Chapter One

 

The Attack

“Fire!”

I was following the tracks of this huge buck in my dreams, and Grandfather’s warning made little sense. He wasn’t even in my dream.

“Fire!

Grandfather’s persistent warning changed my dream. Now I was sitting next to a campfire with crackling flames gnawing at the firewood. Smoke from the campfire blew into my face, filling my lungs with irritating fumes. I awoke gasping for breath. The campfire was gone, but thick smoke filled our wigwam. Flames were devouring the dry reed mats covering the sides of our wigwam.

“Chogan, run outside.”

One of the burning mats fell on Kanti. She screamed in pain as the flames burned her flesh. Grandfather and Mother grabbed a blanket and threw it over Kanti to smother the flame. There was nothing I could do to help my sister, so I crawled toward the wigwam door as Grandfather had advised. There was less smoke near the ground, which made breathing easier.

With only a sliver of a moon, it should have been dark outside the wigwam, but flames from other burning wigwams made our Indian village as bright as day. This couldn’t have happened by accident—not that many fires. Someone was torching our wigwams. A small man with the most gruesome face paint stood no more than twenty paces from me. The paint made him look like some terrifying mythical monster. He had a flaming arrow in his bow. He pulled back on the bowstring and sent the flaming arrow into one of the few non-burning wigwams. The wigwam burst into flames. Then I saw another man—and another. There must have been ten or fifteen of them, all decorated with scary war paint. Some of them were shooting flaming arrows into wigwams, while others were knocking over racks of dried meat and destroying anything in their path. They wore the strangest clothing and had hair styles unlike any Ojibway Indian I had ever known. I had never seen them before, but I knew they were Sioux Warriors and they were raiding our village!

“Chogan, help me remove these burning mats.” Grandfather and Mother had carried Kanti out of the wigwam and now Grandfather was stripping burning mats from the sides of the wigwam. Birch bark slabs covered most of the wigwam, but woven cattail reeds covered the sides. They were easier to remove on hot summer days to allow ventilation. Unfortunately, they burn quickly. Birch bark also burns, but we were able to remove the mats before the flames spread to the bark.

“Mother, are you okay?”

Mother nodded in the affirmative. She and Kanti were lying on the ground to avoid stray arrows. I was scared; although I would never admit it to anyone. Given a choice I would have preferred cowering beside Mother and Kanti, but if I did that I would never live it down. I had seen twelve winters, and people expected more from someone my age. I grabbed a moose skin blanket and began beating the flames on a nearby wigwam while keeping a watchful eye on the raiders. There weren’t many of them, but they were still dangerous.

It didn’t take long to extinguish the flames—many hands make quick work. The attack had taken everyone by surprise, but now the village men were turning their attention to the Sioux warriors. There were few of them and many of us. My cousin, Hassun, was the first man to grab his bow and arrows. Hassun had only seen twenty-one winters, but he was a gifted hunter and his arrows seldom missed their target. The first arrow he turned loose hit the small man I had seen earlier. The Sioux warrior screamed in pain when the arrow struck his left thigh. He limped into the woods south of the village.

Our village lies on the southern shore of Gitche Gumee, a lake so large it has no distant shore. With the element of surprise now gone, the remaining Sioux warriors ran toward the lake where they had hidden their canoes. They climbed into their canoes and paddled west under a shower of arrows. Unfortunately, all our arrows fell short of their mark.

“Are they gone?” I asked Grandfather.

“Yes, Chogan,” he replied. “They won’t be back tonight.”

Grandfather’s reply suggested the possibility of future attacks. Sioux warriors had never attacked our village, although I have heard older men tell tales around campfires of wars in the distant past. Around campfires the wars sounded noble and honorable. Tonight the Sioux warriors injured many people and destroyed much of our village. That was neither noble nor honorable. With the raiders now gone and all the fires extinguished, my thoughts returned to Kanti.

“How are you doing, Kanti?”

“If they return I’ll stab them with my spear.”

The burned skin on her left arm was beginning to blister, and she was unsuccessfully fighting back tears. I knew she was in great pain. She was tough for a girl of ten winters. Her right hand clung to her spear in case one of the Sioux warriors were to return and needed spearing. Kanti was the only girl in the village who carried a spear. I don’t know why she couldn’t be happy weaving mats like normal girls. At one time the spear had been mine, but Kanti laid claim to the spear when Grandfather gave me his bow. She once speared a large fish, which greatly impressed her—and many others in the village. Now she goes nowhere without her spear.

“Is Kanti going to be alright?” I asked Mother. I wasn’t sure I could trust Kanti’s opinion.

“She has severe burns on her arm, but I’ve covered them with bear grease to ease the pain. Tomorrow I’ll add ground bark from the tamarack tree. The burns will heal with time.” Mother had tears in her eyes. I knew she was feeling Kanti’s pain.

I needed to talk to Grandfather, but he was conversing with Hassun and the village elders. Hassun wanted to organize a war party to chase the raiders, and the village elders were trying to explain the futility of chasing them in the dark. Hassun was not happy, but he accepted the wisdom of their argument.

“There is nothing more we can do tonight,” Grandfather said after he finished conversing with the village elders. “They destroyed the sides of our wigwam, but the sleeping benches and blankets are intact. We will need our sleep. There will be much work to do in the morning. Hassun and some of the younger men will stand guard tonight. We will be safe.”

Grandfather moved into our wigwam with Mother, Kanti, and me after Father died of the fever. I was a young boy and I remember little of Father other than he was tall and strong. Grandfather says he was a great hunter.

Normally I sleep soundly, but twice I woke fearing I heard Sioux warriors approaching our wigwam. Without sides to our wigwam every noise seemed magnified. Even when I did doze, nightmares haunted my sleep. Several times I saw that gruesome painted face of the Sioux Warrior Hassun shot in the thigh. Pain contorted the warrior’s face making him appear even more fearful.

Finally I awoke to sun shining through what should have been our wigwam wall. For a moment I thought it had been a bad dream, but the absence of our wigwam walls confirmed the reality of the Sioux raid. Grandfather and Mother were up and about. Only Kanti remained on her sleeping bench. Her eyes were red from silent tears. She couldn’t have gotten much sleep with her painful burns.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“The pain isn’t bad,” Kanti replied. “Unless something touches the burn.”

I knew she was lying. Kanti wasn’t one to complain. Her left upper arm had become blistered during the night. It looked dreadful.

“Why did they do it?” Kanti asked. “They had nothing to gain.”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’ll take a long time to repair the damage.”

We will need many cattail reeds to repair the sides of the wigwam. Normally, Kanti and I gathered reeds along the shore of Waabooz Lake. I would now have to do that alone. I stepped outside the wigwam. Outside no longer had the same significance now that the walls were gone.

“Mother, where’s Grandfather?” Mother was busy fixing breakfast. She was not one to let a bunch of Sioux Indians attacking our village upset her routine.

“He is making plans with the village elders,” she replied.

I headed toward the center of the village, hoping I would run into Grandfather. The damage to our village was dreadful. Fire had spared few wigwams. Some wigwams had burned to the ground.

“Hey, Chogan. Why aren’t you home where your mother can protect you?”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who was talking. I would recognize Ahanu’s voice anywhere.

“Ahanu, I think Chogan must be lost. He looks so scared.” Taregan gave me a shove from behind as was his habit.

Every village has a bully; unfortunately, our village had two bullies. Since they had seen one more winter than I had and there were two of them, I ignored them the best I could.

“You were lucky Taregan and I were here to protect you last night. Those Sioux raiders ran like rabbits when I shot that short man with my arrow.”

“That arrow came from Hassun’s bow,” I said. “I saw him shoot the arrow.”

“Hassun’s arrow flew over the raider’s head,” Ahanu replied, “but my arrow found its mark.”

“Chogan probably couldn’t see clearly through his tears,” Taregan said. They both laughed at what they thought was good humor.

“It is best if you remain in the village near your mother where it is safe—at least until Taregan and I can hunt down the raider who headed into the woods.”

“I will be checking my snares this morning,” I said. “If I see Sioux warriors with lots of war paint, I will send them in your direction.” I was bluffing. I wasn’t even sure Mother and Grandfather would let me leave the village after what happened last night. Ahanu and Taregan gave up on me and left in search of fresh people to insult.

I found Grandfather talking to the village elders. They were exchanging angry words. The previous night’s attack had left many people in a foul mood. I normally checked my snares every other day and I should be checking them today, but I was reluctant to leave the village when there were Sioux raiders in the area. After what I had told Ahanu and Taregan, I had little choice if I wanted to save face.

“Grandfather, what do you wish for me to do today?” I asked after Grandfather had concluded his conversation with the other village elders. We walked toward our wigwam. “I would normally check my snares, but I can gather reeds to repair the wigwam if you prefer.” I was hoping he would suggest I remain in the village.

“We sent runners to the other villages,” Grandfather said. “Nothing will happen until this evening when representatives from the villages gather around the council fire. You might as well check your snares or gather reeds.”

“I don’t think either of them is good idea. There are hostile men in the woods,” Mother said. She had only heard the last part of my conversation with Grandfather, but that was enough to arouse her protective instincts. “I can repair the walls with the reed mats we have on the wigwam floor and the snares can wait.”

“The raiders paddled west in their canoes,” Grandfather said. “They are already half a day away. They offer no danger.”

“What about the warrior who ran into the woods?” Mother asked.

“He has Hassun’s arrow lodged in his thigh, and Chogan is quiet in the woods. No one with an arrow in his thigh will sneak up on Chogan. Chogan walks through the woods as silently as the owl flies. He will see the raider long before the raider sees him.” Mother was not convinced. But what Grandfather said made sense. “Chogan’s snares are east of the village,” Grandfather continued. If the Sioux raider is still alive; which I doubt, he will be limping west toward his homeland.” Grandfather was careful not to dignify the raiders by calling them warriors. To him they were little more than savages.

I assumed Mother’s silence meant I was free to go. I filled my pouch with dried venison for a future snack and grabbed my bow.

“Wait for me.” Kanti grabbed her spear. She normally helped me check my snares although I doubted how much help she would be today, since any movement of her left arm caused pain.

“You are not going,” Mother said. I could tell by her voice there was no room for debate. This was a partial victory for her and she was not about to change her mind.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I told Kanti.

I headed south on the trail leading toward the other big lake. I had never seen that lake, but Grandfather says it is almost as big as Gitche Gumee. Many people had walked the trail, and the path was wide and the ground bare. I would be safe as long as I stayed on the trail. Even the dumbest Sioux warrior would stay away from areas where people might gather.

At a bend in the trail I turned east toward Wagosh Lake where I had set most of my snares. Grandfather said the Sioux warrior would be heading west toward his homeland, but I still walked silently through the woods. I enjoyed the natural sounds of the woods. It was music to my ears, but the music stopped when the forest animals heard human footsteps. My footsteps left little noise for them to hear.

I soon came to a river. It was the same river that passed through our village just before it emptied into Gitche Gumee. I found a spot where I could hop from boulder to boulder and then onto a large protruding log. I could have waded across the river as there were many sections that were not deep, but I hated soggy moccasins. In no time I was climbing up the far bank with my moccasins still dry.

My first snare was a whip snare I had set on a trail used by rabbits. It had been productive in the past and I assumed I would catch another rabbit. As I approached the snare I could see the whip portion of the snare still bent over the trap; the snare had not been sprung. That was a disappointment, but snares do not always catch animals. Sometimes animals get away or don’t even approach the snare. I examined the snare to make sure it was properly set. Something was wrong. The loop that would snare an animal was off to the side of the animal trail. Most animals would walk right past the snare. I would never have set the loop that far from their trail. I looked closer. An animal had scratched the ground under the whip snare. That is what I would have expected to see if I had caught an animal in my snare.

Someone had taken the animal from my snare and reset the snare thinking I wouldn’t notice. It might not be fair, but I immediately assumed it was Ahanu and Taregan. Stealing from someone else’s snare was something they would do. I had been careful in the past to make sure no one followed me when I checked my snares. I now feared they knew the location of all my snares. I would have to relocate them.

No one had touched the rest of my snares, and I returned home with two rabbits and a muskrat. That was not a bad day. At least it wasn’t until I ran into Ahanu and Taregan. They hurled their normal insults at me, but neither of them mentioned stealing a rabbit from my snare. That was unusual. They normally took pride in their underhanded activities. I had expected them to brag about their evil deed, but they said nothing about it. I ignored their insults and headed toward my wigwam.

Mother had most of the walls covered with reed mats from the floor. The wigwam again looked like a wigwam, but without the floor mats the floor would get muddy after a hard rain. Kanti was helping mother hang the last of the mats. She seemed to be feeling better, although she grimaced whenever she moved her left arm.

“Mother, I caught two rabbits and a muskrat,” I said. I held them up for her approval.

“Can you skin the rabbits? We will have them for dinner tonight,” she said.

“Yes, Mother.” I looked around for Grandfather, but didn’t see him. “Where’s Grandfather?” I asked.

I was eager to hear the latest gossip. Runners had informed the neighboring villages of our attack, and their representatives were gathering for the council fire. I was sure Grandfather would have the latest news.

“He’s conversing with the village elders,” Mother replied. “We are hosting the council fire. There is much for him to do, but he’ll return in time to eat your rabbits.”

I found a sharp bone knife and began skinning my rabbits. I assumed Mother wanted the muskrat skinned also, even if she planned to dry its meat for future use. I skinned and gutted the animals and then gave the rabbits to Mother who hung them over the fire to roast.

 I expected Grandfather to be full of information, but he was unusually quiet during dinner. He normally had an opinion on every subject. I could tell he was deep in thought.

“Will the Sioux warriors attack again?” I finally asked. I was worried about an all-out war. After what I had seen during the night, I had no desire to experience further attacks.

“I have been to the land with no trees where the Sioux call home,” Grandfather said. “The Sioux are a mighty nation. Their people are many like the stars in the sky. If they wished war, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Sioux warriors would have attacked our village—not ten or fifteen raiders.”

“Why then did those few warriors attack us, Grandfather?” Kanti asked. “They gained nothing other than an arrow in a thigh.”

“Only the raiders can answer that question,” Grandfather replied. “The raiders I saw were young. Youth provides much energy but little wisdom.”

“What will happen tonight at the council fire?” I had been invited to council fires in the past, but that was under unusual circumstances. A boy of twelve winters would not be welcome at such an important council fire that included representatives from neighboring villages. I would hide in the shadows and still hear their arguments.

“There is much anger in the village,” Grandfather replied. “Many wigwams have burned to the ground. I fear decisions made in anger. Great wars have been started by less.” Grandfather removed his opwaagan from its pouch and filled the bowl with a mixture of tobacco leaf and shredded sumac bark. He lighted the mixture with a splinter of wood from the fireplace. He then leaned back and sucked in some smoke. It was his signal that he considered our conversation ended.

Later that evening men began stacking wood for the council fire. From the size of the wood pile, they must have expected a long meeting. That was understandable. There were representatives from many villages, and they would all want to express their opinions. I sat in the shadows under a bush where no one could see me, but I was close enough to hear every word.

“Move over,” Kanti whispered. Kanti had her spear firmly gripped in her right hand.

“Kanti, does Mother know you are here?”

“No, but she doesn’t know you are here either,” Kanti replied. “I have as much at stake in this meeting as you do.”

Kanti had a valid point. She had been injured in the raid. Other than some smoke in my lungs, I had escaped unharmed.

“Just make sure you whisper and don’t let anyone see you,” I said.

A fire was soon blazing in the center of the council circle and men began to gather. They wore many-colored beads and the finest clothes. I recognized the elders from our village. They were hosting the meeting and sat together as a group. Grandfather sat with them. He also wore his finest clothes. I didn’t recognize the other people, but I assumed they were elders from neighboring villages.

Grandfather rose to speak. He introduced the council members. They all stood in turn and said nice things about their villages. This part of the council meeting was long and boring. They had yet to say anything about the Sioux warriors. That was what I came to hear. After the introductions one of our elders opened a box and removed a highly decorated opwaagan. No council meeting ever convened without the sharing of the friendship pipe. The village elder filled the bowl with tobacco and lighted it with a burning stick from the fire. He sucked on the opwaagan’s stem until thick, white smoke bellowed from his nostrils. Then he passed the pipe to the man on his left. I had once been invited to a council meeting where they smoked the opwaagan. When I sucked on the stem it felt like fire in my lungs. I almost puked.

Each man received the opwaagan with both hands as if he were receiving the most precious gift. He would take one or two puffs and pass it to the man on his left. No one spoke as the friendship pipe made its way around the circle. Only when the pipe had completed the circle and was replaced in its ceremonial box did one of the village elders rise to speak of the Sioux attack.

“As you know, Sioux warriors attacked our village last night burning our wigwams and destroying much of our food,” the elder said. He then waved his arm toward the burned wigwams. It was too dark to see the burned wigwams, but the men sitting at the council fire nodded in agreement; they had seen the burnt wigwams earlier in the day.

“They have injured many people, including children. We cannot let this go un-avenged.” There were more nods of agreement. Some council members offered vocal support. “We must gather warriors from many villages until we are great in number. Then we must attack their Sioux villages. We must inflict such damage that they will never again dare attack one of our villages.” The elder then sat down. I could tell from the whooping and hollering most people shared his opinion. Grandfather sat quietly. I knew he had an opinion to share, but he would share it only when the timing was right. He was a man of few words and he used them wisely.

Several others rose to echo the call for revenge. There was much bragging about the outcome of such a war. After the older council members had spoken, Hassun rose to speak. He told how he and several others searched the woods south of camp for the wounded Sioux warrior. There was much bitterness in his words. They would return to the woods every day until they found the warrior or his body. His speech was greeted with much approval. Grandfather listened quietly.

When everyone had his say and I thought the meeting was over, Grandfather rose to his feet. He stood there quietly. Only when he had everyone’s attention and curiosity did he begin to speak.

“As many of you know, when I was a young man I traveled to the land without trees, which is the home of the Sioux Nation. I saw the purple hills that reach up to kiss the sky. I saw shaggy deer that were so plentiful their herds stretched from horizon to horizon.

“While I was there I met a young Sioux Indian. He taught me to speak his language, and I taught him to speak mine. Together we hunted the shaggy deer and the great bear, Gitche Makwa. We climbed the purple hills that reach up to kiss the sky and looked down upon earth from the heavens like eagles. I have not seen my friend for more winters than I can count, but I hear of him from traders who travel to the land without trees. They tell me he is now a mighty chief.

“We can rebuild our wigwams. The burns on our children will heal. We will survive; the raider who lies in the woods with an arrow in the thigh will not. Somewhere in the land with no trees a mother or wife will be crying great tears.

“You can count the number of Sioux raiders who attacked our village on three hands, but it will take thousands of hands to count the number of people in the Sioux Nation. Trying to find the individuals who raided our village will be like finding one seagull among the many gulls gathering along the shore of Gitche Gumee. If we attack villages of innocent people will we be no better than those who attacked us?”

Grandfather remained standing, daring anyone to challenge him. Only when his question was met with silence did he sit down. One by one members of council stood up and left. Soon only Grandfather remained.

“Chogan, you and Kanti can come out now,” Grandfather said.

“Yes, Grandfather.” I didn’t know how Grandfather knew we were listening. We were super quiet, and it was too dark for him to see us in the bushes. He even had his back to us. Kanti and I crawled out of the bushes.

“It is late. Your mother will be worried,” Grandfather said. We headed toward our wigwam.

“Grandfather, is the Sioux warrior really going to die?” Kanti asked. “The arrow is only in his thigh.”

“The stone arrowhead is not a problem, but the wooden shaft and the sinew that holds the shaft to the arrowhead will begin to rot. Unless someone removes the arrow he will die. One man cannot remove it by himself. I am hoping his friends will find him, but it appears they have left him to die.”

“What if Hassun finds him first?” I asked.

“There is much anger and bitterness in our village. Hassun’s wigwam burned to the ground. If Hassun or his friends find the Sioux raider, I would fear for the raider’s life.”