. All of the men and women of the village participated, plus the allies who had come to their aid.
Walking into the firelight with three bloody scalps hanging from his large spear, along with three fresh notches on the staff, Crazy Crow spoke to the Warrior Women. “Kìnà Odenan and Agwanìwon, my friends, the crows have told me a terrible thing. Winpe the wizard has captured Nukumi and the Little One, Apistanéwj. Glooscap has left by himself to bring them back. I’m going to follow and help.”
“No, Elue’wiet Ga’qaquj, this has been foretold,” objected Jilte’g. “Glooscap has to do this himself. It is his destiny.”
“So be it, my friend,” replied the great Mi’kmaq warrior. “However, I’ll have my sky friends watch over him.”
5
The Return of a Legend and the Making of a New Legend
ANOKÌ
After the battle in the land of the Attawandaron, we stayed a few days to prepare our wounded for the trip back to the Ouendat village. The decision was also made among the leaders of the Omàmiwinini, Ouendat, and Anishinaabe to transport our dead and bury them near Waughshe Anue’s Ouendat village.
Our small group had lost the brave Wàbanaki warrior Nigig, who had been slain during the battle. His two daughters, Àwadòsiwag and Ininàtig, were married to my twin cousins, Makwa and Wàbek. Nigig’s daughters were also skilled warriors who had fought bravely beside their husbands.
My Uncle Mònz had suffered a terrible wound at the hands of an Onöndowága’s war club. Mònz had seen the weapon coming toward his left side at the last moment, giving him enough time to move his head slightly to avoid a crushing blow to his temple. The club had caught his face and torn his left cheek down to the bone. As the weapon had passed away from his face, it had ripped off the tip of his nose. Our two chiefs, Kìnà Odenan and Agwanìwon, were right there when the Onöndowága warrior had struck Mònz — unlucky for the Onöndowága, lucky for my uncle. Agwanìwon had impaled the warrior just above his breechcloth with her spear, while Kìnà Odenan had crushed the back of the man’s skull with a mighty swing of her war axe. The man had dropped face first into the mud without making a sound, so quick and brutal was their retaliation. During this action, their friend, Kànìkwe, had grabbed Mònz and carried him to safety. Kànìkwe had tended to my uncle’s wound, sewing the cheek back into place and covering it with honey, which he always carried in his medicine bag. Mònz had then made his way back alone to the edge of the cornfield. That was where we had found him at the end of the battle — dazed and pale from loss of blood. His wife, Wàbìsì, and my mother, Wàbananang, took him under their care and made sure he was watched over with food, water, and medicine.
When we departed, the wounded who could walk led the way, followed by the dead and more severely wounded carried by the warrior men and women on makeshift litters. It was slow going, but we were determined to get everyone back.
The Ouendat warriors had a different way of hauling wounded unable to walk. They strapped them to the backs of healthy warriors who took turns carrying them on the homeward trail.
As we made our way through the forests and meadows, we took a path along an escarpment that overlooked a dried-up beaver meadow. Mitigomij pointed out to me a line of wolves filing through the meadow.
“Anokì,” he said, “take a close look out there and tell me what you see.”
“All I see is a line of wolves, Uncle.”
“Anokì, come now,” he said. “There’s much more there than that. Look deeper into the line’s makeup.”
“Yes, Uncle, now I se
e! The first four wolves are old and frail and are setting the pace for the rest. If they were left in the rear, they would fall behind and die. In case of an attack from another group of wolves, they would die in the initial attack, enabling the five that are the strongest of the pack, that are right behind them, to prepare to defend the rest of the group. In the middle of the pack, I see that the younger ones are being protected. Behind them are the next strongest six of the pack, followed at the end by the alpha wolf controlling everything from the back end. I see it now!”
“Anokì, that line position controls the whole group, deciding the direction they are going in and anticipating the attacks of enemies. The pack follows the beat of the Elders. The column is a sign of mutual help and not leaving anyone behind. Now look at our group. Where do you think our people learned how to walk in the woods? The wolf was our Elders’ teacher for this lesson. Anokì, always look around you in the forest. The birds and animals will teach you the ways of life and survival. Never forget that!”
“I won’t, Uncle.”
The only warrior who didn’t make the trip home with us was Glooscap, who had left to search for his friends, Nukumi, Apistanéwj, and the two dogs, Na’gweg and Tepgig, who had been kidnapped and taken away by the wizard Winpe.
Crazy Crow, the fearless Mi’kmaq warrior, had been told by Jilte’g that he wasn’t to follow because this event had been foretold by the Elders, and Glooscap had to save them on his own.
Approaching me, Crazy Crow told me he couldn’t let his friend and fellow warrior, Glooscap, go into the land of the Haudenosaunee to hunt for Nukumi and Apistanéwj without assistance. Even though Jilte’g had warned him that this event had been foretold, Crazy Crow couldn’t allow any harm to come to his friends. Gazing up at the sky, he uttered the crow rally call: “Caaawww, caaawww, caaawww, caaawww.” Then he disappeared into the cornfield, followed by his airborne friends.
