I Am Algonquin Page 9

  The last chìmàn to come down the rapids were Minowez-I and his son Nigig (Otter). Since everyone was safe, this was the celebratory voyage of the rapids. They put on quite a show, shooting the river at the most turbulent spot and flying through the air. Father and son both had huge smiles on their faces. During the last stretch of rapids, Nigig stood up in the front of the chimàn with his arms spread out and the spray drenching him as Minowez-I steered the canoe. Everyone was yelling on both shores and urging them on. When they reached the shore, they arrived to whoops and cheers. It was a fine ending to a safe trip through the rapids.

  For the rest of the voyage the river was calm with a slight breeze and no incidents. Near the end of the day we came upon two canoes with young boys and elders in them. They led us to a sheltered bay where our people who had preceded us had come ashore. Several older Wàbanaki and Omàmiwinini children as well as some elders watched over the canoes. They were very excited to see us, and we soon renewed old acquaintances with the Wàbanaki elders.

  They told us that most of their hunters were camped about a half-day’s walk away. With darkness approaching we decided to spend the evening here and before long the women had the fires roaring and a meal prepared. That night we listened to stories from the Wàbanaki elders of long ago wars and successful hunts. The stories went on long through the night before everyone decided to make their beds and sleep.

  The next morning I sought out Mitigomij. Embracing him, I said, “Brother, I know by the time this hunt is over and everyone comes back to the canoes, all these young boys who are staying here with you will be trained in all matters of hunting and warfare.”

  “Mahingan, you overestimate my skills.”

  “Never, my brother. There is no one who I would rather have beside me in battle than you and that panther. Good luck and I will see you in seven or eight suns. If there is trouble, send the twins to us. They are fast runners.”

  “Mahingan, there won’t be any trouble that I can’t handle!”

  After everyone had eaten, one of the Wàbanaki elders said that he would lead us to the camp where the hunt would take place.

  Minowez-I and I walked in the lead with the old man. During the trip he told us about the last time that our two peoples had hunted the buffalo.

  “It was many years ago, I was a small boy and our two tribes had then also joined together for the hunt. The buffalo had come over the river in the land of the Attiwandaronk in the dead of winter. During that spring, the Ouendat (Huron) had hunted them, driving them to an area we were now travelling to reach. There were many animals in the herd. One of our elders said that he had a vision and in it, Nokomis came to him and told him that an animal that we had never hunted before would come to our lands. She told him that this great beast’s meat would feed us for many months and supply our people with items that we could use in our everyday existence. There was only one thing we could not do; we must not kill the entire herd. If we took just what we needed, Nokomis would send them back when we needed them again to stave off hunger.

  “She has kept her promise. They are back.”

  19

  The Great PijakÌ Hunt

  AS WE WALKED, MINOWEZ-I and I talked about how impressive it was that we could organize everyone for this hunt in such a short amount of time.

  “Our people are very resourceful when they have to be, and they have proven it by this journey here. Let’s hope the hunt will be as successful as the trip here was,” said Minowez-I.

  We arrived at the campsite by noon and soon settled in. The people erected lean-tos for the men and some wàginogàns for the women. The temporary village was huge with over six hundred warriors, women, and young boys. After eating, we convened a council and our scouts pointed out the herd was about a day from here, and they had not been disturbed. They were roaming toward the river and grazing. The warriors who had preceded us had almost finished constructing the corridor where we would drive the animals down. There were close to a thousand buffalo. It would take about two more days to finish the trap, and then we could start driving them into it.

  After the council, the family heads called our people together. We had decided we needed another twenty or more canoes for the trip home. The women and boys agreed to the assignment of making them, plus travois to carry the meat. Much work had to be finished before we could start the hunt.

  After two days the trap and corridor was finished. The place where we were planning to drive the herd was a small valley with a large bluff that the animals would not be able to scale. Along the sides of the final enclosure the men had angled sharpened poles propped up on logs and weighted down with rocks. This would prevent the buffalo escaping by pushing against our barriers.

  That night we danced, drummed, told stories of past hunts, and prayed to Kitchi Manitou to watch over us and to make our lances and arrows fly true to the mark.

  From what the scouts had told us, these animals were huge. The warriors would have to take care and not fall under their hooves, because it would mean certain death. Leaving that next morning to start the hunt, we had to make sure that we stayed downwind as long as we could so that the animals would go in the direction we needed them to pass through. The warriors then lined up on both sides of the corridor to keep the animals on course, waving robes and yelling. The chiefs selected one of the warriors to be the caller, trying to lure the great beasts to the open end of the path we wanted them to travel. One of the Wàbanaki elders had an old buffalo robe for the caller to wear and, using this ruse, he imitated a calf in order to draw the herd toward the corridor.

  After sunrise, the warriors ate and were keen to start the hunt. The women and young boys stayed on the top of the bluff until we had the herd in the corrals, and then they would come and help with the butchering. Including the Wàbanaki warriors, we had over two hundred men for the hunt.

  Wàgosh, a few other warriors, and I had volunteered to bring the dogs and Ishkodewan. We would let them loose once the caller had the herd moving, and they would then chase the buffalo toward the corridor. With beasts as large as these, it would be a challenge to direct them to where we wanted them to go.

  “Mahingan, do you think the buffalo are as big as the scouts say they are?”

  “The scouts say they are bigger than the moose and elk that we have hunted since our fathers. I have only heard of one other time that Kitchi Manitou has sent these animals to our lands and when those stories are told it is said that they were huge.”

  We walked for most of the morning until one of the scouts met our small group and told us that the herd was ahead. We had to veer off to the north to stay downwind from them. By midday, we had found them. It was now time to organize all the warriors to where we wanted the herd to be driven. The buffalo were grazing in a meadow and had not caught wind of us. The chiefs directed the men to their spots. The hunt would commence at sunrise; we did not have enough time left in the day to start.

  Wàgosh and I stood on the high escarpment that we had camped on and watched the herd.

  “Wàgosh, fill your mind with this sight. We will never see anything like this again. The buffalo does not call the land of ours home. They are here by mistake, and we will never get the opportunity again in our lifetime to hunt them.”

  “Mahingan, they are huge!”

  During the time we watched them we could see huge bulls fighting for the breeding rights of cows. Most of the time the fight ended after a few charges and head butts, but there were times when a bull gored another and drew blood. The bulls continually were bellowing and sending chills up my back. What a magnificent beast; they would certainly challenge all our people’s skills tomorrow.

  With the rising of the sun, we hurriedly ate and readied our weapons. The time had come. Even the dogs were restless; they knew something was about to happen that was to include them. I called my wolf over and stroked his head.

  “Ishkodewan,” I said, “Today you will hunt a giant. Good luck, my friend.”

  The h
erd started to move toward where we needed them to travel. The caller was doing his job. We then took the dogs to the rear of the herd and let them loose. There they started their frenzied barking, and with the warriors shouting and waving, the beasts broke into a run. They funnelled toward our corridor and all along both sides warriors yelled and waved. Once the animals passed them, the men joined in the chase. The cows were leading the panic, with the bulls running behind them and the younger buffalo bringing up the rear.

  By mid morning we had them in the corridor where we had made our barriers. In a very short time they were in the corral and the killing began.

  Just before reaching the bluff, one of the Wàbanaki warriors came too close to a bull. By the time anyone realized what had occurred, the bull had gored the man and the rest of the wildly running animals trampled him. After the herd had passed, his broken body laid on the trampled ground — a sacrifice to what was about to happen.

  Now that we had the buffalo corralled, the slaughter began. The sounds and sights of the buffalo frothing and bellowing, the warriors yelling, and the dogs barking were deafening and terrifying all at the same time. There was so much dust and mayhem that you feared for your life at all times.

  Wàgosh and I stayed together and fired our arrows into the lungs and hearts of the beasts. When an animal went down, they let out a huge gasp of air and blood flew out of their mouths and nostrils. Once I looked around and saw Mònz with his spear driving it into a cow. The animal dropped to its knees and Mònz drove another spear into its lungs. By this time he was covered with blood and yelling his lungs out.

  Wàgosh turned to me and said, “Mahingan the stench of death is overpowering here today. I have never experienced anything like this in my life before. It is overwhelming!”

  “Yes, Wàgosh, but it also is the sweet smell of life for our people this winter. Our women and children will have lots to eat and our elders will not suffer the pangs of hunger and die because of their weaknesses. This animal is giving us a chance to make our children stronger through his life-sustaining meat. Sometimes the stench of death means a new life for something else.”

  The killing took place for most of the afternoon. When the family heads had decided we had enough for all, the rest of the animals were set free. I called for Ishkodewan and he and the small dog came on the trot, both of them covered in blood. He had learned about the hunt today and the dogs would eat well for the next few days.

  I looked up to the top of the bluff and saw all the women, young boys, and elders cheering and waving. Soon they were running down to the killing area.

  We would all have to work hard now, butchering and getting all this meat back to our camp on the upper Kitcisìpi Sìbì. There would be travois to pull, and then there were the extra canoes that we would have to carry out to the river where Mitigomij waited for us.

  It was several more days before we started for home, as we wanted to take as much meat as we could and not leave any behind if we could avoid it. It took a tremendous amount of planning and extra work to get everyone home. The journey here was easy; we did not have the extra weight of the meat.

  There was also the worry of our most feared enemy, the Haudenosaunee. We were near their lands.

  20

  The River Home

  NOW THAT THE HUNT was over, our people gave thanks to the animal’s spirit for its sacrifice, enabling us to survive.

  After the ceremony, everyone started working at their tasks. The warriors had the responsibility of making the rest of the travois for all the men and women, plus smaller ones for the dogs. The canoes were finished and we sent a group of warriors to take them back to the river. They then had to return to help carry the meat out.

  The women placed the buffalo on its side with the help of the warriors. They then tied rope to the animal’s feet. This let them roll it into position to butcher the beast. The women then cut the buffalo down the belly and took off the top half of the hide, cutting away the meat from the bones. They then tied the rope to the feet and flipped the animal over to continue the other side.

  The big bulls were hard to move so they placed them on their bellies, with the legs spread. They then cut across the brisket and neck, folding the hide back so they could cut the forequarters at the joints. The women next split the hide down the middle.

  After cutting the meat off the bones, they put it on drying racks to preserve it. Our people put to use every part of the buffalo. We knew that this great beast might never come this way again and the people had to make the most of this stroke of luck.

  After the hides were cut off, the brain of the animal was used to tan the skin by rubbing the under surface and then staking it out in the sun to dry.

  After about four days the stench of the dead animals was stifling. This brought the crows, ravens, and turkey vultures who were trying to get their share, in company with the coyotes and wolves that were lurking around. Chasing all these scavengers away kept the camp dogs busy day and night.

  While the women were doing the butchering, warriors were carrying what they could to the canoes. It was at this time that a meeting of the family heads convened.

  “The warriors who have been carrying meat and robes to the canoes tell me that maybe they should start off for our summer home with what is already loaded. I agreed with them and came up with a plan to help us speed up the journey home for everyone. They say that in the next day they will have forty-five canoes loaded. My suggestion is to send ninety warriors home. There is still several days’ work here to do. If we wait to finish, the trip home will be cumbersome with one hundred and fifty canoes and only one hundred and thirty warriors to help paddle. The warriors say that they can make the round trip in nine or ten days. When they return downriver, they will be able to meet our people as they are returning and help them from there.”

  “Mahingan,” said Pangì Shìshìb, “if we send ninety warriors home, we will be left with only forty men. What happens if the Haudenosaunee arrive?”

  “Our scouts tell us that they have not seen any activity from across the big lake, plus the Wàbanaki will be here until the end. It is an easier trip for them because they will be going with the current of the big river home. After the ninety warriors leave, we will be leaving in groups of sixty-five, including ten warriors, in twenty-five canoes over the next several days. As the ninety start to come back to us, they will be able to relieve our loads and give us extra manpower in the canoes.

  “I see your plan now, and it is a good one,” said Pangì Shìshìb.

  “Do we all agree then on the final plan?”

  “Yes, Mahingan,” they all said in unison.

  “Fine, let’s get started. The ninety will leave now.”

  Over the course of the next several days, all the groups left. My group was the last one. I had nine warriors with me. There were my three brothers, the two warrior women Agwanìwon Ikwe and Kìnà Odenan, Minowez-I, his son Nigig, Makòns, and Miskwì. Furthermore, we had fifty-five women and young boys divided into twenty-five canoes.

  “Mitigomij, we are finally heading home.”

  “Yes, brother, but I have a feeling that the Haudenosaunee will still make their presence felt. We have to be cautious and anticipate that a few of the ninety will reach us in good time.”

  Wàgosh and Nigig, who were standing near Mitigomij and me, also expressed their concerns of our enemy from the south.

  “Don’t worry. Kitchi Manitou has been with us up ’till now. He’ll watch over us until we are safely home.”

  The first day of our trip home was uneventful. We divided the warriors among ten of the canoes. Each warrior’s canoe had a young boy in it. The other fifteen canoes had three paddlers each, mostly women. Four of the warrior canoes took the lead, two in the middle and the final four safeguarding the rear boats of the small group. The warriors had been positioned so that if there were any trouble they would be near by to lend a hand. In my boat, I had a boy named Pashkwadjàsh (Coyote), the small white dog, an
d Ishkodewan. The boy was the same age as the twins and asked many questions about the sìbì. He was good company and a strong paddler. His father was one of the ninety warriors who had left nine days ago. The boy’s mother did not make the trip because she had a very young daughter to care for that was born last fall. Each canoe was loaded with as much meat and robes as it could handle. Near dusk, we portaged at the big rapids and made camp. Sentries were posted, and for watchdogs they had my wolf and the small dog. All was well so far.

  The party awoke the next morning to rain. We decided to continue, but if the winds came up we would head to shore. We travelled until our next portage and stopped for the day as the weather had worsened.

  At this encampment, there were lean-tos from our previous trip downriver. There we waited out the weather and stayed dry. The next morning would hopefully bring a break in the conditions.

  The following day the weather started to break. The plan was to eat and then with a bit of luck we would be able to leave before the noon sun. The ninety had been gone ten days now. In the next day or two, the first couple of groups would start reconnecting with the returning warriors. With the extra boats and labour, this would hasten their return trip. Our expectation was that we would see the warriors in a couple of days. The four groups that left after the warriors would not make very good time. With only ten men in each group, the portages would be time consuming. We would have to make many trips during the portages because of all the meat and robes that were in each canoe. The women were an immense help but could not carry as much as a man. We kept a few travois to help us with the transporting of the buffalo meat and the robes on the portages, but it was still a burdensome time.