Papa must have ridden hard, because it wasn’t long before I heard the LaBelles’ wagon coming up our trail. The LaBelles were the first family we had met when we came to Saginaw. When we put up our cabin, Mr. LaBelle had helped us.
Mrs. LaBelle, as tall and scrawny as a heron, marched in. She was all business, but you could see her gentleness in the way she put her hand on Mama’s forehead. “Vinnie, don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve seen to more births than I can remember. Rob, spread a blanket in front of the fire to warm. Libby, you’re a good girl to have taken care of your mother. Now you must keep from getting underfoot. You can play outside until we call you.”
“Papa,” I said, “tonight will be the full moon. Today is the naming day for Fawn’s little brother. Can’t we go?”
“I couldn’t leave your mother, Libby. You must see that.”
I hung at the doorway. If I just looked disappointed enough I was sure Papa would change his mind.
Instead he became angry. “For shame, Libby! How can you think of your own selfish pleasure at a time like this?”
Papa was right. I was cold-hearted. I should have been thinking of poor Mama. Only it seemed very hard to me to have to miss something I had looked forward to so much. Mama says I get my stubbornness from Papa. I was determined to go to the naming day. Fawn had told me there would be games and a feast. I said, “The wild blackberries on the other side of the pond are ripe.” I added in what I hoped was a saintly voice, “I’ll take the bucket and pick some for Mama.”
“That’s a good, thoughtful girl,” Papa said. But I could tell that his mind was on following Mrs. LaBelle’s commands.
As soon as I was outside I ran in the opposite direction of the pond. I headed for the pine woods and the trail that led to the Indian camp. Even though I had never gone to the camp by myself, Fawn had often come from there to visit me, and I didn’t see why I shouldn’t do the same. The path was a cushion of pine needles. Even my running made no noise. Soon I was out of the cool woods and in the meadow. Trees were scarce and the sun hot. When I came to a patch of wild blackberries, I hid the pail in a hollow tree. I would stop to pick some on my way back.
4
AT THE Indian camp there were all kinds of wonderful things to see. The Indians were gathered in the clearing in front of their wigwams. Some of the children were watching the Indian men dancing to the beat of a drum, while others were playing ball or wrestling. Everyone was dressed up. The men had painted their faces in stripes and patches of yellow and red and wrapped their heads in bright cloths. They looked like magical birds. The women wore necklaces and earbobs of silver and beads. Even the children’s moccasins were embroidered with beaded flowers and leaves.
Fawn was looking for me. “Where are your mother and father?” she asked.
“Mama is having the baby,” I said. Luckily Fawn did not question me more.
I hung back. Although everyone was friendly, suddenly I felt out of place. I tried to explain to Fawn. “Everybody looks so dressed up. I don’t fit in.”
Fawn smiled. “Come to our wigwam.” She ran ahead of me. By the time I caught up with her, she had tumbled all the clothes from a large basket.
“Here is my other dress,” she said. “Here are a pair of moccasins. And here is my ribbon I said you could have.” Hastily I threw off my shift and slipped into Fawn’s dress and moccasins. Fawn braided my hair with the ribbon and hung a necklace of beads around my neck. I longed to see myself in a mirror, but there was no mirror in the wigwam. We looked for Fawn’s mama. Menisikwe was dressed in a bright calico shift embroidered with beads and fringed leggings sewn with ribbons. When she saw me, she threw up her hands. “No chimokman. You Indian today,” she said, and laughed.
“What’s a chimokman?” I asked Fawn.
“That’s what we call people who are not Indians,” she said. “Come, it is time for the food.”
The women were putting out wooden bowls of cornmeal porridge swimming in maple syrup. There was fried fish and freshly roasted venison. There was some other meat. I hoped it was not dog.
The drums and dancing had stopped. “Where is your brother?” I asked Fawn.
“He is with my father and the other men from the clan.” She pointed to where the men and young boys were gathered in a circle. “They are giving him his name. He is to be called Megisi. That means ‘bald eagle.’ It is a fine name because we are of the Eagle clan. The bald eagle is the largest of all eagles.”
Suddenly, as though a great wind were blowing, the gathering of men and boys began to scatter. They ran first one way and then another. I thought it must be part of the ceremony until I heard Menisikwe and the other women cry out. Something in the woods was frightening them. Then I saw what it was. Mounted soldiers. They were riding into the camp.
They began to shout at the Indians. One of the soldiers shot his rifle into the air. Some of the Indians ran toward the woods, but the soldiers rode after them to bring them back. They were like the shepherd dogs in Virginia that ran barking and snarling at the sheep to herd them together.
I grabbed Fawn’s hand. “What’s happening?” I whispered, too frightened to speak aloud.
“It is what your father warned us of. They have come to take us away.” Tears welled up in her eyes. That frightened me more than anything, for I had never seen Fawn cry. I began to cry, too. Desperately I looked around for Papa to help us. Then I realized how foolish I was. Papa was back home and didn’t even know I was here.
One of the soldiers spoke Potawatomi. He shouted orders to the Indians. “What is he saying?” I whispered.
Fawn’s voice trembled. “Our people will be sent far away to live. They are taking us to join other clans of the People.” Fawn caught her breath. “He says we must go at once to our wigwams to gather up whatever we wish to take with us. The men will be allowed to ride their ponies. They have brought a wagon for the women and children.”
The sound of the women moaning and crying was terrible to hear. The men were shouting angry words at the soldiers. Fawn whispered, “Our men ask, ‘What will happen to our cornfields and our sacred burial place?’ ”
Suddenly one of the Indian men ran at a soldier. I saw the flash of a knife in his hand. At once two soldiers were on him, wrestling him to the ground and tying him up.
Seeing the man bound by the soldiers, the other Indians seemed to lose heart. One by one the families turned slowly toward their wigwams. In Fawn’s wigwam Menisikwe strapped Megisi to her back. She gathered up the baskets and the wooden bowls. She took her most precious possession, an iron kettle. Sanatuwa took his bow and arrows and his fishhooks. He took his flints and tinder so that he could make a fire.
We were about to leave the wigwam when Sanatuwa looked up. For the first time he noticed me. When he recognized me, he groaned.
The next moment he was pulling me after him toward the soldiers. When we reached a soldier on horseback, Sanatuwa called to him in English, “This girl is not of our clan. She is a white girl. She belongs to settlers who live near us. You must return her to her mother and father.”
The soldier looked down at Sanatuwa. He seemed to be suspicious at finding an Indian who spoke English so well. He said, “If she’s a white girl, why is she dressed in Indian clothes? What is she doing here with you?”
“I’m not an Indian,” I insisted. I forgot how only an hour before I was longing to be one. “My name is Libby Mitchell.” The soldier was not paying attention. He was watching two Indians who had rifles slung over their shoulders.
“Why won’t you listen?” I cried, grabbing his reins. “I’m not an Indian! I don’t want to be an Indian!” Suddenly I had an idea. “I’ll show you the dress and shoes I came in.”
“You probably stole them,” the soldier said. He snatched the reins out of my hands and rode off to take the rifles from the Indians.
I turned to Sanatuwa. I was shaking. It wasn’t just what was happening to me. It was what was happening to all of them: Fawn and her mo
ther and father and all the members of her clan.
Sanatuwa shook his head. “I am sorry, but I can do no more now. I am the okama, the leader of my people. It is my duty to see to my clan, but I have not forgotten that when a sickness nearly took my daughter, your mother nursed her back to health. She saved my daughter’s life. I will not let her lose her daughter.” One of the Indians ran up to Sanatuwa to ask something. He nodded, taking a pouch from under his shirt. From the pouch he drew something strange. It looked like the dried head and neck of a bald eagle.
Fawn saw me staring at it. She whispered, “It is the sacred bundle, the pitchkosan, which holds the power of our clan.”
A wagon rolled up to the camp. One by one the moaning women and weeping children climbed in with their baskets. Fawn and Menisikwe, carrying Megisi, got in. I thought, If I climb into that wagon I will never see Mama and Papa again.
I began to run toward the woods and the path that would take me home. A soldier came cantering after me. I could hear him calling, but I kept running. A moment later he swept me up onto his horse. The horse reared and he squashed me against him to keep me from falling.
I tried to tell him I was Libby Mitchell. “I don’t care what your name is,” he said. “An Indian is an Indian.” I hit him with my fists. He only laughed at me. I was furious that he didn’t believe me. I bit his hand, and he dropped me onto the ground. When he saw me start toward the woods again he pointed his rifle at me. “Get into the wagon!” he shouted.
I climbed into the wagon with the women and the other children, and the little procession pulled away, led by two soldiers. Next came the Indian men on their ponies and then our wagon. The rest of the soldiers followed. I looked over my shoulder. Everything familiar was disappearing. I clung to the hope that by dinner Papa would miss me. But it was a long time till then. Besides, I had told him I would be in the opposite direction—across the pond. He would believe I got lost picking berries. He would never think of looking for me at the Indian camp. Even when he heard what happened to the Indians he would have no reason to think I was with them. Soon I would be miles and miles away from Papa and Mama.
The wagon jogged along a trail so narrow that the tree branches scraped its sides. Ahead of us the Indian men were silent. They rode with closed, angry faces. I was praying we would go by way of Saginaw. I was sure I would see someone there who knew me and could tell the soldiers who I really was. But Fawn said, “We are going toward the sun, away from Saginaw.”
We looked at each other, but neither of us said anything. When you are close to someone, words are slippery things that slide away from what you want to say. My hand stole into Fawn’s hand as we sat there hanging on tightly to each other for comfort.
All afternoon the sun beat down on the wagon. It was hot and dusty. The wagon was so crowded that some of the children tried to climb over the sides, thinking to walk. The soldiers made them climb back in. The women were quiet now. Only the frightened way they clasped their baskets tightly to them showed what they were feeling. One of the soldiers, an older man with a long red beard, handed his water canteen to us. “Let the children drink from it,” he said. His voice was gruff, but his eyes looked sad.
We were all tired and thirsty and relieved when the soldiers finally stopped and told us to make camp. The Indians had brought ground corn. Sanatuwa made a fire, getting sparks from his flint for the tinder, then fanning the tiny flame with a hawk’s wing. The porridge was cooked in Menisikwe’s iron kettle and shared out into wooden bowls, but we were too low-spirited to eat much.
There were about forty of us gathered around the fire. The men spoke in whispers. Even if I could have heard them, I wouldn’t have understood what they were saying. Fawn explained, “It is a council.”
Across the camping ground from us the soldiers were having their own dinner. They were talking loudly and laughing. Some of them were drinking out of bottles. Once or twice I thought again of trying to tell them who I was. But I was afraid, for there was a sentry on duty. Every time one of the Indians moved even a little way from our circle, the soldier pointed his rifle at him. The sentry kept watch long after we had wrapped ourselves in blankets and lain down.
I was ashamed to cry when the Indians could see me, but when I thought everyone was asleep, I couldn’t hold back my tears. Fawn heard me. She whispered, “I know my father. He will not let a man tell him where he must go.”
“What can he do?” I whispered back.
“He will find the right time,” she said, and drew her blanket over her.
I lay there unable to sleep. Above us the full moon was so bright in the sky I couldn’t see the stars that Papa used to name for me. I would have liked to have had them for comfort. At last I fell asleep. When I awoke the campfires had been lighted to cook our morning meal.
5
FOR TWO long, dreary days we traveled. On the third day we were told we would not stop until dark, that we were on our way to join up with another group of Potawatomi. Every mile we rode away from home stole more of my hope until there was little left. How could I have hope when all around me were the sad faces of the Indians? Like me, they were leaving behind everything they cared for. Only one thing kept me from despairing altogether. Sanatuwa had taken me aside and said, “I have not forgotten you. Now my duty is to my clan. When we find a leader I can trust, I will give my clan’s care over to him. Then I will return you to your people.” I wanted to believe him, but I could not see how he would succeed.
It grew dark. When we thought we could travel no farther we saw ahead of us the light of campfires. They flickered like fire-flies through the trees. We came upon a clearing with many Indians and soldiers. As we drew closer, the camp looked peaceful. The Indians and the soldiers were each gathered about their own campfires. But we knew the Indians were there against their will, for soldiers were patrolling the camp with their rifles at the ready.
As we climbed from the wagon several of the Indians ran up to us. Fawn said they were asking “What is your clan?” and “Where do you come from?”
Some of them had painted their faces black, a sign of mourning, Fawn said. She listened to their talk. “Members of the Otter clan are here, and members of the Wolf clan and the Turtle clan and the Bear clan. They were all taken, as we were, from their camping grounds. Like us, they will be sent far to the west. A great okama is here, too. They are saying that tonight he will speak for all of us.”
Sanatuwa stood for some time, silently looking about him. At last he chose a place at the woods’ edge. The Indians from the other clans gave us some of their food. As we were eating, a tall, elderly Indian man with feathers in his turban stood up in the middle of the camp and raised his arms for silence. Immediately everyone was quiet, even the soldiers. “He is a kiktowenene,” Fawn said. “A speaker.” The man spoke in English, for he was addressing the soldiers, but the Indians followed his words as closely as if he were speaking in Potawatomi.
“Hear me,” he said to the soldiers. “Once we were brothers. Now you are using the trails made by our own people to carry us away from our camps. With your cunning you misled our chiefs. You tricked them into signing away what was left of our fields and forests. Our children and the children of our children will never again see their land. Hear me. Even the wild creatures of the forest have a home, while our homes are taken from us. Hear me. We showed you how to hunt the deer and how to snare the beaver and the otter. What have you given us in return for what you have taken from us? You have given us sickness to destroy our bodies and whiskey to destroy our spirit.”
The Indians murmured among themselves. Some of them began to beat drums. When one of the soldiers got up to put an end to the drumming, the soldier with the red beard motioned to him to let the drummers be.
The drumming went on far into the night. Tired as we were, it was hard to get to sleep. I was still awake when Sanatuwa tugged at my arm. He whispered, “The man who spoke tonight is a great okama. My people will be safe in his hands. My clan h
as not forgotten how your family nursed Taw-cum-e-go-qua when she was sick unto death. They agree that my duty is to return you to your family as your family returned my daughter to me. Tonight we will find our way from here. If we wait for another day we will be in country I do not know. You must seem to be asleep. Watch me and do what I do. When I move, you must follow me quickly. We must thank the Great Spirit for sending clouds to hide the moon tonight.”
6
THE CAMPFIRES died down. We were in darkness except for the patrolling soldiers whose torches lit first one corner of the campground and then another. Fawn and I were wide awake, watching for Sanatuwa’s signal. We waited so long I began to think that for this night he had given up the idea of an escape. In a way I was relieved, for I was afraid of what the soldiers would do if they caught us. Yet how I longed to see Mama and Papa. I must have drifted off to sleep because Fawn gave my arm a tug. “Hurry,” she whispered. We inched our way toward Sanatuwa and Menisikwe, who were already halfway into the woods. Menisikwe was carrying Megisi on her back.
Luckily the ground under us was damp, so the leaves did not rustle. When we were free of the clearing, Sanatuwa motioned us to follow him. A moment later, like moths in candle flame, we were caught in the glare of a rush torch. It was one of the soldiers, the soldier with the red beard. I saw Sanatuwa’s hand move toward the small axe he carried in his belt. Then a surprising thing happened. The soldier, instead of reaching for his rifle, said, “Why should you not walk as freely as I do?” He turned his back and headed toward the camp.
“Quickly,” Sanatuwa whispered. He seemed to know the path even in the dark. I could see nothing. I tripped over a log and fell. Then I took a wrong turn and bumped into a tree. Fawn took my hand and pulled me along with her.
Night of the Full Moon Page 2
