Spirit Quest

by Jennifer Frick-Ruppert

  “Don’t worry, little ones. We have made this run many times. Just don’t fall out. The current is swift.”

  “Are we going out the inlet to that great blue sea?” I had never seen such an expanse of water, endless to the horizon.

  “No, we set the weirs in the sound, but close to the inlet. At this season, countless fish enter the sound through the inlet and run up to the rivers to lay their eggs. We catch a few of those with our weirs after they swim in through the inlet.”

  As Tetszo was telling us this, I turned to look at him in the stern and was astonished to see a big canoe, with twenty men in it, rounding the point we had left behind. A quick surge of fear coursed through me. Who were they? I pointed and Ascopo looked back too.

  “A canoe, behind us, with twenty men!” he exclaimed breathlessly. Both brothers paused in their paddling and looked around briefly. “I thought you said we were the only ones coming out this morning.”

  “It is okay, boys. It is the rest of our fishing group, come out to tend the weirs. They are bringing along the two big canoes and all the fishing gear. I knew they would come right behind us when we said we were taking you boys to teach you weir repair. Now they can rest while you are working. In fact, another canoe should be right along behind the first.”

  “I thought maybe it was the Roanoacs instead of our group,” I tried to explain, and Ascopo nodded vigorously.

  “You are right to be concerned. Sometimes we do encounter other tribes out here, but generally, these banks are uncontested land. The Roanoacs claim the central island because their village Dasemunkepeuc is right across from it. At low tide, you can walk across from the village to the island. As you get farther south, the Croatoans occupy the wider islands permanently. But up here, north of the Roanoac’s island, we stay out of conflict.” Tetszo paused and Keetrauk added, “Just don’t go south by yourself. A boy is too tempting a target. They’ll make a slave of you.”

  “Or worse,” Tetszo filled in. “Get back to paddling, brother! Let’s show them how we can move.”

  Even with twenty men paddling, the big canoe was slower than we were. A second canoe finally did appear, but it fell even farther behind. We landed before it rounded the point. I leapt out as we beached the canoe on shore, and my toe throbbed from the impact. The blood that had congealed across the wound began to ooze again.

  My sore toe only briefly distracted me from looking around, for the banks were different in appearance from the mainland. There was none of the sticky black mud so common everywhere else in the sound. Along the Chowan, we had a sandy beach where we walked down to the river to bathe, but here most of the marsh shoreline was sandy even though we were still on the protected sound side of the banks. I couldn’t even imagine what the sea side of the island looked like, but I wanted to see it.

  Most astonishing, however, were the great dunes of sand that pushed up above the trees. Men talked about the sandy banks, but not about great dunes of sand like these. They were immense! I was curious about them.

  We got out of the canoe and pulled it well above the water onto the dry marsh sand. Tetszo said, “We are close enough to the inlet that we get tides here, boys. The water rises and falls regularly, powered by an internal drive instead of by the wind as it is on the mainland. See that line of flotsam on the upper part of the beach? It is the high-tide line and the canoe should rest above that line to prevent the water from washing it away when the tide rises. Here, near the sea, you must pay attention to the tides. A low tide can leave you stranded on a mudflat if you are not careful. But it is not a big problem, because the water will come back a little while after it leaves you, as long as you are considerate and do not curse at its going.”

  “You are silly, brother. The tides do not move the water very much. Only a careless man would mindlessly beach his canoe. And only one in a hurry to return to his pretty woman would even consider cursing the water, causing it to hold him even longer!” Keetrauk teased Tetszo.

  “You hush, now! I am trying to teach the boys something of the water here.”

  Keetrauk snorted and said, “Pull, brother, pull!” With a final great heave, the brothers beached the canoe well above the high tide line.

  I glanced up toward the sand dunes, shielding my eyes from the glare. “What are those mountains of sand?” I asked, nodding toward them with my head. I was accustomed to the landscape around Chowanook, which was flat and level. Men talked of the mountains to the west, where the Cherokee tribe, relatives of the Mangoaks, lived, but never had they spoken of sand mountains, only dunes, to the east. When I imagined those sandy dunes, I thought of small hummocks of sand blown by the wind, perhaps as tall as a man, but these were mountains, taller than the trees.

  Tetszo looked up briefly and said, “They are big hills of sand. No animals there, no water, and you have to go over them or around them to find a shallow pond on the other side.” Ascopo, the hunter-boy, glanced at the dramatic sand mountains disinterestedly and abruptly redirected his fish-seeking gaze to the water.

  To me, the sand mountains were awe-inspiring, but they held no intrigue for the others. They thought only of fishing. In fact, Tetszo was already explaining the weir. I had better listen.

  “The weir is located down along the shore of the marsh. See the line of stakes protruding from the water?” I followed his raised arm and did indeed see dozens of stakes in the water. But how they would function to catch fish was hard for me to determine.

  We walked toward the contraption while Tetszo explained it. “You see this row of stakes in front of us? This is the fence, which extends from the beach out into the water as far as we can wade and still push the stakes into the bottom. The stakes are far enough apart to allow water to flow through easily, but close enough together to prevent any good-sized fish from pushing through it. Instead, the fish move along the fence, searching for a way through. Over there, near the middle section of the fence, is an opening, but rather than leading to freedom, the gap opens into an enclosure that traps and concentrates the fish. Once they are in this pen, we either spear the big fish or dip out the smaller ones with nets, so we must locate the pen where it is deep enough for the fish to survive but shallow enough for us to spear and net the fish.”

  As Tetszo described how the weir worked, I could imagine how it looked under the water by following the line of emergent tops of the stakes. What had initially appeared to be a forest of random stakes now had a visible pattern.

  “The pen’s construction is paramount because that is where the fish are trapped and concentrated, and they mill around in there, bumping against the sides. The fence is just a series of stakes, but the pen must have strong walls. To strengthen the pen, we weave willow branches through the upright stakes to make a strong wall from which no fish can escape. When the fish are really running and quickly fill the pen, we must keep pace with their increasing numbers by spearing and removing them. Even as strong as we build the walls of the pen, they cannot withstand the combined force of too many fish.”

  “What keeps the fish from just turning around and swimming back out of the opening they entered?” Ascopo asked.

  “Nothing!” Tetszo replied, grinning. “The weir concentrates the fish into the pen and holds them temporarily while we catch them. They are coming in the inlet with the rising tide and they want to swim upriver to their spawning ground. Any fish can turn around and swim out, but because the opening is relatively small, only one fish can enter or leave at a time.”

  “There aren’t any fish in the pen today because there is a hole in the pen opposite the entrance, so when fish enter, they can just swim straight out the other side. Last time we were here, a big, angry chigwusso thrashed around so vigorously that it created a hole in the pen’s wall before we could spear him and get him out of the pen. We left the hole unrepaired because it was the end of the season and we did not want to trap fish in the pen when we were not available to ha
rvest them. Our normal practice is to open the pens when we leave.” Tetszo looked over at me with a critical eye and said, “You know, Skyco, that chigwusso was about as long as you are tall. Probably weighed nearly as much as you do too. It was a big one.”

  “Was it coppery red with black spots on its tail like the one we caught? I mean, the one you speared yesterday?” I asked a little sheepishly since all I did was ride in the canoe while the brothers fished.

  “Yes, but the spots differ among individual fish. Some have one, two, or more spots, the spots have different shapes, or they are in different places. Every spot-tailed bass looks a little different from every other one and I find that interesting because among most types of fish, the individuals all look the same.”

  Tetszo paused, then added, “Boys, we all worked together to catch the fish. You were right to include yourself as a fisherman, Skyco. Someone must paddle and someone else must tend the fire while the spearman fishes. A single spearman wouldn’t get many fish by himself.”

  Ascopo broke up the serious discussion by saying, “Is it true that some of those striped bass, the mesickek, get as big as a man?

  “Oh, yes, Ascopo, and when they are running, we catch dozens. We must keep watch and get those big ones out of the pen so there is enough room for the rest to come in! You are going to love it!” Keetrauk said.

  “Enough about what might happen, Keetrauk. Let’s get this pen fixed and see what does happen!” Tetszo slapped his brother on his back and they pulled out the bundle of sticks from the canoe.

  “Why did we bother to bring that bundle in the canoe?” I asked the men. “Looks like plenty of sticks are right here.”

  “I know it seems strange to bring materials with us when the low woods here have unlimited numbers of shrubs, but these essential materials are not available here in the salt marsh. We need both long, stout reeds and flexible but tough willow branches, and they grow only in freshwater marshes. We harvested them a couple of days ago, before we left the big freshwater marshes. We will weave the reeds and branches between the stakes already in place. The stakes that form the fence go down into the bottom and protrude up above the water, but the willow branches and thick reeds are woven from side to side between the stakes. You need to practice on land first, before we put you in the water to make the repair. See how this works, boys? Once you get the hang of it, the task will be easier.”

  Ascopo and I set to work practicing with the stakes, reeds, and branches on the dry beach. First, we pushed a line of stakes vertically into the sand, and then, with Ascopo on one side and me on the other, we began to weave in the reeds and willow branches. Beginning at the top of the line of stakes, we wove in one reed, bending it repeatedly behind one stake and in front of the next until we completed the row, then we pushed the reed-row down to the base of the stakes. We continued this process, alternating between a row of reeds and a row of branches, until the stack of woven material reached the tops of the stakes. Then we stopped to admire our work, hoping for approval from the men.

  “Hey Ascopo!” I said, stepping back to appreciate the short wall we’d set up on the shore, the woven branches supporting it. “Isn’t this exactly what we were talking about for the palisade? The vertical stakes are just like the palisade logs. By weaving the branches in between, we strengthen the whole pen. It would work on the palisade, too.” As I considered our project, I was also reminded of Roncommock’s teachings. Like the strong wall of stakes and woven branches before me, interlacing everyday actions with guiding principles of the spirit world built a strong tribe.

  The two brothers and Ascopo looked at each other and back at me. “You are thinking like a chief, Skyco,” Keetrauk said as they all grinned. “You have some good ideas, but now let’s get to work.”

  Ascopo, Keetrauk, and Tetszo waded into the water along one side of the fence while I entered along the other. We walked along the fence until we came to the pen, and Keetrauk said, “We three will stay on this side of the pen. You come into the pen through its entrance, Skyco, as a fish would. We need you on the inside to help work the weave with Ascopo on the outside, just as you did on land. Feel each stake with your hands and make sure it is still in place. If the stake feels loose, push it down deeper into the bottom. While you and Ascopo work on the pen, Tetszo and I will check all the stakes in the fence that go out into deeper water.”

  I did as he instructed, finding several stakes that were lopsided or loose in the fence near the opening to the pen. By the time I made it to the opening, I was already chest deep and wading deeper. “This is too deep for me to walk easily. Let’s hurry up and get done with this repair before the tide makes it any deeper,” I said anxiously as I stood in the water already up to my armpits.

  “Sure. We’ve already started back here. Come on, we need your help along this wall of the pen. We can do the rest of it without you. But before you leave the opening, double check those stakes on either side. They get pushed by the fish most frequently and probably need to be reset.”

  Indeed, as I shuffled along, I bumped into one of the stakes that was bent over so that its top was not even above the water. I tugged at it to right it, but without my feet firmly planted, couldn’t move it in the bottom. Instead, I managed to bump my injured toe again. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation: the water, which had been at the level of my armpits, suddenly rose up to my chin! Puzzled, I immediately looked toward Keetrauk, Tetszo, and Ascopo on the outside of the pen. Was the tide rising? From outside the pen, they were looking back in at me, but their eyes were wide, and suddenly I saw why. A dorsal fin was between us, heading my way.

  “Skyco, quick, get out of there!” the brothers yelled simultaneously. I tried to back up quickly, but it was difficult to move fast enough in the water. I realized in panic that I stood helplessly right in the opening, between a big shark and its freedom. I had no chance. The fish was upon me, but instead of biting, it thrust past me as it swept out through the entrance of the pen. The impact of its body and the turbulence of the water tumbled me off my feet and my head went under water. After an eternity, I finally surfaced outside the pen, sputtering and hurting, my arms and legs paddling frantically against the water.

  “Hurry, hurry!” I heard Ascopo shouting, but I was disoriented from the dunking. At last I got my feet under me and turned toward the shore, but then I felt another wave rising up my back and realized that once the shark was free of the trap, it had turned around and was charging toward me again as I rushed along the fence trying to make it back to shore. It was my bloody foot that it was after! Why hadn’t I thought about that?

  I pushed my feet against the bottom with all my might, flailed my hands like paddles in the water, and rushed headlong toward the beach. I heard the brothers give an alarm yell just as a wave broke and helped push me onto dry ground as I flew up the beach. I looked over my shoulder to see the shark whipping its massive muscular body from side to side as it struggled against the sand to swim back into deeper water. It had come right into the shallows after me. It was a menacing creature, dark, brownish gray with a broad, flat, depressed snout and tiny, dull eyes. It snapped its mouth and I saw pink gums and rows of gleaming, white, triangular teeth.

  I collapsed down onto the beach as the others rushed up. My hip and side where the shark had brushed past me were raw and bleeding, the skin scraped away so deeply that the exposed surface was stark white, with red streaks from which blood was welling up. My toe was bleeding too. I thought of that flat head and tiny eyes and white teeth, imagining that the teeth must have scraped without actually biting me in half. All of a sudden, the memory overwhelmed me, and I leaned over and vomited.

  “Okay, okay,” the brothers said. “You are going to be okay, Skyco. Sharkskin is as rough as teeth if it rubs you the wrong way. Don’t worry, the shark didn’t bite you.”

  “Skyco! Are you dying?” Ascopo’s face looked terrified.

  “He’ll be fine.
Go get him some water, Ascopo,” Tetszo said as he supported my shoulders. “There should be a macócqwer full of water in the basket in the canoe.” He turned to Keetrauk and said, “We’ll need to get this wound patched, too. Can’t have him bleeding in the water. It will attract more sharks.”

  “Here, Skyco, drink this water,” Keetrauk said, handing me the big round gourd with a long thin neck while crouching down to look at my injured hip and side. “This is going to ooze blood for a long time because it is scraped down to white and pink skin over the whole area.”

  Ascopo said, “You’ve been sanded like a canoe!”

  “Shut up, Ascopo,” Tetszo said. “There is no need to describe what he can plainly see.”

  Keetrauk said, “And what in the world happened to your toe? That is something different. No shark did that. It is black and blue as if you hurt it earlier, but it is bleeding. Tell me you didn’t go in the water with a bloody toe, Skyco!”

  I hung my head, admitting that I had.

  “No wonder that shark turned back on you! He was just trying to get out of the trap at first, but then he smelled your bloody toe. You got lucky there. Remember that guy from Ohanoak who had his hand taken off, Tetszo? Now he is crippled. Can’t shoot a bow anymore. A warrior who can’t shoot. He is useless,” Keetrauk commented with scorn in his voice.

  The thought of that lost hand turned me as white as the bark of a sycamore tree, I am sure, and Ascopo looked as if he might vomit, too.

  Tetszo glared at his brother, then said to me, “Tell us what plants to gather to treat your wound and stop it from bleeding, Skyco. I heard you did a great job with Roncommock when he was hurt. Come on, little medicine man. You’ve got to help yourself now.”