Alsoomse and Wanchese -- Chapter Four

Algonquian Words

Cattapeak: spring

Cohattayough: summer

Kwiocosuk: shaman, priest

Mamanatowick: ruler of several villages

Nepinough: earring of the corn season

Popanow: winter

Taquitock: the harvest and the falling of the leaves season

Wassador: copper

Weroance: chief of a village

Weroansqua: female chief of a village or dominant wife of the

village’s weroance

Windigo: cannibal monster (plural: Windigoag)

Characters Mentioned

* historically identified person

Alsoomse (Independent) –17, protagonist

Askook (Snake) – 21, Hurit’s brother and enemy of Alsoomse and

Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) -- 20, protagonist

Gilbert, Humphrey – colonizer who dies at sea, 44 at time of death

Kitchi (Brave) – Alsoomse and Wanchese’s dead brother, 11 at time of death, 1580

Machk (Bear) – 17, Nuna and Wapun’s brother, friend of Wanchese

Nuna (Land) – 16, Alsoomse’s friend across the lane

Odina (Mountain) – 16, Alsoomse’s friend across the lane

Pules (Pigeon) – 11, Odina’s sister

Tihkoosue (Short) – 13, Granganineo’s son and Hurit’s step-son

* Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) – 20, protagonist

Wapun (Dawn) – 12, Nuna’s amd Machk”s sister

* Wingina – 34, current mamanatowick and Granganimeo’s brother

Chapter Four

“All right, I will.” Alsoomse placed her palms behind her. “The two boys – whose father was the sun god -- had killed the monster wolf. They had come back to their home. Their names were Sesigizit and Ooseemeeid.” She looked at each of the young girls. “Remember their names. I will ask you later.”

Pules’s face tightened.

“You better not,” Wapun answered.

Grinning, Alsoomse resumed. “Because they wanted to make strong bows and arrows, they asked their mother where they could find the best of wood.

“‘Far away in the foothills is a ravine, where a forest of just such wood grows,’ the mother said. ‘But the path to the forest is steep and narrow, and a great windigo giant guards it, throws every traveler off a cliff.’”

“How inconvenient,” Askook remarked.

Wapun made a derogatory face.

“There was also a fierce mountain lioness that prowled the path. She had killed and dragged many travelers to her den.”

“Did the mother tell that to the two boys?”

Tihkoosue laughed. Wanchese looked at him, scowled.

“Yes, Pules, she did.” Alsoomse consciously smiled.

“The boys -- Sesigizit and Ooseemeeid – they went there anyway?” Wapun’s teeth glinted.

“We will just have to see.” Alsoomse straightened. “So you remembered their names, just to outdo me!” she said, feigning indignation.

Pules frowned. Wapun giggled.

“Go on,” Tihkoosue said.

“Is there a chance we can guess the outcome?” Askook loosened his neck muscles, leaned backward, yawned.

“Just tell the story, Alsoomse,” Wanchese said.

“Thank you, Brother. Thank you for your interest.” She turned toward the two girls. “They did leave to find the wood. Up the path they climbed, watchful for the lioness. And, there ahead of them … they saw her! But Sesigizit, the older boy, had a plan!

“‘Lioness, would you tell us,’ he asked politely, ‘where we can find the forest in the ravine that has excellent wood?’

“‘Yes, I am going that way myself. I will show you the way.' Her plan was to lure them close to her den where she would kill them” – Alsoomse raised her eyebrows – “and feed them to her cubs!” Alsoomse smacked her lips.

Tihkoosue grinned.

“So they started up again along the path, which twisted along a ledge. At their left was the terrible cliff and -- far below -- huge, sharp rocks. At their right was the steep wall of the mountain. The lioness wanted the boys to walk ahead of her, but the boys refused. ‘Our mother taught us to respect our elders,’ Sesigizit said.”

Nuna and Odina glanced at Tihkoosue.

“So the lioness let them walk behind her. Soon they came to where the path became very narrow. The boys pretended to be very afraid. They asked if they could walk beside her, putting themselves between her and the wall of the mountain.”

Alsoomse paused. She recognized that Tihkoosue and the two girls knew what was about to happen. Yet they wanted to hear it. She enjoyed as much her listeners’ anticipation and appreciation as she did her creative story-telling. Despite herself, she smiled, remembering the times she had told her young listeners the opposite of what they had expected.

“Afterward,” Alsoomse said, “the boys found the lioness’s den and killed her cubs. They cut off the cubs’ front paws to take home with them.”

“Wait! You … you jumped ahead! What happened … in between?!” Pules appeared suddenly two inches taller.

Machk slapped his right thigh, laughed.

“They pushed her over the cliff! What did you think happened?!” Wapun made her Stupid-Pules face.

“Well, I know that! But how?! The lion was so much bigger!”

“Lioness.”

“You think you are so smart!”

“Go tell Alsoomse their names! Can you?!”

“Their magic sticks,” Alsoomse answered, raising her voice. “They used their magic rabbit sticks.”

“Where would they have been without their magic sticks!” Askook shuddered, exaggeratedly embraced himself.

Pules was pouting. Feeling a tinge of guilt, Alsoomse resumed. “It so happened that the windigo heard the lioness scream as she fell toward the rocks. So he went close to where the path ended and waited. The boys were very high up the mountain now and could see the forest that had the excellent wood. Walking around a bend in the path, they saw the windigo. They quickly shot their arrows at him. He was so big the arrowheads just stung him!”

“Use your magic sticks! Use your sticks!” Tihkoosue exclaimed.

Machk laughed.

“Tihkoosue. Do not get ahead of me,” Alsoomse said, grinning. “Let me finish!”

“Do not use up all the daylight,” Wanchese remarked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You do not appreciate a good story!” she countered, eyebrows high. To the others, she said: “The windiigo became very angry. He tried the grab them but he was fat and clumsy and they were quick and nimble. So he began tearing huge rocks out of the mountainside to throw at them. The boys realized they were in great danger.” She stopped, looked lengthily at each of the girls.

“The magic sticks!” Tihkoosue exclaimed.

“Wrong, Tihkoosue. You are right to think that but their father, the sun god, helped them!” She looked at Pules. The girl’s rapt attention made her want to cackle. “He shot his rays straight into the windigo’s eyes so he could not see them. So his rocks missed them! But their arrows were not killing him and they had used almost all they had!”

“What to do?! What to do?!” Askook exclaimed. “I would have run back home screaming ‘Help! Help!’”

“No! They would not!” Pules’s chin jutted. “They are brave! They came to get the wood!”

“Why do you have to spoil this?” Wapun accused.

He smirked.

Alsoomse waved her hands. She said loudly: “It was just the boys’ luck that an old woman came by!” Alsoomse had regained their attention. “The boys talked to her. She was angry at the windigo because he would never let her go to the forest to gather dead sticks for her fire. She told them: ‘The only way to kill that monster is to crack his skull. Then send an arrow into his brain.’ So …”

“Did they do that?”

“Yes, Pules,” Wapun said. “They did that! They cracked his skull with a magic stick and put an arrow in his brain!” She looked at Alsoomse. “Am I right?”

“You are. And that is the end of the story. Any questions?”

They looked at her, surprised. Pules glared. Wapun beamed. Odina’s expression was quizzical. Tihkoosue appeared astonished. How much she enjoyed changing what they expected! Lifting her chin, she asked, “Any lessons?”

Askook, filtering dirt between his fingers, raised his head. “An observation. Too bad Kitchi did not have the sun god protecting him when he took his canoe out into the Great Waters.” He tilted his head, half grinned. “Too bad, also, nobody human was bothering to look after him.” He glanced sideways at Wanchese.

Alsoomse watched her brother rise.

Askook had gone too far.

“Get up!”

Askook stood. He brushed the back of his rear apron.

“Follow me!” Wanchese turned, walked to the center of the lane, faced back. Askook had not moved.

“Are you a coward? Do as he says!” Alsoomse said.

Askook looked at her. “I am not a coward.”

“Then, …?”

“Come with me!” Wanchese, taking long strides, disappeared where the path turned.

“Do not be a woman!” Alsoomse said.

Askook looked at her hatefully. Taking less lengthy strides than Wanchese had, he walked toward the bend.

Wanchese was waiting for him. “Follow me.”

“Why? Where?”

Wanchese turned around, walked ahead.

They arrived at the secluded alcove of spruce branches where Granganimeo had spoken to Wanchese about Tihkoosue.

“Well?” Askook’s eyes wavered. He pressed the heels of his hands against his sides.

“Mind what you say. I am very close to tearing you apart.”

“Do not exaggerate.”

“Should I lose control, I will kill you.”

They stared at each other.

“Well, …” Askook looked away.

“You wear Wingina’s four arrows dyed behind your left shoulder. That is supposed to mean something. You do not show it!”

“I am as loyal to Wingina as any man.” Askook raised his chin, tightened his legs.

“Those arrows mean we are one. We protect each other. We are not each other’s enemy.” Wanchese’s eyes penetrated. “But you make yourself the enemy! You insult, you accuse, you hate.”

“I tell the truth.”

“I see a man who cares only about himself.”

“I see a man who cared so much about himself that he was never here, to watch over his brother.”

Each man’s taut body craved release.

Shoulder muscles straining, Wanchese leaned forward. “There are two things you can choose to do.”

Askook looked at him warily.

“You can be what you are supposed to be. Or you can be our enemy and be banished.”

“Not killed?” Askook mocked.

Wanchese struck him full on the right cheek with the heel of his left hand. Askook went down. He lay still for six or seven seconds, then moved his upper body, groaned.

“Not killed yet?!” Wanchese mocked.

Askook raised himself to a sitting position. A red welt was forming. “Tearing me apart will do you no good,” he muttered.

“Tell my hands and feet that.”

“You are responsible for Kitchi’s death. That is the truth!”

Wanchese crowded him with his legs. “Why does that matter to you?”

“That is for you to find out.”

“You are no cousin of mine. Your blood and my blood are not the same. You would be wise to return to Dasemunkepeuc. Determine there your fate.”

Askook touched the welt.

Wanchese walked away.

#

Wanchese gazed across the water toward the not visible mainland. Wavelet tips, the terminus of the orange sun’s illuminating path, flashed. A canoe’s length away, three sanderlings -- throats and faces fire red -- were plunging their long beaks into the low-tide water.

He marveled at the potency of his temper. He was surprised that his blow to Askook’s head had not been followed by a fist to the throat and a crushing knee to the side of the skull.

He savored the idea.

Something inside him had interfered.

Had Askook been a Pomouik, he would not have hesitated. He was a warrior. Any man who chose to make himself an enemy needed to beware. Askook had become such: to him, to his sister, to the children, to Odina and Nuna, therefore, to all of Wingina’s people. The strength of a village was each member’s loyalty to every member. Minor grievances could be overlooked. Persistent verbal attacks signified a hatred that poisoned. He did not believe Askook would – in fact could -- change.

Why had he stopped? Because Wingina and his council determined punishments? He had not thought of that. He had acted spontaneously. Something deep within him had halted him, was refusing to tell him why.

His sister’s influence? She disliked Askook as much as he and was as quick to show it. She, too, detested cruel people. She would surely enjoy seeing the welt he had put on Askook’s face. If he had killed Askook, would she have approved? He did not believe so. Had that thought stopped him? No.

What then?

He did believe his frequent absences had helped Kitchi become too self-willed, had definitely made it easier for him to behave irresponsibly. He had been at Dasemunkepeuc the day Kitchi had taken his canoe through the exit to the Great Waters.

He had not needed Askook’s reminder about blame.

He had struck Askook because Askook had used this tragedy to inflict pain.

He had worked hard not to contemplate Kitchi’s death: his increasing fright; the realization that the storm that had overtaken him was stronger than his will to triumph; the expectation that he would be capsized into the churning waters; his prayers to Kiwasa; being suddenly overturned, separated from the canoe, spun about, driven down, down given no chance to open his mouth to breathe. How long had he fought? Had he willingly succumbed, opened his mouth to swallow? Or had he screamed his defiance?

It occurred to Wanchese that he had not killed Askook because he, nobody else, deserved the pain that Askook had inflicted! What other explanation could there be?

Askook had laid bare his deficiency. He, Wanchese, had instantaneously responded, had again, just as quickly, acted, choosing not to end Askook’s life.

He had suffered deserved punishment.

He would not permit its reoccurrence!

2

On September 8, north of the Azores, Humphrey Gilbert’s two ships passed through a weather front. The men of the Hinde watched the Squirrel mount the peaks and plummet into the canyons of fifty to one hundred foot waves. The light on the Squirrel’s main-mast appeared, disappeared, reappeared. Gilbert, true to his word, remained seated on the stern deck, Utopia in hand.

Later, when the Hinde neared the Squirrel, Gilbert stood. His red hair flapping, he leaned against the railing. The wind carried his voice. "We are as near to heaven by sea as by land." Losing his balance, he seized the top of his sliding chair, righted himself, sat, reopened his book.

A strange man with strange thoughts, more than one crew member had probably thought, the meaning of what Gilbert had said escaping all but the most intelligent.

Their vigil continued into the night. Just before midnight, the sailors of the Hinde saw the Squirrel’s light disappear but not reappear. For several minutes they waited, before they acknowledged that the sea had indeed swallowed the Squirrel and their forty-eight year old commander.

 

Alsoomse and Wanchese -- Chapter Three, Scene Three

 

Algonquian Words

Cattapeak: spring

Cohattayough: summer

Kwiocosuk: shaman, priest

Mamanatowick: ruler of several villages

Nepinough: earring of the corn season

Popanow: winter

Taquitock: the harvest and the falling of the leaves season

Wassador: copper

Weroance: chief of a village

Weroansqua: female chief of a village or dominant wife of the

village’s weroance

Windigo: cannibal monster (plural: Windigoag)

Characters Mentioned

* historically identified person

Allawa (Pea) – 15, Granganimeo’s daughter and Hurit’s step-daughter

Alsoomse (Independent) –17, protagonist

Askook (Snake) – 21, Hurit’s brother and enemy of Alsoomse and

Wanchese

* Granganimeo (He Who Is Serious) – 33, Roanoke weroance and Wingina’s brother

Hausisse (Old Woman) – 40, Odina’s mother

Keme (Thunder) – 25, warrior and friend of Wanchese

Machk (Bear) – 17, Nuna and Wapun’s brother, friend of Wanchese

Nootau (Fire) – 20, Sooleawa’s son and Alsoomse and Wanchese’s cousin

Nuna (Land) – 16, Alsoomse’s friend across the lane

Odina (Mountain) – 16, Alsoomse’s friend across the lane

Pules (Pigeon) – 11, Odina’s sister

Sokanon (Rain) – 18, Sooleawa’s daughter and Alsoomse and

Wanchese’s cousin

Sooleawa (Silver) – 39, Nadie’s sister and Alsoomse and Wanchese’s

aunt

Tihkoosue (Short) – 13, Granganineo’s son and Hurit’s step-son

* Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) – 20, protagonist

Wapun (Dawn) – 12, Nuna’s amd Machk”s sister

* Wingina – 34, current mamanatowick and Granganimeo’s brother

Explanation: Allawa is Granganimeo’s child by his first wife, deceased. Grananimeo has two sons, both by his second wife, Hurit, 25. They are Tihkoosue and Ahanu, 3. Hurit has two brothers: Huritt, 24, and Askook.

Maps

Scene Three

Wanchese and his cousin Nootau and Nuna’s brother Machk had returned to the longhouse at midday with the meat, hide, brain, and front legs of a large buck deer. Tihkoosue had complained loudly that Wanchese had not permitted him to accompany them. Wanchese’s curt explanation had been: “After you have built your bow and two arrows and practiced shooting them. Then. Not before.” During their absence Tihkoosue had gone to his father’s longhouse but had hurried back upon learning that the three hunters had returned.

Alsoomse, Sokanon, and Nuna were cutting the meat into smaller segments. Odina and her ailing mother Hausisse were placing the hide over two poles, preparatory to using the sharpened shoulder blade of a stage deer to scrape off adhering flesh and fat. Afterward, they would mash the brain in a wooden bowl, urinate into the bowl, and mix its content. Then -- the two young girls Wapun and Pules watching -- they would spread the mixture over the scraped hide to soften it.

Tihkoosue joined the men at the water’s edge while they cleaned their arrows and knives. He accompanied them to a stand of red cedar a mile south of the village. Three trees, dead limbs broken in different places, lay on the matted earth. They had been felled months ago by successive burnings at the base of their trunks and, afterward, the repeated scraping away of the charred wood. Tihkoosue knew why this had been done, that his village could not depend solely on storm-broken branches for its supply of firewood. This was the first time that he had visited one of these places, where man, not the god of storms, provided fuel for fires. When he and the young men returned to the village with armloads of dead branches, he -- filthy, cranky, exhausted – was eager to return to the men’s section of the water’s edge to cleanse himself.

An hour later the men and women, the two girls, Sooleawa, and Hausisse were seated in a large circle within which lay a large wooden platter containing acorn nuts and roasted strips of venison. The serious eating concluded, conversation between pairs and within gender groups started. Alsoomse was pleased to observe and listen.

“I would like to bring back more meat,” Wanchese said to his cousin. “Tomorrow. When the women start harvesting the last of the corn. We should probably go to Etacrewac. The bucks and does will be mating. The Pasquenoke do not hunt there.”

“We should take two canoes. Keme might go with us. Should I ask him?” Nootau looked past Wanchese, glanced at Machk. Wanchese nodded. Nootau reached for an acorn nut.

“Take me along!” Tihkoosue declared.

Wanchese shook his head. The thick strands of hair below the knot at the back of his head jumped.

“Why not?”

“I told you.”

“How am I going to learn how to hunt if I do not see how it is done?” His eyes did not leave Wanchese’s face.

“You are too short to hunt.” Askook had come up silently behind them.

The hairs along Alsoomse’s backbone prickled.

“A fox might mistake you for an ugly rabbit,” Askook said. “Swallow you up.”

Wapun and Pules, both taller than Tihkoosue but a cohattayough and two cohattayoughs younger, laughed.

“Stupid girls!” The boy glared.

“He makes a good argument,” Wanchese responded.

Tihkoosue’s head swiveled. His eyes implored.

“I will think about it,” Wanchese said.

“Looking to gain more favor, are you, Wanchese?” Askook raised his left forefinger. “Already Granganimeo’s mind tells his nose your turds smell like sweet bay!” He grinned.

Wanchese seized an acorn nut, threw it across the pathway.

Askook laughed. Palms up, elbows close to his sides, he said: “I think I know why you are helping this weak little rabbit. You plan to mount Allawa!” Watching Wanchese’s tight expression, he grinned.

Alsoomse spoke before her red-faced brother was prepared to respond.

“Askook, why have you slithered here? You are not welcome! You are almost our cousin, but you are not our friend!”

“Ah, but I am their friend!” His right hand indicated Nuna, then Odina. “Look at them. Watch their eyes. They want me! They want me in their beds! Look!” He turned, said to them: “Am I right?!”

Machk rose to one knee. Wanchese gripped Machk’s right forearm. “Sit. You, also,” he said to Askook. “Eat that last piece of meat.” He pointed at the platter. “It might stop you being such a fool.”

Askook tilted his head, glanced sideways at Wanchese. Smirking, he settled his haunches on the bare ground. He looked again at Wanchese, whose focus was on Nuna and Odina. Alsoomse recognized triumph in Askook’s eyes.

“The Dasemunkepeuc corn festival!” she said rapidly. “I will be seeing childhood friends! I want all of you to go!”

Nuna and Odina glanced at her, their facial expressions guarded.

Odina leaned left, tucked her left foot under her bent right leg. “I will be too worn out,” she said, not returning Alsoomse’s look. She raised her arms, as if bearing a great weight. “All that stooping, lifting, hauling.”

“Two or three beautiful braves might just see you doing all that and say hello!” Nuna giggled.

“Yes, and we might also see handsome young hunters from Pomeiooc, or Tramaskcooc! New blood! Hope! Future husbands!”

Alsoomse knew this was how Odina countered Nuna’s negative teasing: accept it, expand it. Nuna did not value Odina’s gentle nature. Nuna teased out of need. As for handsome-looking men being at the festival, she, too, would not ignore any unexpected hello!

Askook pointed his half-eaten section of meat at Odina. “If a handsome hunter ever says hello to you, it will be Kiwasa’s doing!” He waited, grinning.

“Kiwasa does not help us, ever,” Nuna answered. “He punishes us. He punishes every girl you look at!”

Odina arched her back, placed her palms behind her on her mat, smiled broadly. Wapun and Pules laughed.

“Not so. Not so at all.” Askook’s shrug connoted indifference. He looked at the last bit of deer meat, placed it deftly in his mouth.

“After the festival,” Nootau announced. “After the festival,” he repeated with characteristic seriousness, “Wingina will be doing some trading. I have never been a part of that. I would like to go up the Nomopana [Chowan River].” He looked at Wanchese. “Would you speak for me, cousin?”

“I will.” Wanchese leaned forward, raised his right knee, placed his right heel perpendicular to it. “But you should know. Wingina has his favorites. But I will ask.”

I will make certain he does! Alsoomse thought. Nootau needed a wife. It was also past time Wanchese had a wife! They were the same age. Young women at Choanoac would not know Nootau’s history. They would not see the shy child that had been the victim of jokes, of male-pack meanness. They would see him only for what he had become – a gentle, responsible, grown man.

They were talking now about trade items: shell beads, pearls, dried fish, turtle shells to exchange for hard stones, lots of stone, flint for arrowheads, wassador, hickory wood fashioned as cooking implements. She and Sokanon could use a better striking stone. The big stirring spoon they used was near its end. Alsoomse looked at Sokanon. Her cousin was staring raptly at Machk, her facade of indifference gone. Alsoomse’s and Sokanon’s eyes met. Sokanon lowered her face, placed four fingers over her throat.

We are not rivals, cousin, Alsoomse wanted to say. Could not say! One difference between them was that Sokanon had chosen somebody she wanted! Machk, soon to be a man, too handsome, too vigorous, too masculine for her to win. Already he was beguiling the pretty ones -- gifts made by Ahone -- who walked daily past all the fires after all the men had returned from the waters and the forests.

And you? Alsoomse reflected. You have not chosen anybody, knowing too well every male here at Roanoke and at Dasemunkepeuc the right age to marry. This was her second reason for wanting Wanchese to take her with him to Choanoac!

“Alsoomse!” She recognized Wapun’s voice. “Tell us a story.”

“You did not finish the story about the two boys and the windigo.” Pules drew her knees close to her chest. “Tell us.”

“Yes, tell us that story,” Askook insisted, mimicking her.

As if struck by a foul odor, Wapun’s face puckered.

Alsoomse leaned forward. “If the rest of you would not mind?”

“I have forgotten most of it,” Machk said.

“I want to hear it!” Tihkoosue exclaimed.

Wanchese nodded.

Alsoomse and Wanchese -- Chapter Three, Scenes One and Two

Algonquian Words

Cattapeak: spring

Cohattayough: summer

Kwiocosuk: shaman, priest

Mamanatowick: ruler of several villages

Nepinough: earring of the corn season

Popanow: winter

Taquitock: the harvest and the falling of the leaves season

Weroance: chief of a village

Weroansqua: female chief of a village or dominant wife of the

village’s weroance

Characters Mentioned

* historically identified person

Caldwell – 12, cabin boy serving Humphrey Gilbert

* Carleill, Christopher – 33, step-son oof Francis Walsingham

* Gilbert, Humphrey – Colonizer who dies at sea at age of 44

* Hayes, Edward – 34, captain of the Golden Hind

Sokanon (Rain) – 18, Sooleawa’s daughter and Alsoomse’s and Wanchese’s cousin

Tihkoosue (Short) – 13, Granganineo’s son and Hurit’s step-son

* Walsingham, Francis -- 52, Queen Elizabeth’s principal secretary

* Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) – 20, protagonist

Commentary

I have intentionally juxtaposed these two scenes to contrast how two boys close to the same age and of different cultures are treated, the dominant culture deeming itself enlightened, the other culture judged by the dominate culture to be savage.

Scene One

September 2, 1583. On calmer seas, Humphrey Gilbert, leaving the Squirrel, boarded the Golden Hinde.

He was in a foul mood. The recent tragedy, that he was without supplies to establish a settlement, and that bad weather – not he -- would thenceforth dictate his actions were its causes. He could imagine Walsingham whispering in the Queen’s ear, “I warned you about Gilbert. You should have chosen my step-son, Christopher Carleill.” An hour ago -- Providence not yet finished with him -- walking about his cabin in his stockings, Gilbert had stepped on a rusty nail. As the Hinde’s surgeon dressed his wound, Gilbert conversed with the ship’s captain and first mate.

No, God’s blood, he would not abandon the Squirrel, even though it was much smaller --- a mere ten tons -- than the Hinde. After they had left Newfoundland, he had moved from the Delight to the Squirrel to investigate unexplored harbors and mouths of rivers. The decision had saved his life. But his mooncalf cabin boy – whom he had sent a sailor back to the Squirrel to summon -- had not transferred his notes, mineral samples, and charts! He imagined them lying now scattered on the Sable Island sea bed, below the Delight’s floating dead!

“You will not alter your decision?” Captain Hayes ventured.

“I will not, sir!”

“Recognizing that the Squirrel is over laden with freight? That in almost certain rough weather it could be swamped?”

“Make no doubt, Captain. I am sensible of the danger. I am not a man of inferior parts!”

His face coloring, Hayes raised his left hand above the eating table, thought a moment, allowed it to fall. “Nothing, sir, is further from my heart,” he declared. The hand opened. “Permit me to say, forthrightly, that I had wished to emphasize my unwillingness to countenance our esteemed commander heedlessly risking his life!”

Gilbert scowled.

Hayes moved his hand below the table’s surface.

Gilbert’s eyes bored. "Captain, I will not forsake my little company going homeward! We have shared many perils. I place my trust in our All Mighty God!" He leaned sideways, stared at his bandaged left foot, tentatively flexed his leg. “Yes, we are to return to England!” he said addressing the floor. He looked past Hayes’s right shoulder. “It will be the last year of my six years letters patent. I will establish a colony here and profit handsomely!” He would persuade the Queen, with his half-brother’s help, Walsingham be damned!

Hayes made a supplicating gesture. “My duty lies in your service.”

He spoke of night signals. They needed to stay close together.

Gilbert argued against it.

The cabin door opened. A scarlet-faced twelve-year-old boy lingered at the threshold.

“Come here, Caldwell!” Gilbert ordered. “Captain, I will have your stick!”

Hayes motioned to his cabin orderly to retrieve it. The man, pinkish scalp visible beneath thin strands of unwashed hair, opened the captain’s sea chest. He removed the wooden rod, pivoted, approached Gilbert, relinquished it.

“Boy. Remove your blouse. Bend over this table! One stroke for each chart and sample lost!”

Hayes whispered to his orderly. The man exited the cabin.

Gilbert delivered the first stroke. Caldwell cried out. The second stroke came with greater force.

The orderly and the ship’s surgeon entered the cabin.

Upon the fifth stroke, Gilbert spoke. “Let this be meaningful. Punishment instructs. Orders, without exception, will be obeyed.”

The boy moaned. Hayes motioned for his surgeon to step forward.

“I am not finished here!” Gilbert glared. “Do not think that just five of my precious items were lost!”

“Perhaps, sir, the number lost exceeds the boy’s ability to bear the punishment.”

“Mind you! I have dealt with insubordinate underlings! I will make that judgment!”

“Thank you, admiral. Pray pardon my hasty presumption.”

Gilbert delivered a fierce stroke, straightened, watched Caldwell convulse.

Hayes and his first mate exchanged glances.

Gilbert delivered his final stroke. “The captain speaks well for mercy. Consider yourself fortunate that he has invoked my generosity.” Pivoting: “Your stick, captain!” He handed it to Hayes’s orderly. “Your surgeon may now perform his duties.”

The surgeon and the captain’s mate half-carried the boy out of the cabin.

Breathing less aggressively, Gilbert spoke to Hayes of his return to the Squirrel. “I have nothing to fear. I sail with the Lord’s protection. God rot what the sea might conspire! You shall see me seated on my deck, book in hand, reading Sir Thomas More. Utopia, you need not ask.” He gestured expansively with his left hand. “I shall avail you of More’s erudition upon our return.”

Scene Two

Wanchese and Tihkoosue had returned to Roanoke the next morning.

Tihkoosue had not finished removing his bow before dark. Wanchese had recognized the futility of pushing the boy beyond his limits of will and stamina. It was more important to Wanchese that he finish the task, not how quickly he did so. His bow would be dangerously narrow in breadth but it would be his bow entirely!

“We will sleep here rough tonight. You will finish taking out your wood in the morning.”

“I cannot do it!” the boy had cried.

“You might surprise yourself,” Wanchese had answered.

Wanchese had built a fire to provide them uncovered warmth. He had wondered if Tihkoosue had ever slept outside his parents’ longhouse. The boy – not conscious of Wanchese’s observation -- had twitched, turned, taken a long time to fall asleep. Wanchese had questioned whether he had made any gains in his attempt to change the boy’s attitude. He had been pleased, consequently, to see Tihkoosue head across the field toward the stand of witch hazel while he had spilled sand on the coals of their night fire.

“Show me again how deep to hit the wedges,” Tihkoosue had said when Wanchese had arrived at Tihkoosue’s tree.

“Give more tobacco. Be thankful. The tree is giving you a gift.” Later, when all of the antler wedges had been inserted: “Tap the side of each wedge gently. The bow has to come out whole. You will feel it begin to separate. When you do, stop. Go to the next wedge. When you reach the bottom, start over again. Remember what I told you about patience.”

An hour later the boy had wedged out the long, narrow rectangle of wood. Wanchese had recognized in Tihkoosue’s physical bearing a measure of pride. “About as rough edged as mine,” he had remarked. The boy had smiled, briefly.

“We do the boring work back in the village.”

#

They had eaten bread dipped in Sokanon’s pot. Afterward, taking turns using the semi-sharp edge of a four-inch long section of flint, they started removing their bows’ bark.

Afterward, they would cut away irregularities in the wood. They would take great care to make each section of the bow -- above and below its four-inch center -- symmetrical. That would entail sanding: the up and down hand use of separated granules of sandstone placed in the fold of a foot-square section of deerskin. Later, after they had eaten, they would cut a groove near each end of their bows. That would conclude their day’s labor, the boy not having sufficient resolve to continue.

    The following day they would remove sinew from the foreleg of a slain deer, construct bow strings, attach them -- eight strings twisted together -- to the ends of their bows, and glue the strings in place using pine sap. Following that, the third day, they would harvest reeds and commence to make arrows. Wanchese estimated that ten suns would pass before this necessary project would be completed. 

Alsoomse and Wanchese -- Chapter Two, Scene Two and Three

 

Algonquian Words

Cattapeak: spring

Cohattayough: summer

Kwiocosuk: shaman, priest

Mamanatowick: ruler of several villages

Nepinough: earring of the corn season

Popanow: winter

Taquitock: the harvest and the falling of the leaves season

Weroance: chief of a village

Weroansqua: female chief of a village or dominant wife of the

village’s weroance

Characters Mentioned

* historically identified person

* Clarke, Richard – 37, master of the Delight

* Gilbert, Humphrey – Colonizer who dies at sea at age of 44

* Granganimeo (He Who Is Serious) – 33, Roanoke weroance and Wingina’s brother

Kitchi (Brave) – Alsoomse and Wanchese’s dead brother, 11 at time

of death, 1580

Matunaagd (He Who Fights) – Alsoomse and Wanchese’s father, 35

at time of death, 1579

Sooleawa (Silver) – 39, Nadie’s sister and Alsoomse and Wanchese’s

aunt

Tihkoosue (Short) – 13, Granganineo’s son and Hurit’s step-son

* Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) – 20, protagonist

* Wingina – 34, current mamanatowick and Granganimeo’s brother

Map of Sable Island

Scene Two

Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the turbulent waves, had approached. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. Here existed the necessary food supply for his planned settlement! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.

He had spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.

“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”

Clarke had contradicted Gilbert’s intended west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” Gilbert had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath upon Clarke to force the master to comply.

Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!

If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, …

The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.

A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.

“Admiral! Here!”

Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!

For an hour Gilbert’s two ships maintained their positions. Then he ordered their departure. All one hundred of the Delight’s crew had perished. Numbed with guilt, he retired to his cabin.

Scene Three

“This had better be the tree you want. I am hungry.” Granganimeo’s son, Tihkoosue, glanced out of the shadows of the tops of witch hazel to view the sunny expanse of field they had crossed thirty minutes ago.

“A good bow starts with the best wood. Hickory is best, ash is good, witch hazel, which we have all about, will do. The first thing you have to learn is patience. Making a bow requires most of all patience.” It was not Wanchese’s idea to teach this boy of thirteen cohattayoughs how to make bows and arrows and – afterward, he assumed – how to hunt.

Granganimeo had come to him two afternoons past while he had been shaping flint arrowheads. “That is what my son needs to learn. Come. Let us walk.” The old woman watching, they had left Sooleawa’s longhouse headed toward the landing place, the smoke of fires drifting above them and the limbs of loblolly pine. Wanchese, trailing, had watched his weroance’s bare feet avoid cones and the ends of cut off vines. Stopping in a secluded space shrouded by wax myrtle and thick spruce, close to the recently expanded burial ground, Granganimeo – his arms folded across his chest – had scrutinized him. Sensing what was about to be said, Wanchese had felt imposed upon.

“It is hard for me to say this about my son.” Granganimeo had tweaked his neck. “You must not repeat what I am about to say. It is only because Wingina and I recognize you to be strong in character, skillful in providing meat, and, we believe, brave in battle – and because you are Matunaagd’s son – that I say this to you.” Granganimeo had squinted, deepened the furrows across his forehead. “That I place my trust in you.”

Wanchese had waited.

“Tihkoosue is a disappointment. Boys his age have already learned the skills of hunting. They make their own bows and arrows. They play the hoop game, they shoot at tree stumps from different distances. Eagerly! They hunt with young braves. Tihkoosue does none of this. Yet he expects to become a weroance. He expects everything to be given to him. He must be taught otherwise.”

Wanchese had shifted his weight, touched his dangling tobacco sack.

“You know what I want you to do.”

Wanchese had nodded. The large turkey feather, its stem inserted in the groove at the top of his forehead, had bobbed.

“It will take much of your time.” Granganimeo’s crossed forearms had covered partially the square-shaped sheet of copper dangling from his neck.

“I know he is willful,” Wanchese had answered. He had felt he had the right to criticize. “He will not listen to me if he does not listen to you.”

“You have my permission to make him listen. I have seen how you reject weak character. I also know that you are fair-minded. Treat my son as he deserves.”

“I will not be easy with him.”

Granganimeo had smiled. He had touched his chin, then nodded. “I am pleased.”

#

Wanchese concluded his inspection of the witch hazel trunk. “This one will do.” He turned to face the boy. How small Tihkoosue was for his age. He remembered Kitchi to be as tall and two cohattayoughs younger. The bow they had made and the bow he would force this weakling to make would be close to the same length.

“Good. Now we can eat.”

“Now you will watch me mark the dimensions of my bow. Then you will mark yours.” Wanchese stared at the tree. He removed from the leather pouch, attached to the waistband of his apron, a tough but pliant section of leather and his flint knife. “Watch.”

He knelt upon the soft earth. Reaching behind his back for his apron waistband, he secured his tobacco sack. He removed it, untied its strings, and opened it. He poured bits of tobacco leaves into the palm of his left hand. He stood. “Tree, I thank you for giving me some of your wood. May the bow I make be strong and send my arrows fast and straight.” He sprinkled the palm’s contents judiciously around the base of the trunk.

Facing the boy, he said: “You must remember always to thank the trees you use and the animals you kill for their sacrifice.”

“I know that!”

Wanchese ignored the petulance. Using his knife, he commenced to cut a line approximately five feet long down the tree trunk. “This takes effort,” he said, “because of the bark. You see that I hold the knife with this deerskin hide. “

“I see that!”

“Then you know the reason.”

Tihkoosue did not answer.

“I cut to about two hands’ length from the bottom of the trunk. Then I cut across. About half a hand in length. Then I cut up the trunk the same length as before when I began. Then I cut across to meet where I started. You are to start now on the tree trunk next to mine. The wood will do for a beginner’s bow.” He removed from his pouch a second knife and a section of deerskin. He placed them beside the adjacent tree trunk and laid beside them his pouch of tobacco. He started to cut deeply the first of the two, long, parallel lines. Hearing no movement, he said, “It will be very long before we leave.”

“I want to eat.”

“We will eat when I eat.” He continued cutting.

Halfway finished with his parallel cutting, he heard the boy’s footsteps. He did not look. More movement. He heard: “Take this tobacco, tree, because I have to take some of your wood.” Peeking, Wanchese witnessed Tihkoosue sprinkling bits of tobacco leaves.

“Your cut has to be shorter in length,” Wanchese said. “A half an arm shorter, I think.” He continued his cutting, giving the boy seemingly no attention.

“This is hard!” Tihkoosue exclaimed. “How do you expect me to do this?!”

“Like everybody else your age.” He reached the top of his second lengthy cut. “Almost done,” he said.

“I need help.”

“It is a good thing your friends do not see you.”

“I do not have friends! I do not care who sees me!”

“Ah!”

Wanchese finished his second horizontal cut. The boy had marked half the distance of his first cut. “You are doing all right.”

“But it is hard!”

“The hard part comes after we eat.”

Tihkoosue turned, glared. “How?”

“After we eat. Hurry up. I am hungry.” Wanchese grinned.

Thirty minutes later the boy had finished. Flexing the fingers of his right hand, he watched Wanchese make a fire, afterward build a platform of sticks over the flames to cook two moderate-sized bass taken from his previous day’s catch.

Each ate silently.

After awhile the boy asked: “Did you do this with Kitchi?”

Wanchese felt instant pain. “Yes,” he said, tardily.

“How did he do?”

“He complained a lot.”

Wanchese recalled their outing.

“It is hard,” Tihkoosue had said. Everything is hard. It is meant to be. Everybody does what is expected of him. Everybody works together. The gods smile. Even Kiwasa, if he is given enough tobacco. Together we survive, stay strong, defeat our enemies. He had said all of this to Kitchi a popanow before the boy’s death. Unlike this selfish boy, his brother had been willing to work. He had been curious about all things, keen for exploration and adventure. It had been his undoing.

“Was it a good bow?”

“Good enough for a boy his size. He was able to kill rabbits with it.”

“Did you take him hunting?”

“I did.”

“Is hunting hard?”

“Everything is hard the first time.” He paused, licked his fingers, reached with his knife for the unclaimed half of the second bass, lying across two sticks elevated two feet above the fire. “It gets easier.”

They returned to the tree trunks. “Watch me while I cut the lines deeper. As deep as the distance of your little finger. “This will be hard work. Then we wedge the wood out using these pieces of deer antler and that hard rock I brought out of the canoe. The sun will be low when we finish. You should know.”

“Did you help Kitchi?”

“Sometimes, when he asked.” Not watching him, Wanchese anticipated the boy’s next question. “He did not ask that much,”