Puritan Girl, Mohawk Girl Page 6

  A’ongote watched from a careful distance. She, too, was grief-stricken, but she knew she must keep to herself. Sometimes in the evenings, she would go into the woods and find the great oak tree where Aientas had told her the story of their people. Under the tree, she would think about all that Arakwente had done for her, starting with the journey through the wilderness. As had happened before, she thought she saw spirits fluttering in the branches overhead, and she called on them to heal her sorrow. “Oh, kind spirits,” she cried in Mohawk, “give my father an easy passage to the country of souls, and let me see him there someday.”

  In fact, it was the second time she had lost a father. After so many years, she couldn’t remember the first one. But there were moments when the image of a tall man—with pale skin, a long face, and sorrowful eyes—came suddenly into her mind. It was strange and confusing. She wondered, was it a vision sent by her soul? Was it a dream she must obey?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OTHER WORLDS

  Finally, the smallpox epidemic ended, and there were no more funerals. Many people—men, women, children—had died, and whole families had been broken apart. It was the custom for a widow to marry again with someone else from her late husband’s family. So, the next year Konwatieni became the wife of Arakwente’s younger brother, Atonnion. He seemed like a good man, skilled at hunting and traveling by canoe. As A’ongote would soon find out, he was also kind to children.

  Slowly life in the village went back to normal. When spring came, A’ongote joined Konwatieni and other women in preparing the fields for planting. But there were worries, too. It was 1711—seven years after the Deerfield raid—and the war against the English had flared up again.

  As summer began, a stranger arrived in the village, a young Mohawk warrior from the homeland named Arosen. He carried long belts made of wampum to give as a sign of respect and friendship. After all, the people of the homeland and the people of Kahnawàke were closely related. Arosen had a secret message to present. The homeland Mohawks were allies of the English; they wanted their “brothers and sisters” in Kahnawàke to switch sides and join them in fighting the French. It was a difficult question. The village chiefs held long discussions, trying to decide the best plan.

  While all this was going on, Arosen stayed in Konwatieni’s house as a guest, so he and A’ongote became friends. She was fifteen now, about to go through an important step that would change her life. When it was time, the family once again went to the big longhouse for a special ceremony. And once again Aientas took charge. He was in the same costume as before, a bearskin robe and feathered headband, with lots of face paint. He danced and sang while A’ongote sat on the ground in front of him. Finally, he stopped, poured liquid from a gourd, and said that from now on she would have another name, Gannenstenhawi. Translated into English, it meant “she brings in corn.” Since farming corn was the main job of all Kahnawàke women, this new name told everyone to treat her as an adult. Arosen was present for the ceremony and knew all about it because they did the same thing for teenage girls in the homeland. When it was over, he came up to congratulate A’ongote (now Gannenstenhawi), kissing her on both cheeks. He noticed how fine she looked in her deerskin tunic and her hair decorated with pink flowers.

  After several days, the village chiefs decided not to join the other Mohawks as allies of the English. They would continue to fight on the side of the French, but would try to avoid direct battles against any of the homeland people. With that decided, Arosen had to leave to give the news to his own chiefs. This was risky because the French had heard about his visit to the village and wanted to capture him; to them, he was a spy. They sent soldiers into the forest to lie in wait along the path until he passed by. But instead, when night fell, he swam across the river beside the village, took a different route home, and escaped.

  When fall came, Konwatieni and Atonnion planned a journey for the whole family back to the homeland. It had been several years since any of them had visited there. At first they traveled on a river going south. But the last part was many miles of walking through the forest. As big and strong as she now was, Gannenstenhawi didn’t mind at all. She and Onwari were often in the lead, calling to the others behind. Finally, they reached a large Mohawk town and stopped; this was where their relatives in the Wolf Clan lived.

  Konwatieni introduced Atonnion to the clan elders. For some minutes, he stood silently before them. Then there was a special ceremony of welcome, with speeches and chanting and the exchange of gifts. All the relatives had put on their best clothing—deerskin leggings and tunics that were painted in bright colors and decorated with beaded designs. It was a joyous time. Gannenstenhawi and Onwari and their girl cousins joined hands and danced together. This was Gannenstenhawi’s family, these were her people; she had never felt happier.

  But the journey was only half done. After they left the homeland, they walked back to the same river, got into their canoes, and went on farther south. They were headed to Albany, the capital of the English colony called New York. Gannenstenhawi and Onwari rode in a canoe with two of their cousins. Other cousins were in other canoes—it was a big group going together. One of the canoes was loaded high with pelts (animal furs) to be offered in trade. The travel was difficult; tree branches hung out over the water, and rocks were hidden under the surface. Everyone, including the girls, had to paddle hard and be careful not to hit anything. By the time they reached Albany, Gannenstenhawi was exhausted.

  But when she saw the town, she was amazed. It had many large houses made of wood and brick, all of them very different from the longhouses of Kahnawàke. A wide street paved with stones went uphill from the river. At its top stood an open marketplace where dozens of people were milling about and shouting to each other in a language Gannenstenhawi couldn’t understand. The men wore heavy trousers, long coats, and fur hats. Many had bushy beards, which made them seem rather scary to the Indian girls. The women were in long skirts and wore lacy bonnets on their heads.

  Konwatieni explained that these were Dutch people, not the same as the French and English, but not so different, either. The members of all three groups had very pale skins—that was obvious right away—and strange customs like sometimes beating children with a stick and wearing heavy clothes even in the summertime. All of them had come across the sea in wooden boats that were much bigger than any canoe, Konwatieni said. They had taken land from the Indians, cut down the forests, and built towns like this one in their own style. Most were farmers who lived out in the countryside, but the ones at the market were merchants trading goods.

  Gannenstenhawi and her family stood on one side of the market and watched. It was unpleasant: so loud, so rough, so disorganized. These people, Gannenstenhawi thought, don’t act with respect! After several minutes Atonnion turned away. It was time for them to leave, he said. They would come back the next day with their load of pelts after spending the night in the Indian House, a place that was kept especially for native people who had come to trade.

  They walked back down the street, almost to the shore. They found the Indian House, a low, wide cabin with a flat roof and rickety walls that seemed about to buckle. It was owned by the Albany merchants, but no one was taking proper care of it. Inside, at least a dozen men were laying mats on the floor. They were from different places, and looked different, and spoke different languages, but all of them were Indians who had come to trade goods. Konwatieni led the way to a vacant corner where the family would have enough room to lie down.

  The next morning they were up early and back in the market, this time with their pelts. Atonnion motioned to one of the merchants, who walked over and began examining what they had brought. He had a red face and a big beard that went down over his chest. He said something that sounded mean and spat on the ground. But he and Atonnion started talking—or at least gesturing—to each other. They needed to reach an agreement on how much the man should pay for the pelts.

  Gannenstenhawi could see that it would take a lon
g time, so she took Onwari by the hand and, together, they wandered off. Then, on the far side of the market, they came upon something else. A crowd had formed a circle around three very dark-skinned young women. The women were naked except for a small cloth around their hips. Their eyes darted nervously about. A large man stood alongside them, poking at them and calling out in a loud voice. Gannenstenhawi thought he was asking the crowd for something. After a few minutes, another man stepped forward with a handful of silver coins. He gave them to the first man and grabbed the arm of one of the women. She shrieked and tried to shake him off. But the first man grabbed her, too, and together they wrestled her to the ground.

  Gannenstenhawi and Onwari felt confused and upset by what they were seeing. Just then Konwatieni walked up from behind. Gannenstenhawi, close to tears, turned and asked her, “What is happening to this woman? Why are the men fighting her? Why is she here at all?” Konwatieni knew the answer, but she paused to find the right words. “The woman comes from a place called Africa, where everyone has black skin. The white people go in their big boats and kidnap them and bring them here. They are sold as property, like cows or pigs, and are made to work very hard. That is what’s happening here in the market, the buying and selling of slaves.” Gannenstenhawi felt even worse for the poor woman, who was now being dragged off to her new owner’s carriage. She couldn’t bear to watch anymore and let Konwatieni lead her quickly away, with Onwari following a few paces behind.

  When they got back to the other side of the market, they found Atonnion finishing his bargain with the Dutch merchant. The merchant would take all the pelts and in exchange would give them five large packets of cloth that had been made in his home country, along with several iron pots and two bagfuls of glass beads. Atonnion seemed pleased. The cloth would be very useful in Kahnawàke. Some of it they would keep for themselves, and the rest they would sell. The pots could be broken apart and, together with the beads, used in making jewelry. Mohawk people, especially the leaders, wore jewelry as a mark of honor.

  Once the exchange had been made, Gannenstenhawi and her family had to leave Albany in a hurry because winter was beginning now. As they walked back through the woods to the river, where their canoes had been left, snow was falling in large, wet flakes. Soon the ground was covered, and Atonnion said they should stop. He took out a little sack of leather strands he had brought from the village and began cutting branches from nearby trees. By weaving the strands between the branches, he was able to make snowshoes, which would make their travel much easier. He worked quickly, and Konwatieni helped him. After a couple of hours, there were snowshoes for all of them, but the delay meant they had to sleep in the woods that night while the snow kept falling. The next afternoon, they reached the river, found their canoes, got back on the water, and started northward toward home.

  For two days everything went smoothly. The snow finally stopped and the sun came out; the air seemed almost warm. They had four canoes, which were strung out in a line heading upriver. Gannenstenhawi and Onwari sat at the front of the first one, singing to each other. Everyone was happy, thinking about getting back to the village. But a surprise awaited them.

  As they went around a sharp bend in the river, Gannenstenhawi noticed something strange. The bushes along the shore were moving; she thought that men might be hiding behind them. She called to Atonnion, to let him know. But he was where he couldn’t see the bushes, and he said not to worry. They had gone just a little farther when suddenly several French soldiers jumped out and rushed toward them, with muskets raised. The soldiers called to them to stop and bring their canoes ashore, an order that could not be refused. They did as they were told and climbed out onto a little beach, where they were forced to show the goods they were carrying home—the cloth, the iron pots, the beads. The soldiers then knew they had been at the Albany market, which was against the laws of Canada. Indians living there, including the people of Kahnawàke, were supposed to trade only with the French.

  The soldiers piled the goods behind some rocks bordering the water and walked the whole family to a small hut nearby. They pushed everyone in, shouting and making a lot of angry gestures. They beat Atonnion with sticks till he fell on the floor, blood oozing from his head. Konwatieni and Atsiaha knelt beside him, begging the soldiers to stop. Gannenstenhawi and Onwari crouched in a corner, badly frightened. But just at that moment a group of Indian warriors came running out of the forest and surrounded the hut, firing their muskets as a warning; now it was the soldiers’ turn to be surprised. With no chance of fighting back, they laid down their arms and surrendered. The Indians tied them up and locked them in their own hut. Suddenly, Gannenstenhawi’s family was free!

  They thanked their rescuers very warmly. Konwatieni put cloths on Atonnion’s head as a bandage; luckily, his wound wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. Then they ran back to their canoes, gathered up their trade goods, and set off on the river again; they needed to move fast in case other French soldiers learned what had happened and tried to come after them. When night fell, they kept going; the moon was full, and they could follow the route without difficulty. They did stop for a few hours of sleep in a small meadow by the shore, but got back on the water early the next morning. Soon they could see the longhouses of Kahnawàke in the distance. Around noon they reached the riverbank in front of the village gate. Friends watching from inside saw them coming and ran out to greet them.

  They were home at last. What a long journey it had been!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A WINTER HUNT

  By now the winter was well under way. In Kahnawàke, a group of a dozen or so men was getting ready for the annual hunt. They cleaned their muskets, gathered their warmest garments (heavy cloaks lined with beaver fur, leggings made of moose hide), repaired old snowshoes or made new ones, and filled large basketlike packs with corn from the previous harvest. They hoped to find game—moose, deer, bear, caribou—to kill, skin, and carry home to the village. Once thoroughly dried, the meat from these animals could be stored and eaten throughout the lean months of spring and early summer.

  Gannenstenhawi watched these preparations with interest. Of course she had seen it all in previous years, but this time there was a difference. She would herself be having a part in the hunt. It was customary for some of the village women to go along as helpers. They carried supplies on the way out, cooked meals for the group at overnight camps, and helped prepare the animals that had been killed. Finally, they would shoulder—together with the hunters—the heavy burdens of the trip home.

  The group would include two or three elders wise in the ways of the forest, several young men eager to show their skill, and a few boys going for the first time. Gannenstenhawi was one of five women.

  When all was in readiness, the group’s leader went to meet with Aientas. He would advise them where to go to find animals. The hunters sat in a circle around him, while he puffed vigorously on a long pipe made of polished stone. The smoke curled up and hovered over him. It seemed to take the shape of an arrow, pointing to the west. “That,” he said, “is the direction you must travel.” The others nodded, and one asked what animals they would find. Aientas set the pipe aside, rose to his feet, closed his eyes, and began a song to the orenda. “Spirits of the forest,” he sang, “give guidance to these brave hunters.” His body trembled and he cried out as if in pain; the spirits were entering his soul. Finally, he announced a vision: “I see a valley filled with oak trees, and a lake at the bottom, and three big moose lapping water at the shore.” The hunters thanked him and turned their faces toward the sun that was just about to set on the western horizon. Without another word, they formed a line to begin their journey. Gannenstenhawi and the other women were at the rear. Several of the village dogs ambled alongside, barking loudly; they would be useful in tracking the animals.

  The snow was deep as they set out; everyone wore snowshoes. Within another hour it was completely dark, so they stopped to camp beside a frozen stream. They made a supper of kan
ontara and got ready to sleep in a grove of fir trees. They cleared the ground of snow, and lay down bunched together under piles of bearskins. The dogs, too, cuddled close. Still, Gannenstenhawi thought she had never felt such cold; she shivered uncontrollably as the night wore on. She was so glad when at last morning came and they could start a fire to warm themselves.

  It was like this every day for the next week: hours and hours of walking, meals, making camp, trying to sleep in the frigid night. They saw lots of animal tracks in the snow, but no actual game. Several times the dogs barked excitedly and ran off to give chase. But they always came back with their tongues hanging out, breathing hard and looking disappointed. Then, near the end of the seventh day, one of the leaders walking in front suddenly motioned to everyone to stop and be still. He had heard, faint and far ahead, a moose call. It was getting too dark to proceed farther, so they made another camp and waited for morning.

  At sunup, they rose quickly and resumed their walking. They heard more moose calls, which grew louder and louder as they went. At noontime they reached the top of a hill where they could look down into a broad valley. In the middle was a lake, mostly frozen and gleaming white under the sun. At one corner, a stream ran out; there, the ice had melted and the water flowed free. Three moose were bent over, drinking deeply.

  The leaders gave a signal and the hunters ran toward the lake, the dogs leaping out ahead. The moose heard them coming and tried to escape across the ice. But because it was slippery, they couldn’t go fast. The hunters fired their muskets, and the biggest moose was hit in the shoulder. He fell, then staggered back up as the dogs surrounded him, nipping at his heels. He tried to kick them away, but the hunters closed in and shot some more, and it was the end of him. Gannenstenhawi, with the other women, watched from a rocky ledge on the side of the hill. It was the first time she had seen an animal killed, and she felt sad for the moose, but knew the villagers depended on getting food this way.