EPISODE SEVENTEEN - LITTLE WOLF
The next morning, Rebecca woke up later than usual. She felt sad and knew why. Mato was no where to be seen and after checking her room, Seabreeze decided that Mato needed time to herself. It was afternoon before she saw her in the gardens, but did not go to her.
Supper was at eight as usual and Hans seemed far away in his thoughts. He was becoming more that way over the last few months and Rebecca thought it was the business. The summer had been busy with the construction that went on after the riots. Hans had something in July that he had to invest in more equipment to meet the demand or else the orders would go to other companies in New York and New Jersey. Hans detested debt and it weighed heavily on him. Fall was here and most of the contracts had been delivered without losing but a couple of orders to other colonies. Hans retired to his study right after supper, leaving Seabreeze to her reading in the parlor.
Mato came in the parlor with a hug for her and a smile that told Rebecca it was time for the story to continue. The two women made themselves comfortable on the divan and Mato picked up where she had left off the night before.
The birds were chirping their loudest when Matoaka woke after passing out chasing the sounds of battle in the distance. But now there were no battle cries in the distance, everything seemed strangely normal. The blood-soaked bandage around her head felt tight and was dry and stiff to the touch. Looking around she saw nothing unusual, absolutely no signs of warfare could be seen. She stood up and felt faint instantly, sitting back down quickly she steadied herself. The battle the day before replayed in her mind as tears came to her eyes. The tears were for the boy that would not see his right of passage if he had made it to 12, her husband she had waited her whole life to meet, a father who deserved a quiet old age, a brother and his wife with three children in the caves, even Two Hands Climbing deserved to live a full life. She didn’t know the others but they fought like true heroes and some of her tears were of pride for knowing each member of the group no matter how little.
After some time she got up and continued toward the village of her birth. The closer she got, the slower she walked. She dreaded what was up ahead and wished she could just turn and walk away. Then a body up ahead on the ground told her she was getting close to finding out the fate of her people. She was shaking from anticipation. Then two more bodies were staring at the sky, then several more. There was suddenly the smell of a campfire, complete with fish cooking. Mato assumed it was the Mohawk or Seneca having breakfast among the bodies of her tribe. She instantly became filled with rage and decided to join her father and husband. She charged ahead at full run with a hatchet in one hand and a knife in the other. Her battle cry was as blood curdling as any brave’s, only higher pitched.
As she ran around a clump of heavy brush, fully expecting to face many Mohawk braves, she stopped dead in her tracks. Before her were thousands of bodies steaming in the morning sun. Most were in piles taller than a man’s arm could reach. The smell of blood hung in her nose like a bad perfume. She looked around and recognized many of the men that were working the piles. There were no Mohawks in sight, or Senecas either. Mato seemed confused. There were men looking at her but only because she was a woman, not because she had just been screaming her way around the bushes.
She sat down on a log and stared at one particular pile when a young brave walked up. She recognized him as from the village. He told her what had happened. The outer groups had been very effective in disrupting the charge of the Iroquois. Instead of a mass of men hitting at once a hundred yards wide row of braves, they entered the grove in much smaller groups. Most bands of warriors were under a hundred, so the gunfire was extremely deadly and with little or no casualties they were slaughtered in piles. This went on for hours as somehow the tribe had finished off one band completely before the next entered the grove. Arrows were used as sparingly as buck shot since no one knew how long the battle would last or how many were coming. A hope arose in the women and children as band after band was disposed of. As the bodies piled up it became harder to see the enemy and those on the ground began to rely on those in the trees to point where isolated bands of enemy were hiding or forming for countercharges. Then the death of the outer groups began to allow heavier fighting in the grove. There was a point where there were thousands of enemy warriors shooting arrows and bullets at those in the trees who were reigning down death with thousands of arrows having the firearms totally spent in previous battles. For four hours it would have been impossible for a bird to fly inside the grove without getting hit by an arrow. Even when it became obvious that The Iroquois were going to die to the last man they still fought on. Their pride would not allow them to leave the battle. Death was preferable to saving their life and they knew they wound not be welcomed back in their villages after word of how many died got out. There were suicidal attacks where they were out in the open, not even attempting to hide from the shower of arrows raining down on them. Frustration from not being able to get to those in the trees further spurred their ill-advised actions.
There were no tales of slaughter at this magnitude in the history of any of the tribes as men flung their arms wide and defied death standing on the top of dozens of the dead. It took the rest of the day to grant death to each and every warrior. None wanted to live after such a defeat. All survivors would be cowards in the eyes of their elders. As darkness fell, the last arrow sunk deep into the last chest of the last Iroquois warrior. An eerie silence fell over the grove and a chant like no other called out to the spirits of the dead, consoling them in their hour of need. The grove had a slight glow as thousands of whispers of light ascended into the heavens of friend and foe alike.
No fires were lit that night as the wounded and the unscathed clung to each other in the darkness. No songs of glory were sung, no talk of bravery was heard, no cries of the wounded from the pain, no sobs of sorrow for the fallen, only the haunting silence of anguish and shock. None of the survivors thought to go get the women and children from the caves and all spent the night thinking about what had happened that day.
As he finished describing the day before, there were the first of the village getting back from a night in the caves. Those who lost father, mothers and siblings broke out crying for their loss. Still, none that were in the grove cried with them. Mato saw Koweenasee in the distance and ran to her. They embraced and began to tell their stories. Kowee said she could only find seven of the 200 braves that had come to defend the Lenape, most had died in the 10-man groups in the outer formations. She had been in the trees and told of the suicides at the end and how she had to force herself to pull back the bow string knowing he wasn’t going to move to try to evade the shot. In the end she could barely see the braves to kill them from the tears in her eyes making everything blurry.
When it was Mato’s turn she told the stand her father and husband made against the Phantom of the Mohawk and the boy that never missed a shot. She told Kowee of her pride of the group and how the Shawnee warriors kept the Mohawk off the boy for so long. How they seemed to fly through the air and stop arrows and hatchets in mid air. She had never seen that kind of skill before and that the Shawnee made the body count what it ended up by allowing the boy to do what he did best. Then there was her attempt to get back into the battle and her inability to do so.
The two women sat next to each other for comfort. The piles of warriors standing high in the morning sun. Between piles they could see still more piles and between those more still. A forest of dead men, dense and going on for what seemed like forever, lay on the ground. Not all of the Shawnee and Lenape were found in the grove or out in the outer areas but those that were found were given burial ceremonies of honor, befitting any warrior that had died to protect the tribe. Each was lifted up onto a bed ten feet in the air on poles and have their weapons placed on their chests, along with any personal necklaces or belongings that could be identified as theirs. Then when darkness fell these beds were lit and songs of the elders were sung as the warrior’s body went up in flame.
There wasn’t enough people left to afford the Iroquois the same ceremonies, but leaving the bodies for the carrions was not an option. The second night, after all the Lenape and Shawnee were sent on their way to their ancestors, the Iroquois were spent to theirs as well. All the belongings that were not weapons that could be found were gathered up and several men were assigned the task of bringing them back to the Iroquois villages that were the closest to the grove. They were instructed to tell of the valor and honor that their warriors showed in battle and the Lenape Nation extended their sorrow for their loss. An offer of peace between the two federations was offered in honor of the fallen on both sides. The height of the flames went to the tops of the trees in the grove and quiet watchers bowed their heads, honoring the warriors at the end that could have exacted a heavy price if they had chosen to fight to the death taking as many women and children as they could.
Three days later Kowee and the seven braves left the grove for home and vowed an eternal bond with the Minisinks that their children’s children’s children would honor.
The grove was set aside as a sacred place and markers were placed in a circle around it to show that here something beyond the normal happened and would never happen again. Neither grass nor weeds nor trees grew in the grove again for 8213 days, the number of men, women, and children, counting both sides, that died that horrible day in August, 1716.
Rebecca could hardly see Mato even though she was sitting right next to her on the divan. Her heart was so heavy she could hardly breathe. Mato turned to her and offered a hand to hold. Mato said there were no songs of bravery, no songs of victory, nothing was ever mentioned of that day by any Lenni Lenape or Shawnee. The Aquanuschioni spoke of the loss very seldom and when they did it was called the defeat of the 6000.
Rebecca asked what happened to the Phantom of the Mohawk. Mato looked for his body most of the time between getting to village and the burning two days later. She never saw a body big enough to be his in the piles. No one in the grove had seen him and she was sure they would remember such a warrior if they saw him.
When the snows came that winter Matoaka was with child, a gift from the gods to Mato upon the loss of her beloved husband. She was grateful to have a part of Running Wolf still with her. She decided to call the child Little Wolf if it was a boy or Little Dove if a girl.
The battle had taken almost all of the men of the village. The solution was to have the remaining braves to assume responsibility of the women now without mates. Bird in Sky, who had once hoped to ask her father for permission to marry Matoaka spoke out at the counsel fire that he would look after Matoaka. The other braves laughed and Mato, who had earned the right to sit at the counsel after putting an arrow in the Phantom of the Mohawks, said she would decide which man she shared lodging with. The braves laughed again and slapped each other and pretending to be Mato fighting off Bird in Sky late at night. Bird in Sky stood up and left the fire from embarrassment which of course started the laughing up all over again. Mato then announced she accepts Bird in Sky as protector and father to her child. The laughing stopped and the counsel went on to discuss other matters.
That night when the fires were only coals, Mato made her way to Bird in Sky’s teepee and made her bed in the far side away from the children and Lonely Feather, his wife. Lonely Feather smiled when she heard Mato come in, she knew that her man could now hold his head up high in the village and it enhanced her status in the tribe as well with a princess in their lodging. Lonely Feather had been friends with Matoaka when they were little, but Mato’s training took up the whole day and they drifted apart. Now it would be good to have a friend again. The two women spent much of their day preparing food the few remaining braves brought back from hunting trips in their freshly defended territory. There were two children a nine year old boy, Hawkeye and Fawnnose a beautiful three year old. Mato began to teach Hawkeye the skills her father had taught her. Bird in Sky had already shown him many of the kinds of things he would need as a man in the village, especially hunting and trapping skills. Mato, though had different skills she wanted to teach, those of war. Hawkeye had tried to stay behind and fight from the trees but his bow skills were not enough to allow that. So he was especially interested in learning the bow. There were no legends from the battle but quietly in places where no one could hear, the story of the ten year old killing over a hundred Mohawk was told to young boys. Later the story would turn into a boy of five that killed 500 men and how he had to make arrows in the end from the small bones of the fallen when the piles of the dead reached the sky. For generations boys wanted bow skills because shooting arrows was faster than reloading guns, therefore a brave could kill many more of the enemy. Mato showed how to adjust for distance and wind and movement of the target. Hawkeye was a motivated student and spent hours by himself practicing the art of leading the target.
Spring came and went. Summer arrived and so did Little Wolf. Mato was so proud of her little man child. He had the bloodlines, since she had no brother, to be a chief when he got older.
TO BE CONTINUED