by Rick Revelle
Our combined villages of close to seven hundred people, with around two hundred warriors, were ready to move, but the column could only travel as fast as our slowest members. The Tȟokȟála (tah-koh-la: Kit Fox Society) warriors volunteered to patrol the perimeter of the column and assist stragglers, keep the line moving, and guard against unexpected problems, man or beast. These society members wore fox skins on their shoulders.
My nephew, Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, drew close to me and asked, “Why are both camps staying together for the winter, Uncle?”
“Óta Heȟáka and some of the braves made war on our enemy, the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, in the spring. The other leaders and I think they’ll attack us in the future and that to survive we need safety in numbers.”
“I’ll help protect our people,” Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á insisted. “Óta Heȟáka said I can go to battle with him now that I have my warrior name. I’ll help to defend!”
“I know you will,” I said cautiously.
Our Lakȟóta moved as fast as possible. With that many people and more than three thousand dogs, we strained to make good time during daylight. Three times we had to stop: twice while women gave birth and once to bury an Elder woman who passed away during the fourteenth night on the trail. With our column in no particular danger from attack or no real rush to get to our winter camp, the birthing women had traditional births in privacy. Once they came back to the column, the women had comfortable travois with cushions of buffalo robes and deerskins prepared for them and their babies. The proud fathers walked alongside their wives and newborns. One of the birthing mothers had two other young children, and they took turns riding the pole sled with her. The father had arranged to have two of his strongest dogs harnessed to the travois, and they pulled the added weight with no problem. Both women who had given birth were well looked after by the other wives.
The Sotkàyuha (shoh-dkah-yuh-hah: Bare Lance Owners’ Society) was made up of young warriors who carried bare lances and had yet to collect war honours. They were assigned to do the hunting each day and took great pride in supplying this service. They kept the column in continual supply of wild game, preventing the depletion of the buffalo meat that was being transported to keep this large number of people alive through the winter.
The column was strung out as far as I could see, and other than just the one death, the only serious injuries were a few sprained ankles and one young boy who stepped in a gopher hole and broke his leg. Two dogs were hooked up to a travois to drag him along with the rest of the line.
Finally, after almost one full moon, we reached the winter camp. The Crow Owners’ Society warriors had been watching for us and two days previously had come into the travelling camp. They told the akíčita that a shallow ford had been found where we could cross. It took most of the final day to ford the river. The dogs were released of their travois, and everyone carried the robes, meat, and living essentials through the water, keeping everything dry.
Small children were transported on shoulders, Elders were guided by warriors, and the dogs swam. There was lots of laughter and talking. Some of the older children splashed and carried on as they took their time. It was a warm fall day and no one minded the cool water.
Once the women reached the other side, they started to erect the lodges. Since we only had about two hundred warriors, they would have to hunt, fish, and scout the area relentlessly. The young boys’ job was to collect firewood on a continual basis.
By the first night, close to two hundred teepees were erected and the smell of the cooking fires enveloped the whole camp. The din of the day had calmed down and everyone was eating and resting. There were many tasks to do before the first snowfall, and our survival depended on staying warm and being fed. We needed more than the buffalo meat to sustain us. All the young girls and women scoured the surrounding area for roots and berries, while the young boys kept bringing in piles of wood to stack near the lodges and to put in a communal pile. Hunters were out every day and Elders fished along the shoreline. We also needed birchbark canoes, and several men were busy making them.
Every day Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á left after the early-morning meal, and we didn’t see him again until just before sunset and the evening meal. He was helping the other boys collect firewood and set small-game snares. My son, Óta Heȟáka, was gone days at a time hunting game, while my wife, Wawátʼečala Iȟá, and her sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé, were busy making winter clothes and cooking and tanning the rabbit and deer hides Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á and Óta Heȟáka brought in. All the meat had to be dried and mixed with berries and fat to prevent rotting.
One day SápA Ziŋtkála and I took a canoe and paddled upstream on the Wakpá Atkúku toward the northeast bend in that river. “Chaŋku Wašte,” SápA Ziŋtkála said, “this is where the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ will come from when they arrive in the spring. We need to have warriors up here watching and then a defence on the islands to protect the village.”
“I agree, SápA Ziŋtkála. They’ll move their force down this river swiftly. They’ll also undoubtedly outnumber us. We’ll need scouts around this bend in the river to avoid any surprises.”
“Let’s go back toward the village and up the Kȟaŋǧí Ȟupáhu Wakpá.”
Paddling around the bend, we turned northwest. The day was sunny and the river calm. We took our time to enjoy the surroundings. Reaching a bend in the river, we heard voices and were quickly surrounded by a vast number of canoes.
18
Preparing for Another War
ANOKÌ
Taking a closer look at the seven warriors, I realized that two of them were Ouendat men I had seen in the village of Ossossanè where I had once stayed. The other five were Anishinaabe warriors, and one of those with a dog at his side had a familiar face.
“Zhashagi!” I cried from my vantage point.
Zhashagi and the others turned with their weapons at the ready as Nìj Enàndeg and I scurried down through the brush. When I got to the bottom, my arms had streaks of blood oozing from where they had been scraped by thorn bushes.
Seizing me in a big embrace, Zhashagi asked, “Anokì, how are you?”
“I’m fine as long as you don’t crush me in this bear hug.”
“Sorry! In my excitement seeing you, I got carried away. Please, meet my companions.” He then pointed at each warrior in turn. “Apiitendang Makwa, Gich Bizhiins, and Gizhiibatoo Inini. The other Anishinaabe is Nitaage Niibiwa, who joined us during our voyage here. The Ouendat men, Otawindeht and Skenhchio, are our guides on this trek to find your people.”
Everyone nodded in approval at the introductions. During this time, I noticed that their weapons were bloodstained from a recent encounter. I didn’t see any animal carcass that they were transporting. Since they didn’t mention anything about what had happened, I assumed it wasn’t of any consequence.
As we walked together, Zhashagi asked, “What about those three fierce warriors, Mitigomij, Glooscap, and the one they call Elue’wiet Ga’qaquj, who talks to crows?”
“All except Glooscap are with us,” I answered. “Glooscap, Apistanéwj, Nukumi, and their dogs returned to the lands of the Mi’kmaq.”
Before entering the camp I hooted an owl call to announce my entrance.
Our two Warrior Women chiefs, Agwanìnon and Kìnà Odenan, approached us and welcomed the newcomers. “Come in and eat,” Agwanìnon said. “We have moose and fish cooking on the fires and tea boiling.”
Everyone happened to be in camp at this time, so we were a crowd around the cooking fires as we ate. After the meal, Zhashagi began to speak. When he held up the red war belt, we knew what he wanted from us. He told us the story of the ambush by the Nadowessioux and what the Anishinaabe plans were this coming spring.
After Zhashagi finished talking, Agwanìwon stood and said, “I can only say for myself that I will go with you to make war on the Nadowessioux. As for the others, it is their decis
ion.”
When she sat back down, all of our group stood and raised their weapons, signifying their intentions to follow her.
Once everyone had said their piece about following the Anishinaabe into war, Crazy Crow brought up the subject of my puzzlement. “I see your weapons have the red stain of death on them. Did you slay an animal and devour it before Anokì met you?”
The Anishinaabe called Nitaage Niibiwa said, “No animals, just Haudenosaunee. We came upon a group fishing and drying their catch about a half day east of here at the mouth of a river (present-day Moira River, Belleville, Ontario). We thought they would be a threat to you because the Ouendat guides said your campsite would be close to where the Haudenosaunee had set up their hunting camp.
“We sat and watched them for a while before we made the decision to kill them. They had one young boy guarding the camp, and he was more intent on skipping stones across the river. I shortened his stay here with a well-placed arrow. Once we took care of him, we surprised the rest of the camp. There were three warriors and six women. It was quick and bloody work.
“One of the men might have survived, but I think he drowned. I clubbed him and was taking off his hair. I could hear his teeth grinding as I did this because my knife was dull and it wasn’t cutting very well. When I was done, I set about finishing him off, but he rolled into the water as I turned my back to pick up my club. The current then took him away. Figuring he would either bleed to death or drown, I didn’t bother to go after him. We were hungry, ate our fill of their food, and cached the rest.”
Our group looked at one another as we shook our heads.
“We’ve been watching that fish camp for two full moons,” Mitigomij said. “They were no threat to us because they stayed in that area and didn’t know we were here. They hadn’t prepared their lodges for a winter stay, and the last time we checked on them it looked as if they would have been gone before the next moon. Now someone will miss them when they don’t return, then come looking for them in the spring. Sooner, if that hairless victim survived his river plunge and was able to make it back to his lands.”
“No one could survive a wound like that,” Nitaage Niibiwa said.
There was a roar of laughter to the left of me and then the rest of our group started to chuckle.
Kànìkwe rose and said, “I survived a scalping and have lived to tell about it.” To prove it, he took off his fur hat.
Our visitors stared at his scarred head in astonishment.
“What do we do about this problem then?” Zhashagi finally asked.
“If we leave now,” Kìnà Odenan said, “a lot of the food we’ve dried and stored would have to be left behind because the dogs couldn’t pull sleds through the bare ground of the fall woods. If we wait until the snow comes and build enough odàbànàk (oh-dah-nahk: toboggan) sleds, we could take all our furs and food supplies back to Ossossanè. We might have to walk around the lake the Ouendat call Ouentironk (Lake Simcoe), which would add another day to our travels. There will be enough of us breaking trail for the dogs that they won’t have problems pulling their loads. We had planned to stay until spring, but with the killing of the Haudenosaunee at the fish camp and the Anishinaabe needing us by the start of the summer, it’s better that we leave with the first snow. Mitigomij and Crazy Crow, we need the two of you to watch that the Haudenosaunee don’t come before the first snow and surprise us. They’ll come from the west and have to carry their boats through that long carrying place on the north side of the island. That’s the only entrance for them to this river unless they come all the way around the island and enter through the bays. Either way we’ll see them if and when they come up this river. We’ll plan for winter travel unless the Haudenosaunee come, and then we might have to plan for death.”
For the next few moons we worked on our weapons and making àgimag (ug-ga-mug: snowshoes) for ourselves. All autumn there was no sign of our enemy. The first snowfall came and then after that a big blizzard. It was time to go.
There were twenty-five of us plus more than twenty dogs. Dogs, men, and women were all laden with packs. Mitigomij, though, and his big panther disappeared every morning and were our eyes on the trail. Crazy Crow and the three Anishinaabe Spirit Warriors guarded the column on all sides and carried lighter packs.
The snowshoes enabled us to make good time and in turn broke the trail well enough that the dogs had no trouble. We had to keep a close eye on their paws and all of them eventually ended up wearing leather covers on their feet to protect them from the cutting snow. A few of them had bloody dew claws, but on the whole they stayed healthy.
One of the females had a litter of pups, and we had to put her on a sled with them. Nìj Enàndeg pulled her, mainly, I thought, because the pups looked a lot like him. By the time we got to Ouentironk, two of the dogs had died and we had to abandon their sleds. Their loads were divided among the other dogs. The animals that were carrying food had their loads lightened every night to feed us. We made lean-tos of cedar boughs for shelter every night, and one evening we stayed in an abandoned village.
As we stood on the shore of the lake, we had to decide whether to take the canoes over through the open areas and then pull them on the ice or to walk around the lake. There had been a cold snap for a few days, and the lake was starting to freeze, but my mother and the two Warrior Women thought the water would be too cold and the ice too thin yet to walk and drag everything across. So the decision was made to walk around the lake along the eastern shore toward the north.
Once we made it around the lake, I noticed that Mitigomij and Crazy Crow had disappeared. They were off on some adventure that we would learn about whenever they showed up again. The two of them together were formidable foes to face in this country, which they knew so well.
The good thing about walking in the winter was that there were no bugs, but it was essential to keep warm. I had seen people who froze to death in the woods after sitting down to have a quick nap, only to be found later that winter partially eaten by wolves, lynx, and foxes.
Once we left the shores of Ouentironk, we made it to Ossossanè in two days. We had slogged for fourteen suns through the woods with no loss of life other than a few dogs, but they were replaced by a litter of eleven pups. When we arrived at the village, the female dog got out of the sled and the pups waddled behind her. Nìj Enàndeg kept a close eye on them.
Mitigomij arrived in Ossossanè a week later. He said that the Haudenosaunee had, in fact, come to the fish camp. About sixty in all, they paddled down the bay and found our camp. The water was still ice-free there. They saw our tracks, had a big discussion, but didn’t follow for two reasons. They had no snowshoes and they found the bodies of two warriors who had entered the forest to relieve themselves. One had been mauled by a big cat, the other had been slain and had crow feathers strewn on his body.
Then Mitigomij recounted what had been said by the Haudenosaunee. “I overheard the leader say to several of his men, ‘Taking on that shape-shifter the bark eaters call Mitigomij and his black panther is one thing, but they’re with Tsyòkawe Ronkwe (jo-ga-we roon-gway: Crow Man, the name the Haudenosaunee call Crazy Crow), and that’s more than I’m willing to take on with only these few men. We’ll leave and pick another day to die!’
“Another warrior answered, ‘But we’re sixty warriors!’
“‘Fifty-eight now! I’ve seen these two in battles out in the open destroy our warriors with smiles on their faces. Now they’re hidden and starting to pick us off like rabbits in a snare. No, my friend, like I said, I’ll die another day!’ replied the leader.”
Zhashagi turned to Mònz, my uncle, and asked, “How did Mitigomij get close enough to the Haudenosaunee to hear them say all this?”
“Mitigomij has many powers that he keeps hidden,” Mònz replied. “He and that black panther have had many adventures together and have saved our lives numerous times. We don’t ask questions o
f the ageless one. His brother, Mahingan, knew of his powers but kept them a secret, so we don’t ask. Plus with the added companionship of Crazy Crow, the two of them are deadly together!”
Our Omàmiwinini group was told that Zhashagi intended to ask an Ouendat girl, Yatie’, daughter of Ohskënonton’, to marry him, but to Zhashagi’s disappointment she had married while he was away. Skenhchio, one of the Ouendat guides who had brought Zhashagi to us, told Pangì Mahingan and me this news.
“He had only met her the day before we left to find you and your people,” Skenhchio said. “It was more like he was smitten by her beauty than anything else. He didn’t even know the girl. Plus if he had married her, he would have had to live with her family. The man has a battle to fight. Falling in love is a foolish thing when you might be facing death in the coming summer. Anyway, he shouldn’t be too heartbroken. They had hardly even spoken. In fact, he had to ask us her name when we were on the trail. So it can’t be that much of a loss, can it? He gave her a bear claw when we left — hardly a declaration of love!”
When he told me this, I laughed and Pangì Mahingan smacked me on the side of the head, saying, “Have some compassion for this poor man. His heart has been broken. I’ll remind you of your actions the first time you fall in love!”
Skenhchio started to laugh and ducked as Pangì Mahingan half-heartedly swung her spear shaft at him.
My mother came over to us and asked my sister, “Are these men giving you trouble? If they are, I’ll take care of them.” She drew her knife and smiled.
I glanced at Skenhchio. “This is one woman you don’t want to fool around with when she takes her blade out. See what kind of trouble a mother and sister can bring men?”
