I Am Algonquin Page 15

After travelling for twenty-one days, trading and feasting for another six, we were now eager to leave for our homes. Especially with the knowledge that once we reached our lands we would be carrying on to attack our enemy to the south during the fall months. Our trip home would be faster with the extra Ouendat warriors, being able to disperse our goods among the extra canoes, lightening everyone’s loads. We would make an impressive force of close to sixty canoes full of men and goods.

  The day before we left, we got permission from the Ouendat Chiefs to send out a hunting party to obtain fresh meat for the journey. The hunters would take some young Ouendat boys with them, sending them back to the village with the skins of the slain animals as a gift to the village for letting us hunt from their lands.

  As we left, the people of the village came to the front gate and spilled out into the fields to cheer us on our way with songs, whoops, and yells. They knew that some of their warriors would never make it back to their homeland and this brought a wail from their relatives. They then began to sing to make their journey easier. The ones who did come back to the village would be gone for possibly four to six months. During that time their wives would most likely take another man. That was the Ouendat way.

  Now my thoughts turned to my village. My heart was heavy with the longing I felt for my wife and child. I prayed that they were safe. I hoped that we could reunite before the Kìshkijigewin Tibik-kìzis. If I had only known what would befall my people in the coming days, my blood would be rushing through my veins as cold as a winter stream! Only death and destruction were in my future. I had no forewarning of the disturbing events that were about to unfold.

  As we trotted through the pine, birch, and hardwood forest on the well-worn path to our boats, we came upon a warrior tied to a dead man and a large oak tree. Ozàwà Onik, who was at my side, said that this man had murdered the warrior he was tied to. The Ouendat punishment for this was what we were witnessing. The murderer would slowly starve to death and the victim’s family would have their redemption.

  Incest, murder, and theft were dealt with by their council and decisions rendered after all parties were heard from. Justice was always swift.

  26

  Demise and Devastation

  PANTHER SCAR HAD SENT out skirmishers to overpower the outlying sentries stationed around the village. They were to kill the sentries and then send a man back to report that they had accomplished the mission. He would wait until all the runners had returned with word, and then he would send them back with a contingent of warriors to attack. Panther Scar wanted the attack to be from all four sides to prevent any chance of escape by the Omàmiwinini. The attacks would not be coordinated, but they would confuse the enemy. Once they rushed to one part of the village to defend it, another group of his men would enter from another direction. The result would be total bedlam for the defenders and an easy victory for Panther Scar.

  Three of his runners were back, leaving only one of the groups unaccounted for.

  Panther Scar then split his men into four groups and sent them on their murderous quest. Before they left Panther Scar said, “Burn everything. Kill all the warriors, capture the women for wives and slaves, and bring back the young children to raise as our own. We will wipe this village out and leave their bodies for the animals. Leave now and avenge our fallen warriors.”

  He personally would lead the final group along with Corn Dog to find the missing warriors who had not returned. Motioning for them to follow, they left on a trot to where he had sent the missing skirmishers. In twenty minutes, they came upon a small clearing. There lay eight of his best warriors dead and dying. Four of them looked like they had been mauled by a wild animal as they lay on the ground in their own blood, with their throats ripped out. Their eyes were open and all their faces had a complete look of shock and horror.

  Two men were still alive. One warrior, He Who Runs, had his hand pinned to his chest with an arrow that was protruding from his back. It would take a tremendous amount of strength and a bow of immense proportions to do this kind of damage to a man. He was bleeding to death from the wound. Sheer terror showed in his face. No words emitted from his lips. His face was ashen and he was at death’s entrance.

  “Panther Scar, help me,” a feeble voice called out.

  Panther Scar and his men turned to see a young warrior named Grouse Feather, his leg a bloody mess, lying in a pool of blood.

  “Who did this to you? Were you and the others ambushed by an overpowering force?”

  “No, Panther Scar. Only one man with a withered leg and a black demon of a panther!”

  “Grouse Feather, you cannot tell me one man killed all of these Haudenosaunee warriors, a cripple at that?” said Corn Dog.

  “Oh, mighty chief, this man and his cat are either demons or gods. They fight like both and kill without mercy!”

  Panther Scar knew who the man was that his young warrior was talking. The big cat had left him with the scars that he now wore for life. This lone warrior spared his life that day many years ago at the small stream, but he still could not believe this man and his cat were invincible. Panther Scar still carried the hatred for this warrior they called Mitigomij. To have your life spared by an enemy was a curse that you had to carry with you the rest of your life. He owed him his life, but also carried the scorn that his people cast on him for years until he could prove that he was not a coward, but a strong warrior and a decisive leader.

  “Grouse Feather, how could eight warriors not kill this man?”

  “He slew two of the warriors and fatally wounded He Who Runs before we even knew what was happening. Then the big cat went to work. Ripping out Standing Man’s throat and breaking my leg. The other three reached the lame one, and he killed the first to reach him with a knife to his armpit. I then watched as Black Owl and Pointed Nose clubbed him into unconsciousness, but then the big cat killed them both in an instant. After that, I thought I was hallucinating. The panther grabbed the back of the lame one’s shirt and lifted him up like a bitch dog grabs a pup and carried him off into the woods!”

  “Was he dead?” asked Panther Scar.

  “That I don’t know. He took some powerful blows to his body and head from our two warriors before the black demon cat killed them. What are these two? They fight like nothing I have ever seen before. Who trains a wild animal like this to fight along side of them? They have to be shape changers! They are invincible.”

  “I don’t know, Grouse Feather, but someday if he is still alive I’ll reap my revenge from him.”

  “I’ll leave a man with you to splint your leg and to stem the blood flow from the wound. When the battle is over, I will send someone back for the two of you, but you will have to keep up with us when we leave or die in this country. You know a warrior’s fate when wounded.”

  Panther Scar then led his warriors to the carnage that was to befall Mahingan’s village of over a hundred souls.

  The three chiefs Mahingan, Ojàwashkwà Animosh, and Ozàwà Onik and their flotilla had reached the bay at dusk where they had left the canoes previously and now were camped for the evening.

  Mahingan was enjoying a feast of deer. He reached into the birch bark container full of squash, corn, beans, and meat, scooping out more of the watery soup with the wooden bowl he always carried. Then with his hand he shovelled the lukewarm broth into his mouth. As he ate and talked, juice ran out the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The smoke of the fire mixed with the smell of the men’s body odours and their occasional flatulence caused his nostrils to flare with the pungency of it all.

  “We were over twenty days coming here. I would like to cut that down to fewer than twenty if we can. With the extra men and food we have now, we will not have to stop and hunt. Ojàwashkwà Animosh will be sending a group of his men off to bring Nipissing warriors into our war party. When we get near our village, I will send men to ask the Innu, Maliseet, and Abenaki to join us at the big rapids. This will give us a force of over six h
undred warriors for the battle.”

  “Mahingan,” said Ozàwà Onik, “with the strength of this force we will be able to set the Haudenosaunee back for years.”

  That morning we rose at dawn, ate quickly, and left as the sun was starting to rise. There was a slight briskness to the morning and Mahingan could smell the pines and cedar through the early morning mist. He loved this time of day before the sun heated up the earth. He could taste the freshness of the clean air. When they were in their boats, the water was so clear and blue that they could see the bottom of the bay. Fish swam by and once they saw a huge nàme (sturgeon) almost the size of the boat. He would have liked to stop and try to spear this monster, but they were setting a brisk pace and they did not need any food at this time.

  In his canoe were the twins. They carried the weight of warriors now, lean and well muscled. Both had shaved half of their heads and had tattoos on their faces. Their bodies glistened with bear grease mixed with goldenseal to ward off the bugs.

  With this band of warriors well fed and strong, we would be home before the next moon.

  Wàgosh woke in a pouring rain. His head throbbed. He was having trouble breathing because of a dislocated rib. Taking a piece of wood, he gritted it between his teeth to help dull the pain, and then probing with his fingers, he found the misaligned bone. It did not feel broken, but it was causing extreme pain and shortness of breath. Clenching his fist, he hit the rib as hard as he could. Immediately, he could feel a rush of cool air into his lungs as the rib snapped back into place. The sharp end of a war axe had struck him, opening a wound the size of his fist. The blood was still seeping from this gash. His body was scratched and torn from the fall and covered with the blood that was trickling out of cuts and abrasions. The redness of the blood mixed with the rain covered his whole body in a deathly pale crimson colour. Wàgosh opened his medicine bag and, taking out a bone needle and deer sinew, prepared to work on his wounds. First he needed something to stem the bleeding. He had fallen into a ravine that had a stream flowing through it and a small meadow. He was sore and dizzy. Luckily none of his appendages were broken, but when he stood his surroundings started to spin. He dropped to his knees in pain and bewilderment. Taking a deep breath he knew that unless he could treat his injuries he would die beside this stream and his body would be food for the animals. Opening his eyes through the pain, he caught a glimpse of a patch of yellow flowers. Stumbling to the area, he dug up the plant. He popped the roots into his mouth and ate for subsistence. He washed his wounds with water from the stream and then, using the juice from the stems of the shìwanìbìsh (dandelion), he treated his lesions; this would stop the bleeding and help heal the gashes. Then he took the needle and, threading the sinew into it, proceeded to close the larger cuts. He started on his forehead, then his arms, working his way down to his legs. When he finished, he had counted over forty times he had stitched his skin. After he was done, he reached into his mouth and removed two of his teeth that were just hanging from their sockets. He was now too sore to move and the rain was cleansing the blood from his body and cooling the soreness of his damage. Reaching into his warrior’s bag, he removed some jimsonweed and made poultices with what moss he could collect. His head felt like someone was pounding on it with a large rock. He crawled to a large pine tree and pulled himself under it, seeking shelter from the rain. The pine needles provided some comfort from the ground, and then he passed out from the pain.

  By the time Panther Scar had reached the Algonquin village, the slaughter had started. Less than thirty warriors were there to defend the inhabitants. What were left of them was now protecting a group of women and children huddled in the centre of the encampment. They were being hacked to death by a warrior called Stone Dog and his followers. Screaming women were trying to fend off his warriors with their skinning knives, pieces of wood, and canoe paddles.

  As Panther Scar waded into the battle, a young warrior attacked him with a bloody spear. He sidestepped the lunging man and swung with all his might at the side of the boy’s head. It ended up being only a glancing blow, but it staggered his foe and sent him to one knee. Panther Scar then grabbed his war club with both hands and brought it down on the man’s shoulder. He could hear the shoulder blade break with a resounding crack. Then he grabbed the man’s hair and, turning his face to him, spat in it. Then with one fluid motion, he drew his knife and sliced the young warrior from ear to ear. With blood gushing onto his chest, he let the boy drop. As he turned back to the battle, he caught sight of three of his men hacking off the fingers of an overweight Algonquin elder. The man never said a word; he just leered at his men as they went about their horrific job. When they were finished with his fingers, they cut off his ears. Then they left him to bleed to death.

  The ground was red with blood. The screams of the women and children as they courageously fought to avoid capture filled the air. Very few Algonquin warriors remained alive. Those that lived were being tied to poles and put into fires.

  Corn Dog came to him with two bloody scalps from his victims. “This has been a great victory, my war chief! We have many women and children to take back to our villages for slaves. The fires will soon be put to the remaining men.”

  Above Corn Dog’s voice, he could still hear the women sobbing and crying out for their men. The Algonquins being tortured were screaming out, calling the men “cowards” and “dogs.”

  “Corn Dog, something is wrong here. There must be more warriors! With this many women and children there has to be another twenty or more men. Have our warriors ready to go by the first light. Then we will travel back to the south.”

  “Panther Scar, give me thirty warriors. I will raid to the north in another two or three days.”

  “I don’t know, friend. I feel trouble coming, and I want to be far away from here. The lame one and his panther are still alive, and the hunting parties that are out will come back to this village. Once they come upon what we have done to their community, they will follow us and snipe at our men creating havoc on the way back to our homes.”

  “Great chief, give me these warriors, and I can ravage this country. Look how easily we defeated this weak village. Their men fight like women!”

  “Corn Dog, you can leave in the morning. Hand pick your men, but do not venture out from here more than three days. I will be looking for you before we reach the big rapids. The prisoners that you take will have to travel swiftly, as I cannot jeopardize my warriors by waiting for you.”

  27

  The Reckoning

  WÀBANANANG KNEW SOMETHING WAS wrong when the two dogs that were with Wàgosh came back to the village alone. There were spots of fresh blood on the white dog and the red dog was cowering when they entered the camp. These dogs would never leave the hunters unless something traumatic had taken place; neither of these animals ever backed down from a fight. Immediately, she thought of her son, Anokì. If there was danger coming, she had to put him in a safe place. Gathering up her son, some smoked venison, and a fur robe, she rushed into the woods, calling the two dogs to follow her. Wàbananang had to find a safe place away from the village for her son, enabling her to go back and help her people defend their homes if there was an approaching menace. Before long, she reached the place that she had been seeking, a thick stand of cedars surrounding a jumble of rocks and boulders. Here was a small cave formed by a rockslide from many years ago. There was just enough space in the enclosure for her son and the two dogs. Since the day Anokì was born, the two dogs took it upon themselves to be his protectors. They would lie beside him all the time when they were not off on a hunt. Once Anokì started crawling, they steered him away from the fire pits and any other perceived dangers. Wàbananang laid cedar boughs in the cave and then put the fur robe on top. Setting her son on the nest she had made, she gave him the piece of meat to chew on to keep him occupied and quiet. She then fed the dogs and directed them to lie beside Anokì, giving them the signal to stay and keep quiet. After covering up the entrance, she retr
aced her steps using a cedar branch to erase any sign that they had been there. Then quietly stealing away, she silently prayed to Kitchi Manitou to keep her son safe.

  Nearing the village, she could hear the unmistakable noises of a battle. Then off to her left, about a hundred yards or so, she could hear the sounds of warriors scurrying through a stand of birch and pine.

  Lying on her stomach, she watched them rise up from their crouching positions, and then with a bloodcurdling scream that sent chills through her body, they attacked the village. Wàbananang froze in fear, not knowing whether to return to her son or to come to the aid of the village. Covered in sweat, her heart was beating so rapidly that it was causing her to gasp for air. Never had she been so afraid and horrified in her life. Her immediate thoughts turned to her husband Mahingan. She knew that if he were here there’d be nothing to fear. The man that was her lifelong love would protect her and Anokì.

  Lying there frozen in time, a hand grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her feet. The suddenness of the action caused her neck to feel like he had wrenched it from her shoulders. She could smell the man’s pungent breath and body odour as he pulled her face to an inch of his. The smell of the man, along with his painted and tattooed face, brought her to her senses and released a hidden rage, causing her body to explode with a sudden force she had never before experienced. In one motion, she swept her skinning knife from its leather scabbard and drove it into the warrior’s hip. Letting out a piercing scream, he drove his fist into Wàbananang’s face. She could hear and feel her nose break with the impact of his fist. Gasping for breath and spewing blood from her mangled nose, Wàbananang drove her knife into the man’s left bicep, ripping it toward her. Wàbananang’s face and body were drenched with blood from herself and her assailant. She was now starting to feel weak from the blow to her face and the original wrenching of her neck. Then her foe released his grip on her hair, grabbed his war club from his waist belt, and swung with a powerful backhanded motion, striking her on the side of her head. Wàbananang’s ear was ringing and her jaw felt like it was going to come out the other side of her face. Dropping to one knee, she drove the knife into his groin, all the way up to the bone handle, and then they both fell into a bloody mangled heap.