by Rick Revelle
We decided to travel away from the area as far as we could before we prepared the hide and ate. Hiking until just before sunset, we came upon a cliff that overlooked the channel situated between the island and the mainland. Here we camped and enjoyed the view. We watched as huge flocks of geese landed in the water to spend the evening, sharing the water with thousands of ducks. I took Misko down to the edge of the water to follow a game trail. There, to his disgruntled surprise, I tossed him into the water, then used handfuls of sand to rub the bear smell and grass from his fur. He wasn’t happy with my actions, and when I released him, he shook vigorously to expel the water from his fur and rolled on the grassy shoreline.
When we reached the top of the outlook, Gichi Bizhiins had a fire going, tea brewing, and the bear’s stomach boiling in a bark container heated by hot rocks. The smells wafted through the air and mingled with the pine and cedar scents of the surrounding forest. The stomach was full of grass, berries, and pieces of carrion the animal had eaten that day. It was a delicacy the two of us soon gobbled up. After tossing a well-earned piece of bear meat to Misko, Gichi Bizhiins and I sat in the darkness and gazed at the starry night, smoke from the fire keeping the bugs away from us.
By the light of the fire, I attached the spearhead retrieved from the bear’s body to a new shaft, which I had cut when down by the water with Misko. Gichi Bizhiins was able to make some pine arrow shafts, and we fashioned new arrows from the ones the bear had broken. Of the six arrows in the bear’s body, we had retrieved three of the flint points. The others had their tips broken and were too fragile to repoint. I had some turtle spike claws in my shoulder bag that we used as replacement heads. Turtle claws were employed as arrows in times of battle; the claws carried with them the spirit of the turtle as a good omen. For now they would do until we could locate some flint.
With full stomachs we went to sleep with visions of the successful day of hunting still in our memories. Alive and well for another day!
At sunrise we rose and packed the sleds for Misko and ourselves. I took the first turn pulling the pole sled and did so until the noon sun. Gichi Bizhiins had his turn then and we continued on in a heavy rain. There wasn’t time to stop and wait out the storm. Removing all our clothes, we bundled them up and strode naked in the downpour. The rain was warm, and it was a wonderful feeling to have it beat off our bare bodies, plus the insects seemed to dislike the shower so we suffered no bites from their usual constant attacks. It gave us a real sense of freedom in the elements.
The other three would be waiting at the designated point to pick us up, so we had to maintain a quick pace. I glanced down at Misko as he trotted in the rain. His demeanour never changed; he was a wet dog and smelled like one, but exuded a sense of enjoyment, pulling his load and keeping up with us. Misko was repaid in kind with bear meat, which was much more of a meal than he got when he was in camp. There, all he could expect were entrails, bones, and small scraps of meat.
After walking for two suns, we neared the meeting place fully clothed. We could see the lake in the distance and smell the faint aroma of a campfire. The three of us picked up the pace with a spring in our steps, knowing we would soon be relieved of our heavy burdens.
We reached an embankment and looked down upon Nitaage Niibiwa, Apiitendang Makwa, and Gizhiibatoo Inini beside a fire. They were making tea and roasting a duck on a spit.
I gave the whistle of a bull elk to get their attention, and when they glanced up, I yelled, “How about a little help here, you lazy dogs!”
They quickly rose and hurried up to our position, laughing as they came. Gizhiibatoo Inini said as they neared us, “You’re lucky. We decided that once we ate the duck and drank our tea we were leaving without you. Being over half a day late, we figured the spirit that lives in the underwater cave came out onto the island, caught you, and ate you. Not wanting to suffer the same fate with such an important war belt to deliver, we were going to depart.”
I studied the three of them. “If you had left us here, the cave spirit would have been the least of your worries in the coming future.”
That started everyone laughing, teasing, and shoving good-naturedly.
Gichi Bizhiins undid Misko from his pole sled, and the big dog rolled on the ground to show his delight in being freed. Even though the dog excelled at his job, he took great delight in being relieved from his duties.
The trio eagerly helped us with our loads and took everything down to the campsite. It was a happy time for these three: having fresh bear meat and knowing there would be a good story told that night around the fire about the success of the hunt.
We agreed to take another day to rest ourselves and smoke the meat so that it wouldn’t spoil. The sled poles would now be put to use again as drying racks. Our culture didn’t squander or throw away anything. Ashkaakamigokwe (Mother Earth) supplied us with the materials, and we showed her that we wouldn’t waste anything she gave us.
While the meat was being smoked the next day, we used the brain of the bear to tan the leather and prepare it. It was staked out to dry, and when we got to the Naadawe village, it would make an excellent gift.
On the day we left, the water was calm and a slight breeze from the south brushed our faces. Misko slept on the bottom of the boat, and with five paddlers we made good time. We had a couple of lines strung over the side of the boat with frogs attached to the bone hooks. Even when we had an abundance of food, as with the bear meat, we always had an eye to the future to ensure we didn’t go hungry. By the time we could see the shoreline of our destination, a large peninsula jutting into the lake the Ouendat called Attigouatan (Georgian Bay), we had seven fish flopping in the bottom of the canoe, much to the irritation of Misko, who was trying to sleep. Every once in a while a fish wriggled near Misko, waking him, only to be dispatched by a swat of the dog’s paw. The antics of the fish and the dog gave us some much-needed entertainment from the monotony of paddling from the island and across the watery expanse.
Covering our canoe with brush, we loaded the bear meat, fish, copper, and bear pelt on our backs and started for the Ouendat village of Ossossanè. That night we camped at the foot of the peninsula and feasted on our bear meat and fish. Stomachs full, we slept soundly until wakened in the early morning by Misko’s growling. Upon opening my eyes, I was momentarily blinded by the rising sun, and when my vision readjusted to the sudden light, I caught sight of a dozen fierce-looking warriors surrounding our campsite, made almost invisible by the bright sunlight.
14
A Warning from a Legend
CHAŊKU WAŠTE
Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Wawátʼečala Iȟá, her sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé, and I approached the rise where Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á had slain the buffalo during the running of the beasts to the killing pen. Óta Heȟáka was already there and had asked me to come forward after Pȟáŋžela Napé had told us she smelled something awful. Now Pȟáŋžela Napé asked, “Has that buffalo rotted so much in a day that it smells like this?”
As soon as she said that, the dogs immediately stopped, lay down, and started to whimper. “Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á,” I whispered, “come with me. You’re going to feast your eyes on a magnificent sight.” I motioned to the two women to follow, and we made our way to where Óta Heȟáka was standing. At the top we looked on in amazement at the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka (chee-’ay ton-’kah: Big Elder Brothers).
There were two males and a female tearing strips of meat from the dead buffalo and gorging themselves. The Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had never been known to harm a Lakȟóta. We perceived them as our Elder Brothers. They lived in another dimension and only appeared whenever they had a reason to tell us something or to eat. When a Lakȟóta died, he moved into another dimension, but the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had the ability to shift between dimensions. They were messengers from the Great Mystery. The man beasts had only one foe and that was the grizzly bear. The great bears kept their distance from these huge denize
ns of the two worlds. The Čhiyé Tȟáŋka stood over seven feet and when provoked were powerful beyond compare, enough to gain the respect of a grizzly.
My father once told me a story of watching a Čhiyé Tȟáŋka and a grizzly fighting over an antelope carcass. He was amazed as the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka picked up and threw the grizzly over twenty feet in the air. When the bear hit the ground, he gasped, roared deafeningly, and charged right back at his foe, only to be met by a huge hand catching him flush in the face and sending him tumbling backward head over heels another ten or fifteen feet. My father said the bear sat up, shook his head as if to clear it, and took one more look at the hairy beast that had twice sent him hurtling through the air. He then turned and sauntered away, glancing over his shoulder once or twice as if to see whether what had just happened was real. There was nothing in the Lakȟóta lands that could fling a grizzly around like that, and my father was certain the bear had been as shocked as he was at the power of this being.
As I gazed past the three smelly creatures toward the prairie, I spied a grizzly in the prairie grass waiting for his chance at the buffalo carcass. Very wisely, he had chosen to keep his distance for the time being.
When a Čhiyé Tȟáŋka wanted to talk with us, he used sign language, and today the oldest of the three, one of the males, beckoned me to come and sit. After I did so, the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka came to my side and handed me a chunk of bloody meat. His smell was stifling, but he had a kind face completely covered with hair, with a smile peeking through. The bodies of Čhiyé Tȟáŋka were hairy except for the palms of their hands and bottoms of their feet. When this one grinned, I saw that his teeth were yellow and his breath outdid his body odour for rankness. His fur was the colour of my hair, black with grey streaks. Peering closely, I noticed twigs and grass caught in the matting of his fur.
We sat there for quite a while signing back and forth. My family waited with the other two Čhiyé Tȟáŋka, who continued their eating. The dogs kept their distance, lying on the ground, not knowing what to think about these huge beasts. As long as we accepted our newfound friends, the dogs remained relaxed.
Finally, the one I was talking to stood and motioned to the others, and then all three left. The older one made a running motion toward the watchful grizzly, sending the bear on a gallop away from his hopeful meal. I then watched as the trio of Čhiyé Tȟáŋka lumbered in the direction of the horizon and disappeared.
We took what meat we could load on each dog’s travois and left. My wife’s sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé, came up to me and asked, “Chaŋku Wašte, why do the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka smell so bad?”
“Well,” I answered, “it’s probably because they would rather drink their water than wash in it.”
She stared at me in shock. Then, when I began to laugh, she joined me in the joke. My other three family members looked at us and asked what was so funny. Pȟáŋžela Napé told them, and soon everyone was laughing.
As we headed back to the encampment, Óta Heȟáka asked me, “What did Elder Čhiyé Tȟáŋka tell you?”
“It wasn’t good news, my son. You’ve knocked down a hornets’ nest in the land of the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, and trouble is coming to our lands. He said we have to be prepared and that the outcome of this threat would be decided in a dark and bloody battle. That’s all he could tell me. The rest is controlled by the Great Mystery.
“When we settle in our winter camp, I’ll take out the čhaŋnúŋpa wakȟán (chah-nuen-pah wah-kahn: sacred pipe) that the Mother of Life, Ptesáŋ Wí (tay-san wee: White Buffalo Calf Woman), gave us during the year of starvation, and we’ll light it and pray for guidance. Other than that, everything else rests in fate and the chosen path for us. Even though you were given a dream to attack the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, it might not have been the right decision.”
After we arrived back at the camp, I approached SápA Ziŋtkála and told him the story the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had relayed to me. We decided to approach Nážiŋ Išnála, leader of the akíčita, and have him send the Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá (kohn-gay yue-hah: Crow Owners’ Society) to find us a winter camp along the Kȟaŋǧí Ȟupáhu Wakpá, near where that stream connected with the Wakpá Atkúku, the big river. Even though that put us closer to the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, it would help us react to their movements better.
We found Nážiŋ Išnála, and he quickly dispatched the Tȟáŋka Yuhá members to locate a winter camp for the community. SápA Ziŋtkála and I, realizing there was protection in numbers, decided to keep our two villages together during the winter. With the successful buffalo hunt, we now had enough food to get us to spring and sufficient hunters to add to the fresh meat during the winter months. Since we had arrived sooner at this camp than in previous years, we had more time to fish the two rivers to increase our supplies.
The Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá was a group of warriors that emulated the crow. Its members always endeavoured to be the first to strike in battle and wore stuffed crows around their necks. They were also responsible for searching out our winter camps. The akíčita had several warrior societies, which made it even more respected as a strong group of guardians.
It would take ten to twelve suns before all the buffalo meat was dried and processed. Once that was done, the women would tan the hides and make robes and clothing. The men would still follow the buffalo herd and try to pick off any stragglers the wolves and grizzlies failed to kill. Anything they could slay during their hunt, they cut up on the prairie and brought back with dogs and travois. It was then given to the women to dry on the racks.
The women cut the meat into long strips and hung them to dry in the sun. Once the strips were ready, they pounded them into flakes and mixed that in a hide bag with dried berries. Then melted fat was added. The meat would keep for a very long time and would be eaten out of the bag or cooked in water with wild onions and turnips.
Seventeen suns after the Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá men departed, there appeared on the horizon from the northeast three figures.
15
Allies Gather
ZHASHAGI
Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized our camp intruders. The leader said to me, “My Anishinaabe friend thinks he’s so safe in our lands that he doesn’t have to post a guard?”
“Well, Waughshe Anue,” I replied, “if you killed us in our sleep, you wouldn’t have gotten much more than what we were going to give you as gifts!” Waughshe Anue was the Ouendat chief we had helped in the battle with the Haudenosaunee.
The chief extended his hand and pulled me up from my sleeping spot. “We knew you were here yesterday when you came ashore. Some of our younger hunters watched as you landed on the peninsula, and they came running to me with the news. They thought we were going to be under attack by a group of spirit animals.” He nodded at the three cousins.
“They’re as fierce as they look,” I said. “But they also sleep quite heavily. Get up!” I yelled, and the four slumbering warriors woke with a start as Misko barked repeatedly.
My companions got to their feet in a hurry with expressions of amazement on their faces once they saw the surrounding Ouendat.
I said to them that I thought the best we could expect was getting burnt at the stake now that we had been captured. Waughshe Anue and his men started to laugh, and after a while my sullen face broke into a grin. My four comrades exchanged glances and began to laugh nervously. They knew that if the men around us weren’t friends we would all be thrown into the firepits.
I made quick introductions and brought out the war belt I was carrying. The Ouendat men all nodded in anticipation of my request. We gathered up our belongings, and I handed the bearskin to Waughshe Anue. He took it, thanked me for the kind offering, and threw it around his shoulders with a satisfied grunt. “Follow me, my friends,” he said, and we headed off to his village.
It was nearing sunset when we reached the edge of their cornfields. In the distance, I saw the stockade surrounding their community. Scatter
ed throughout the fields of corn, squash, and beans were wooden stands that the young boys sat on to keep watch and chase deer, raccoons, bears, and birds from their food source. Women and children were harvesting the corn by picking the cobs and putting them into baskets on their backs. Strolling by a couple of plants, I grabbed some beans and ate them raw. We had left without an early-morning meal, and hunger pains had started to nag me. I even snatched an ear of corn and ate it. It was very tasty and juicy.
Where the corn had already been harvested, they were burning the stalks and scattering the ashes on the ground to replenish the soil with needed earth food to help next year’s crops grow.
The cornfields surrounded the village, and it took us a while to reach the front gate. When we entered the village proper, I noticed a pet bear roaming around tied to a leash with a young boy coaxing him with corn.
In the centre of the village was a huge heap of corn that had been harvested. More women, children, and Elders were pulling back the husks and braiding them together to be hung in the longhouses to dry. After drying, the women would scrape off the kernels, wash and dry them, and then store them in bark-lined pits. I even saw some women drying whole ears of corn on hot embers and stockpiling them whole.
The corn husks would be used to make corn dolls for young girls, baskets, and clothes. All the warriors, women, and children in the village were healthy and seemingly happy. The groups doing the harvesting laughed and sang the whole time they worked.
