Undaunted Spirits

By Edward J. McCarthy

Undaunted Spirits is a delightful series of stories about the Iroquois and other American Indians at the end of the 19th century, Especially intriguing is the story if Montoso, a teenager who has the ability to join his mind or spirit with the other animals and birds. The story is written in a very believable fashion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483667331

Edward J. McCarthy

The Author: Born in Brooklyn, NY in 1926 Entered U.S. Army in 1944 Fought in WWII with the 75th Infantry Div. in Europe Was awarded the Combat Infantry Badge, Purple Heart and Bronze Star medals Retired from Orange County, NY Now makes his home in Florida

Book preview

1. CROOKED BRANCH

It was during the moon of falling snow when Elihu Badger paced the dirt floor of his longhouse. A pot-bellied stove glowed red and radiated its heat into the one-room structure. Two kerosene lanterns lighted the scene. Wisps of wind sneaked through the chinks in the log and bark walls.

You walk too fast, my husband, called Snow Breeze. The dust from the floor will choke the baby.

Elihu slowed his pacing and watched Snow Breeze replace the thick piece of leather between her teeth. Her breathing speeded again and became louder. Suddenly it stopped. Elihu turned and peered at his sweating wife and the medicine woman, Carmel Light Eyes.

A few more brief sounds and it fell into the medicine woman’s hands. It wriggled and squirmed, then squalled its outrage against the cold, outside world.

It is a boy, my husband. A new hunter is born.

And a big one, added Carmel Light Eyes. I must report the birth to the white doctor, but I know not the white man’s date. It is near the middle of the moon of snow. I will say it is the fifteenth of February. Is that close enough?

Yes, we agree, Elihu said.

Nee-jo agreed Snow Breeze.

Carmel Light Eyes said, So it is February 15, 1815.

The infant had quieted. For no apparent reason the boy screamed as if in pain when laid down. Snow Breeze was puzzled. There is something wrong with our son, she told Elihu. Each time I place him on his blanket, he cries. Again she placed the baby on his blanket and he squalled loudly.

He is spoiled, said Elihu.

Spoiled? He is born but this day. He cannot yet be spoiled. She lifted the baby from the blanket and he quieted immediately.

Elihu pondered for a moment, then ran his hand over the blanket. Perhaps a straw sticks him? He felt gingerly, then proclaimed, Aha! He reached under the blanket and withdrew a thin branch. Here is what torments our poor child. He held the piece of gnarled limb for Snow Breeze to see.

We will call him Crooked Branch, she proclaimed.

What honor is there in such a name? Crooked Branch indeed, Elihu muttered as he left the longhouse.

It is good, Snow Breeze shouted after him. To emphasize it she shouted in Seneca, Wi-yuh!

Elihu did not agree but he remained silent. He had heard the tone of finality in her voice. He would drink himself to sleep this night.

Crooked Branch grew straight and tall. His father was grateful that the chosen name had not caused him to grow crooked. The child learned quickly the ways of his people, the small Minny-Wash-ika clan. He enjoyed helping the various craftsmen and soon learned many of their trades. When he had eight years, he was snaring hares in deadfall traps and bringing them down with his short arrows.

Snow Breeze argued with Elihu when Crooked Branch had ten years. He will never learn to hunt if you do not teach him the ways of the deer tribe. Elihu relented and took the boy, but their luck was all bad. He blamed his wife and son. The boy was sure he would prove of value if given another chance at the large four-legged game. He pleaded often, but it was not to be. A hunting trip was another opportunity for Elihu to drink own-aiga to excess and he could not get drunk with his son to tend to. Neither Elihu nor the other warriors would listen to the boy’s pleas. He had no pony, no rifle, and very few hunting skills.

Early one morning, Crooked Branch decided to follow five braves and a woman who were preparing for a hunt. Elk had been sighted in the north country. They collected food, water, and two bottles of own-aiga. He filled his pouch with succotash and some pieces of roasted venison. He put on his new moccasins, a gift from the widow, Spotted Doe. With them on, he was sure he could easily maintain pace behind the hunting party and remain hidden. He must remember to say nothing about the own-aiga.

They left at sunup. He followed them at a lope, a pace he could maintain for a long time. The small band rode into the north valley and stayed on the open trails away from the dark forest. The moccasins were comfortable, and he was glad that he had spared the time for Spotted Doe to mark out the measurements of his feet on the buckskin. The good woman had also painted a wolf’s head on the moccasins, for Crooked Branch’s mother was of the Wolf Clan.

He watched the warriors as they read signs and rode on. When he reached the signs, he studied them, felt them, squeezed them between his fingers, even smelled them. He believed them to be too dry and thought that the elks who left this sign could now be several days distant. When the sun was falling beyond the horizon, the warriors stopped in a forest and built their small campfire to roast four hares they had slain. His mountain home had disappeared from view; the night was darkening, and Crooked Branch felt very lonely despite the presence of the warriors and the woman who camped nearby. He could not approach them; they would tease him and kick his behind. He was committed to stay behind his large oak tree despite what his parents would say and do as punishment. The aroma of the roasting hares wafted past his nostrils. He heard the woman giggling and the men laughing amidst the tinkle of the own-aiga bottle being passed around, but he remained behind his great oak tree. He smiled when he heard the woman choking on the strong liquor.

The air was cooling so he unslung his light blanket roll and wrapped it about himself. When he heard a slight noise behind him, he lowered himself to the ground silently. The sound of the footsteps receded. Only then did he lie down and sleep.

Suddenly he was wide awake. There were sounds of hurrying feet in the small camp. The small fire was doused and quickly covered with earth. The skinny moon cast long shadows and it was difficult to discern his people from the trees and brush.

Now he could hear the ponies’ hoofbeats as the men and woman mounted them. The ponies rushed past him suddenly. The men’s faces showed fear; the woman was terrified! He could hear the ponies long after they were out of sight. Their hoofbeats were hurried. He had no worry about finding his way home. His worry was how he would be treated by his parents and the five warriors and woman he had followed in his foolhardy exploit.

He heard a sound behind him and froze. It seemed a long time before he dared move. Slowly he turned his body and one arm was grabbed, then the other. They were being held by the sworn enemy of the Iroquois. Two grinning Huron warriors held him in tight grips. Three others, fiercely painted to emulate demons, stood before him and slapped his face with their open hands as they yelled, Coup, in a taunting manner. Crooked Branch cried out in fear and in pain, "Yieee! The Hurons yelled, Yieee," as they mocked him and laughed. They pushed him from one to the other. Some of them slapped him again. His face felt raw and each open-handed blow brought tears of pain to his eyes. He was sure that his youth was no guarantee of safety because the Hurons were reputed to be savages and baby killers. He knew his mother would mourn his death, but his father?

One of them grabbed his ear. Pulling out a knife from his waist sash, he asked, Who want eat ear? No one answered. The man grabbed him by the throat and asked. Who want tongue? Then he asked, Who want eat heart, fingers, stones? No one answered and Crooked Branch gave silent thanks to the gods, for he was sure that if a Huron had answered, that bodily part would have been removed swiftly and painfully.

A noose was dropped over his head and tightened. His wrists were tied together. Then the strange warriors began their march through the forest, pulling him behind them and through brush, thorn-bushes, over fallen tree trunks and through mud holes. He stumbled once but the noose did not slacken. It tightened about his neck until he was choking as he was being dragged over the rough ground. He regained his feet and loosened the neck noose. His neck and throat were rubbed raw by the rough rope. Finally he was pulled through a small stream and up a slight rise. There, on a level, grassy spot was a single, small house of branches covered with gray canvas, dirtied by the blowing dust and the years. The noose was removed from his neck and then his wrist. If you run, I cut strings in legs. You never run more, a paunchy Huron warned him.

Thank you, said Crooked Branch as he rubbed his wrists. The Huron slapped his face and shouted, "Ong-weh-on-weh, blood of bitch, you no talk! The Huron walked away muttering to himself. Crooked Branch’s face was stinging again. Between clenched teeth he muttered, Wendat Sego-wa-tee-ha!" Indeed they were Huron Tormentors.

He studied the area. There were no women, no dogs, no stretching frame, nothing of a permanent nature. Were these the forward scouts of a larger party? They were all older men, past the prime of life. In fact, some were old grandfathers. Had they run away from their Canadian reservation? What were they doing on Seneca lands, the lands of their dreaded enemy who many times had defeated them? Crooked Branch had many questions, but no answers.

Get water! someone shouted at him. He heard the gruff order and turned in time to catch a yellow gourd that was tossed at him. He ran to the stream, filled the gourd, and ran back.

Put him in bag, someone said as he pointed to a canvas water bag. He spilled the water into it and was told, More, much more.

Many times he emptied the gourd into the bag. It was half filled when someone tossed him a piece of raw venison. He preferred it roasted but ate it raw, knowing that he needed his strength. He would not be a captive and slave for long. The thought of escape strengthened his spirit. It obsessed him. His body hurt; his bruises ached; his scrapes bled. He was hungry, yet his thought was of escape. They did not feed him enough to maintain his strength. He ate what food he could locate in the forest. During the following day, he piled secret caches of firewood in the forest. If he searched too long for nuts and berries, he could account for his time by returning with some of the cached wood. He had to keep up his strength and spirit. He refused to become weakened by the scraps of food tossed him. The dogs in his village were fed better than he was. He wondered if the Hurons were dog-eaters like some of his red-man brothers. He had been told that even the Seneca had been cannibals in the past. To gain wisdom, his people had eaten the brains of wise enemies. To gain strength or fleetness of foot, various portions of an enemy’s body were eaten, usually raw.

He recalled asking his tutor, What must the white man think of us? His tutor had answered, White man has lost his heritage. It is no longer behind his eyes when he walked naked on Mother Earth’s breast, when he wore the skins of animals, when he prayed to the sun and moon, and when he ate the flesh of men. Inventions came more quickly to white man. They had a written language and paper when Seneca were yet savages living by the great muddy river far from here. Now they have guns, wagons, cannons, soft clothing materials, beautiful colored beads, metal pots, and all wonderful things. We do not yet have a way to write our language. Perhaps the gods favored them and brought them what they needed.

His remembrances were cut short when a stone struck his back. Fetch wood, eater of deer droppings, someone called to him; then the Huron laughed at his own humor. The thought of escape continued to possess Crooked Branch.

On his third day of captivity, he had planned his escape route by studying the stars. He knew the Big Dipper as three warriors and their dog hunting a bear. More importantly, the stars told him where north and south were. While fetching wood and water, he spent time on his escape plans. He set traps of green, taut branches. The slightest touch would release one to swing into the body of the intruder. After he completed his work, he returned to the stream for one more gourd of water which he hid in the brush near his sleeping place. A piece of raw venison was tossed at him when he returned. It hit his shoulder and fell to the ground. The Huron who tossed it was laughing and telling his friend how inept the Seneca were.

Crooked Branch ran to the stream and washed off the meat, then ate it raw as he walked back. A Huron approached him and tied his wrists together, then his ankles. He saw the burly Huron swing his fist at him. To avoid the blow he pulled his head to the side. The fist slammed into his shoulder and he fell to the ground in pain; then the Huron kicked him in the hip.

Crooked Branch had smelled own-aiga on the man’s breath. He gritted his teeth against the pain and the need to cry out. He smiled because he was able to halt the tears before they formed in his eyes. He told himself that his captors were dogs and that they knew only the dog’s way to treat real people. The pain in his shoulder and his hip was receding. He wished he were a grown man for just a short time, just long enough to teach that burly dog how to beg and to roll over and play dead. He knew the pain was still there, but it stopped hurting through the force of his will. He lay down and slept for a short time.

A warrior had burned his finger in the fire and yelled his pain, awakening him. He looked about him and saw three Hurons asleep on the ground where they had fallen. The one with the burned finger settled down to sleep after taking a long drink from an almost empty bottle.

Crooked Branch sat up and poured water over his ropes. Then he pulled at them in his attempts to stretch open the knots. He felt them stretching little by little as he continually pulled and wetted them. His wrists and ankles were reddened and raw from the twisting and stretching motions. A knot on his wrist rope suddenly opened. He looked about him again. Everyone was sleeping. He loosened his ropes and intoned a soft prayer to his Creator. He was free.

The campfire was almost out and a canoe of skinny moon gave very little light. Carefully, he made his way to where the Huron ponies were tethered and released two of them. He sneaked the remaining three to the other side of the small hill beyond the familiar stream and tethered them again with leg hobbles. A little stirring of the fire brought it to life again. He placed the ends of two broken branches into the crackling fire and watched as they flamed. For a moment he turned his face skyward to ask for the stealth and slyness of the fox. Then he was ready. He sensed that his prayer had been answered. He carried the torches to the tent. For the first time he noticed the red leaf painted on the canvas. He remembered seeing the leader of this group, but had not known until now that the largest and fiercest of the group was the feared Red Leaf. Stories were still told of this warrior’s exploits against the Seneca. Crooked Branch placed his burning sticks just under the tent canvas opposite from each other. He heard the snoring from within the tent. He ran to the ponies, unhobbled them, then fashioned the single rope rein over the muzzle of one and mounted it.

His body tingled in anticipation and fairly shouted for him to race away. He fought against the urgency, for he had to gain coup, had to strike back at his enemies. He owned no more than his name, yet he was filled with the pride of the Seneca.

The tent flamed, bathing the campsite in bright light and long shadows. Hurons were running around the burning tent. Two of them ran to the stream, soaked blankets with water, then spread them over the fiery tent. One of the blankets caught fire. Finally, someone doused the whole thing with water from the canvas army bag. Then they set out on a search for Crooked Branch.

They listened intently for sounds from the forest, but there were none. Some of them approached the stream. He heard the chief’s voice, "Where are you, little Ong-weh-on-weh? We will not harm you. Come out and join us as a friend. You are a little boy. We send you home to Mama. Crooked Branch could not see the man’s face, but pictured it with a forked tongue. A branch snapped loose and struck a Huron in the ribs. One of the traps had sprung. Oof," the man yelled, then fell to the ground with the breath knocked out of him. "Oof," mocked Crooked Branch silently as he smiled.

The injured Huron rose to his feet and shouted, Seneca bastard, I cut your throat and piss in your brain! Sombitch! Despite his fear, Crooked Branch smiled at the man’s anger and frustration.

Chief Red Leaf shouted, Where are you, sombitch?

Crooked Branch said to himself, Here I am, stupid dog! His smile widened.

Another loosened branch swished through the cool air and struck something solid. Yieee, someone cried out. My ankle, he is broke! The man limped to the campsite and sat holding his ankle. He rocked back and forth in pain, moaning softly.

Crooked Branch turned his pony and gripped more tightly the lead ropes on the other two ponies. Slowly he made his way toward the trail at the forest edge. He barely heard the next branch cut through the air. He smiled and said aloud to himself, "Coup!"

He followed the north-south trail until the skinny moon fell beyond the horizon; then he slept at the edge of the trail. At sunrise he mounted his stolen pony and rode south again. When the sun was at its height, he saw his mountains and was met by three warriors from his clan.

Long Tom asked, Where you go? He appeared angry.

Blue Horse added, You get sombitch whipping now from your father.

Yes, agreed Crooked Branch.

You sure you deserve whipping for what you do?

Yes, Blue Horse. I think so.

They reached the village. Elihu Badger was tending to a small vigil fire when he heard Blue Horse call to him and point at Crooked Branch.

I have prayed for your safety, my son. Your poor mother has cried herself to sleep for these days.

Crooked Branch climbed down from his pony and approached his father, I am very happy to be home again, Fath… . Elihu backhanded him in the face and he fell against his pony. Elihu immediately reached for him saying, Forgive me, my son. My worry has changed to anger for burdening me and your good mother.

Blue Horse said, Elihu, your bad son has almost admitted to setting the fire in Carmel Light Eyes’ longhouse.

I did not say that, Blue Horse!

You lie! You say you deserve whipping for what you did. What you think I talk about?

Crooked Branch looked at Carmel Light Eyes’ longhouse. One corner had been burned and there were three warriors making repairs to it. When did it burn? he asked.

You know, answered Blue Horse. You burned it yesterday!

I was a captive of Red Leaf yesterday and for days before that. I have escaped and taken three of his ponies.

Elihu then noticed the neck, wrist, and ankle burns and the scrapes and gashes on his son’s body.

Do you say truth, my son?

Yes, Father.

He then told his father about his adventure, starting out with following the hunting party. When he was finished, he said proudly, Now you and Mother and I have Huron ponies. His father was very proud. He placed a soft hand on Crooked Branch’s shoulder as Crooked Branch pleaded silently for his father to hold him, to hug him. More of the villagers approached them; Elihu was happy to repeat his son’s adventure several times as he patted the Huron ponies and spoke of coup and his son’s courage.

"The Hurons took coup on one who has but ten years?" asked Many Moons.

Bastards! voiced Limping Fox.

Big Head Wolf said in anger, "Red Leaf was born of snake droppings. His brains are eaten by own-aiga." Crooked Branch recalled Red Leaf’s imposing figure. He looked much like some of the warriors in his own clan.

His father seemed happy as he told and retold his son’s adventures to the people. The only time Crooked Branch spoke was when he was asked a direct question which his father could not answer. The village people were highly impressed by a ten-year-old who took coup on adult Hurons and made off with three of their ponies. They applauded and stamped their feet when told of the green branches slapping into the Hurons. Chief Two Feathers called Crooked Branch a very brave boy. That was when Elihu Badger hugged his son in the presence of the villagers. Tears escaped from Crooked Branch’s eyes, not from weariness, not even from the relief of escape and feeling of safety, but because his father hugged him for the first time in his memory.

2. HIGH CAT

Crooked Branch retold his story several times to the children and adults, including High Cat, who enjoyed it and said that it reminded him of his almost-forgotten experiences of so many years ago.

I have not heard of your experience, Crooked Branch said.

"Sit down, little warrior, and I will tell you of things I did during the Great Whirlwind called the Revolutionary War. We had lived under the British rule for many years. When the war came all the Iroquois Nations voted to remain neutral, but Chief Charles Brant of the Seneca persuaded most of the nations to help the British. This became much easier when the rebel Americans came through our lands in large numbers and killed and maimed the red man. They also burned and trampled our fields causing widespread hunger and starvation. They raped many of the women and children also.

"I had fourteen years when they came to my village. They killed my parents, two brothers and two sisters, but they raped my mother and two sisters first. My uncle White Heron complained to the captain about these crimes and was bayonetted as he rode back to his destroyed village.

My brother and I swore to Ha-wen-ee-yu to avenge the rape and murder. We escaped and questioned every witness. We learned that four men were responsible. They were not army men, but had joined the army group for the raping and looting. Someone was paying a bounty for scalps, for these two men had sixteen of them when they left here, most of them were from children.

High Cat busied himself in stripping and straightening arrow shafts as he spoke. He did not know his exact age, but believed himself to have seventy years.

"One of my sisters had but twelve years! All Senecas were angered by what the rebels did. Many who believed in neutrality were swayed to war by these terrible actions despite the vote of neutrality by the sachems. The war wampum was passed around and many Iroquois took up their lances and bows. A killer of dogs or children shall never enter heaven, but that was not enough for my brother and me. We swore to stop their killing.

"We learned the names and descriptions of the four who murdered our family. They had joined the march with the army in Fort Albany and killed many peaceful red men on their way here. Many soldiers were deserting the army and going west. The army needed all the men it could get and many criminals joined them. My brother and I did not have to see the purple and red wampum. Our vow was already made to draw blood.

"One night my brother sneaked into their camp and came back with much food. He had seen some of the killers asleep when he was leaving, and he wanted to sneak back into the camp and kill them. I argued against it and finally he agreed. We went to sleep.

"I was awakened by a shot in the camp. My brother was gone! Then I found a half-empty bottle of own-aiga by his blanket. It would be suicide to enter the camp. I climbed a tall tree and saw that they had captured him. Two men in civilian clothes were lying dead on the ground. My brother had a bullet wound in his stomach, but they tied him to a wagon wheel. They were building a large fire to roast him! He had slain two of the killers.

"He did not scream from pain when they lifted him above the fire. He yelled the Seneca war cry, then was silent. The own-aiga and the loss of blood brought him a more easy death. They kept the fire burning under him. It is a woman’s way to cry, but I became as one when I buried my brother. I cried and prayed and made my heart as stone against the killers. I could not stay for the three-day vigil, for I wanted quick revenge. I wanted my private war ended so I could live in peace again. I ate berries, nuts and weeds from the forest as well as hare and deer which became scarce because of the overkilling of them by the soldiers. I did not eat human flesh because it is a high sin, but others did, including some white men.

During the moon of snow I followed the white men when they went to Fort Stanwix, near the shore of Lake Oneida. I was fortunate to evade the Oneida Nation, for many of them were aiding the Americans. I lived in a bear cave as I watched the fort. When the snows came, it was terribly cold, but I remained. Patrols came and went. Hunting parties left the fort and returned with game. But my two killers remained inside. I was visited many times by Senecas and Mohawks. They called me Round-Round because they believed I was completely mad.

Crooked Branch twirled his index finger about his ear, You Round-Round? You are not crazy.

"Oh, they thought so. A Mohawk told me that the men in the fort were betting on the date I would be captured or killed. Those in the fort also called me Round-Round. I did not care because perhaps I was a little crazy. There was a twenty pound bounty on my head, too. I was a very good arrow maker even then, and I traded arrows for gold and clothing and food. I killed hawks for food and for feathers for my arrows. I was a young man then and the hides with the hair inside were quite warm in winter. I saw many she-bears, but none of them tried to take over my cave. I think they knew why I was there and they approved. For many moons I waited. It was the moon of greening grass and maple sugar when four hundred or so rebels came from the fort. They passed close to my cave; then I followed my targets. I learned they were called Virgil and Thomas. They were on foot. Some civilians rode the stolen Seneca ponies and Virgil wore my brother’s copper armband. My heart whispered that my arrows would taste blood.

"For two sleeps I followed them west. They came to a Seneca village, but it was empty; yet the fires burned. Men were sent to search for the red men, but they could not be found. They torched the longhouses and trampled the winter vegetables in the fields. I was joined by many Senecas and Mohawks, but they had few rifles among them and were there because many hundreds of Iroquois were ahead and were waiting in ambush. The rebels marched west again. When the sun was high, five hundred or more Iroquois appeared on a grassy slope, then just as suddenly disappeared over the horizon. I heard two shots and saw two soldiers fall. The rebels fired blindly into the woods until the captain called for silence. He stood on a wagon with a sergeant and shouted, ‘You God damned savages don’t fight like real men. Come on out in the open!’ There was no response. ‘You blasted heathens eat dogs and dog shit!’ A bullet pierced his sleeve. The sergeant behind him fell with the bullet in his thigh.

"The captain’s men formed a circle about him in the open. The Indians used nature. They were hidden in the trees and brush and had few rifles, perhaps twenty, but the soldiers and civilians were falling from bullets and arrows. Some of them used all their ammunition firing at shadows. Many rebels deserted, sneaking through the high grass into the woods where more Indians waited. Virgil and Thomas were coming my way. A Seneca behind me whispered to his friends, ‘Do not fire on him. Him belong Round-Round.’ I nocked an arrow and waited behind a tree. When I saw one of them clearly, I fired my arrow into his shoulder. He stood to run and I fired another one into his belly.

"I wanted him to feel the pain in my heart. I wanted him to suffer. I cursed his soul as I tore my brother’s armband from his arm. His hands were held in the air. A Seneca approached me, very angry. He yelled, ‘Him sombitch. Him kill tisotay. You kill? I want kill sombitch!’ I nodded agreement and he fired four arrows into the man’s body. I told him I was sorry about his grandfather. The Seneca walked to the dead man and said, ‘This sombitch poison my arrows.’ Then he broke off all six arrows in the man’s body. The men around him laughed. I smiled a sad smile.

"Thomas was with two men. The Iroquois fired their arrows and killed the two men. Thomas had an arrow in his shoulder and a Mohawk apologized for his poor aim. My blood was hot. It boiled in