Shadow Hawk
Page 1
Shadow Hawk
Jeanie Johnson
This is a work of fiction. All characters are out of the
authors imagination and any resemblance to anyone
living or dead is a mere coincident.
(All Sioux words are spelled phonetically for correct pronunciation.)
Story by Jeanie Johnson
Copyright 2016
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
1845
The wagons came to a standstill, stretching out across the landscape like a line of ants looking for something to sustain themselves. We too needed sustaining, but beyond that, we needed the will and strength to continue on to Oregon. The soiled top covers, that hovered over the under sheet, both which were stretched over the huge hoops on the wagons to keep the weather out, were ruffling in the stiff breeze that was still waving the long prairie grass all around us.
A storm had just passed over the night before, dumping torrents of rain on all of us, until there was not a dry place to set our foot. All the men, who usually slept under the wagons at night, while the women and children remained inside the wagons, were forced to join their families inside, to wait out the storm. As a result, the rivers were now swollen with water, and this was the reason the wagon train had stopped.
We had crossed many rivers and streams along the way, as we made our way across a hostile country, not only caused by the harsh terrain, but added to by the unexpected dangers of Indians, who were determined to kill our live stock, and steal anything beyond, that they could get their hands on. We had to station guards outside of the wagon-corral circle at night, where we kept our animals safe inside, to discourage night raids by the wild Indians. Even then, one or two would sneak in close, and shoot their arrows into the circle, hoping to wound our cattle, so we would have to leave them behind.
By now, we were pretty much used to the hardships of the long journey which started out from Missouri back in April, after spending an entire year making preparations in advance. So having to cross rivers was just another stint along the Oregon trail that was expected. When the water was high, though, there was much more preparation to take care of in the tedious business of crossing a river.
The first thing necessary was, all of the supplies had to be removed from every wagon. Next, the wagon box had to be raised as high as it would go. After that, rags would be crammed into every hole in the wagon floor and sides, and finally, tar would be spread under the bottom and side boards of the wagon to waterproof it. While the tar dried, all the supplies would be loaded back into the wagons, making sure all perishables, like sugar, flower, and anything that could be destroyed if it got wet, was placed at the highest point in the wagon.
I looked down the line, and could see all the belongings of the members of our company, strewn out around their wagons, as they tried to accomplish this task. My family as well was doing the same thing, as the drovers began to herd the cattle, across the river, while the wagons were being prepared to cross.
Sometimes the drovers would have to hold onto the cattle’s back, to keep them from getting separated from the rest, as they crossed, and to keep their own heads above water, even though they were riding horses. The river was moving swiftly, and when it was time for the wagons to cross, if the oxen did not keep pace, when they pulled the wagons through the water, they could get bogged down.
In some cases, we had to remove the oxen altogether, and pull the wagons across by rope, but with such a swift moving body of water, we needed the oxen to weigh the wagons, so they would not just float away, downriver. Therefore, the oxen were going to remain hitched to the wagons on this crossing, with a rope tied to the lead oxen team, pulled by one of the drovers, to keep them crossing at a steady pace. All the other wagons would be connected by a rope to the wagon before them, making sure no one slowed down along the way.
“Vanessa, stop your dawdling!”
My attention was captured by my mother’s shrill voice.
I stopped gazing around me and started helping again. I was impressed by my mother’s bravery to actually attempt this journey, but I am sure she did it because the promise that had been given to us by the government, was too good to turn down. The English were threatening to take over the land along the pacific coast, and the president felt that if that part of the country was settled by Americans, we could hold the English off.
Many a night, as we camped, and during the day, as we traveled along, the air was filled with the song we sang, written for this very occasion. I knew all the words by heart.
“Sons of the Western Border, who spurn a life of toil,
Who find the ranger’s rifle more fruitful than the soil,
The tide of life adventures your wild retreats upon,
Your forest shadows vanish, Ho! Ho! For Oregon!
And ye who love adventure, who scorn a sluggish life
Who seek unbounded freedom, the chase, and forest strife,
Throughout the Union rally…our frontier livery don,
Then ho! For hills and prairie…Ho! Ho! For Oregon!
A thousand strong we gather by old Missouri’s tide,
The cottage-born and humble those nursed in wealth
and pride;
There is a tie that binds them…these thousand hearts in one
It is the thrilling watchword, Ho! Ho! For Oregon!
Two thousand miles before us the boundless prairies bloom,
Or wild unbroken forests wave in primeval gloom,
Bleak mountains, yawning chasms across the path, yet on,
We’ll bear the starry banner to plant in Oregon!
Now I began humming the tune of the song, as I helped unload the wagon, and then I began singing the words. Before long, everyone was singing along with me as we labored to prepare for crossing the river. The sound rose up into the sky, announcing our eagerness to settle in a new territory, but I knew how difficult that was going to be, if this trip was any example of what we had to overcome in the process of getting there.
It would take the rest of the day, just to get across the river. We usually averaged twenty miles a day, but when obstacles like this, or having to dismantle the wagons to hoist them up over difficult terrain, stood in our way, it always slowed us down, and we would have to spend the whole day, just getting over one short obstacle.
By noon, the wagons were all loaded again. We had stopped to have the noon meal before proceeding, and I sat with my family, thinking about a future that seemed uncertain. My older brother, Jessie, and I had been riding horses along side the wagon, while my mother and father sat up on the high bench of the wagon, with our younger sister Becky, who was only ten. I had just turned 16 and Jessie was 18, thinking pretty highly of himself, since he was planning to marry Bessie Sue, one of the members of our company, as soon as we reached Oregon, and he could claim land for himself and his new wife. I guess that made him feel like a regular adult, and in a way I envied him.
He was a boy and had a lot more freedom than a girl like me could ever have. I would have to wait until someone asked me to marry him, and then pretty much become his property. That was something I rebelled against, because I preferred to make my own choices in life. However, so far, there was no prospects, that my mother could encourage me to accept, and that suited me just fine.
Father snapped a whip over the heads of the oxen, to get them moving, but there were no reins to guide them. They knew to follow the wagon ahead of them, and the head wagon followed the captain of the company. He, in turn, followed the scout who was sent ahead to make sure there was no danger, and if there was, would return and report it to the captain, who would decide what to do about it. In this case, though, all the wagons would be connected together, as we crossed over.
Without warning, my horse apparently stepped into a hole, or a deeper part of the river, because before I knew it, instead of just my legs dragging in the water, I had water swirling around my neck. Banner’s head had gone under water, and it frightened her so much that she came snorting up, shaking her head and rearing up, trying to get on top of the water to keep her head clear. It was then that I felt myself tumbling into the swirling current, that grabbed at my dress, and wrapped it around my legs. I could hear Jessie calling my name, before my own head went under water.
Then my head was popping up again, and I was floundering about in the water, not being able to direct my course, as the water pulled me swiftly downriver. I could see Jessie racing along the bank on his horse, trying to keep up with me, but now the water was too deep for him to enter, or the current would wash him away right along with me.
He swung his rope over his head, trying to reach me as he tossed it in my direction, but it always fell out of reach, and the water took me even further, until it was emptying into a lower level of the river, too far below the bank for Jessie to reach. He stopped his horse short, screaming my name repeatedly, until the sound of the water around me, drowned him out. I knew then that if I didn’t do something quick, I would certainly drown.
With frantic hands, I started ripping the buttons off of the front of my dress, as I tried to tear the material free of my body. As soon as the opening presented itself, I shrugged out of the sleeves, and let the dress float away. Next, I managed to remove my petty coat, until I was down to my pantaloons and shift. Finally, my legs were not hampered, and my clothes were not trying to pull me under, but still I could not reach the shore, as I was tumbled down the river like a rag doll, the force of the water tossing me in one direction and then the other. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain, as my head must have hit a rock hidden by the white foaming water, as it tumbled over boulders and rocks impeding its course. There was a flash of bright-light when my head hit, and then everything went dark.
I was dreaming that I had drowned. Everything was quiet and peaceful, as I opened my eyes and looked around me. I felt at peace and content, letting the water hold me in its buoyancy, as my hair floated all around me. I wasn’t frightened any longer. I knew it was all over, and soon I would be following that bright-light before me, that seemed to be filled with a love I couldn’t describe but was anxious to embrace.
The next moment I was coughing, my lungs filled with the pain of swallowing too much water. I was struggling to be free from whatever was holding me back from that peaceful promise of ever encompassing love. The hands would not release me. I could feel myself being carried, and wondered if Jessie had managed to catch up with me and had pulled me away from the brink of death. But before I could figure it out, I felt myself falling into a dark abyss, where no awareness of love penetrated, to keep me from falling deeper.
I became vaguely aware of a bouncing sensation as my body rose and fell, while it rested on something soft, yet secure. It didn’t feel like a wagon beneath me, and yet I could sense that I was moving, being pulled over uneven sod, beneath whatever I was resting on. I felt restrained and couldn’t move, which started to frighten me. A strange smell of something I couldn’t put my finger on, but seemed to come from some unknown animal, surrounded me. I could feel the soft fur against my face, so I knew that some kind of animal skin held me in a tight cocoon like enclosure.
I opened my eyes to see branches of trees above me, shading me, as the thing I lay on continued to move. The sun sparkled down between the leaves, as the wind ruffled them slightly, and I found myself transfixed on the way the leaves looked from this vantage point. It made the trees seem so tall, and almost foreign to me. I turned my head from side to side, noting that we were following a path, with trees on either side, and the sound of the river rushing beside us. Of course, I was not alone, because someone or something was pulling the contraption, I lay on.
Finally, I managed to find my voice.
“Who are you?” I called out. “Where are you taking me?”
When I did that, my conveyance came to a stop, and I could hear the sounds of leaves and twigs being snapped beneath someone’s step. A moment later, that person was bending over me, and I started screaming hysterically. I closed my eyes tightly, and I began thrashing against the binds that held me to whatever it was I was lying on, but there was no room to move, and my arms were held down at my side. I felt his hand stroke gently across my forehead, trying to calm me.
“Nah-ghee Chay-dehn dah-wahchee shnee yah-zohn-yea nee-yea,” he kept repeating, but I couldn’t understand him. The one thing I did understand was that this person who had me captive, was an Indian, and the very knowledge caused me to shiver in fright.
I started screaming again, and the savage put his hand over my mouth, but he wasn’t being rough; he merely was trying to make me be quiet.
Again, he repeated, “Nah-ghee Chay-dehn dah-wahchee shnee yah-zohn-yea nee-yea,” in a musical sounding voice.
He patted me on the shoulder, as though trying to sooth me, so I opened my eyes. Now I was looking straight at him as he pointed to himself.”
“Nah-ghee Chay-dehn.”
He kept pointing to himself, saying the words again.
“Is that your name?” I asked timidly.
He nodded, and smiled. He seemed to understand me, although he acted like he could not speak my language.
“Name,” he said, pounding on his chest. “Nah-ghee Chay-dehn.”
Then he tapped me on my chest through the fur robe that covered me, giving me a questioning look.
“Name?” he questioned.
“Vanessa,” I said in a trembling voice.
“Vanessa,” he repeated, and patted my shoulder.
I took in my breath, deciding he wasn’t going to harm me, since he wanted to know my name, and now I let my gaze wander over him. He was tall, or so he seemed to be from my lying position, and he wore nothing but a breechcloth. His body was dark and strong, with muscles rippling over his skin when he moved. I noticed his long straight coal-black hair, falling over his shoulders as he bent over me, a feather attached to a thin braid at the side of his head hovered in the breeze.
His features seemed chiseled, accentuating his prominent cheek bones, his well-shaped nose, a strong chin, and high flat forehead. Full lips smiled down at me. Silver rings pierced his ears, and a leather thong about, his neck, displayed a collection of claws from some wild anima. Nonetheless, what impressed me the most was his mysterious, liquid eyes, staring down at me with such intensity, that I could almost feel them physically brushing my cheek.
After a moment, he turned, and went to his horse that appeared to be pulling the contraption I was lying on. He came back, and held my head up, as he placed the end of a leather water pouch in my mouth, and squeezed a small amount down my throat. Then he gave me a satisfied smile, returned to his horse, and now I could feel myself being pulled forward again. My brother hadn’t saved me after all. I was captured by a wild, savage Indian. However, so far, he was treating me kindly. I didn’t know how long that would last, though.
As we traveled beside the river, heading in a direction, I wasn’t aware of, my thoughts were occupied with wondering if I would ever see my family again. I still could see the tortured look on Jessie’s face, when he realized he could not follow me down the river any further, and he had no recourse but to turn back and return to the wagon train. I wondered if someone would be sent downriver to see if they could retrieve my body, because I was certain, they must have assumed I would drown. Only now, if they did that, they would never find me, I bemoaned. No one would ever know what had happened to me, and I would remain the prisoner of this
Indian forever.
Then I began wondering what the Indian planned to do with me, and all the scenarios I could come up with were not pleasant. Nah-ghee Chay-dehn, I kept repeating in my head, so I would remember his name. I wondered what it meant? I had heard the Indians had strange names, like Running Bear, or Charging Bull, so the Indian words must mean something more than just what they sounded like, I reasoned. Eventually, out of boredom, I fell asleep.
I strangely became aware that we were no longer traveling. I opened my eyes, and could see my captor, squatting over a small collection of twigs, as he struck flint against his knife. I watched the sparks fly off of the metal like a miniature fourth of July celebration. Then they seemed to catch the twigs, and Nah-ghee Chay-dehn began to blow on the twigs, until the fire started to grow, and he added more fuel to his fire, until it was crackling happily in the rock enclosure, he had fashioned for it. Once the fire was going well, he looked over to me and smiled.
He came to where I was lashed to his buffalo-hide trailer, that was connected to his horse, and started untying the long leather thongs that held me fast. Once they were loose, I managed to sit up, and look around me. The horse, pulling my little trail-along, seemed impatient to be removed from the thing, and he turned his head and looked at me with askance curiosity.
The buffalo-hide fell away, and I saw I was dressed solely in my shift and pantaloons. I realized they were the only clothes I owned now, and I was feeling very uncomfortable, and somewhat embarrassed, knowing that neither really covered me sufficiently. My attire did not seem to faze the savage, as he brought me over to a tree, where he threw the buffalo-hide I had been covered with, and ordered me to sit on it, by pushing me onto the hide, and then tying my hands together, and next my feet, with the thongs he had taken off of me earlier.
Now that he was assured I could not escape, he busied himself removing the trail-along, from the back of the horse, which later I discovered was called a travois, made from two long poles, with a hide stretched from pole to pole. The two poles were fastened to the back of his strange-looking saddle. The saddle, itself, was a mere wooden frame, covered with several blankets for padding, all of which, he removed and tossed on top of the buffalo-hide, travois, he had placed on the ground in front of the fire.