Journey to Eden

By John York

The year is 1842. At age fifteen, Shadow leaves his Dakota village near Fort Snelling to pursue a vision quest. His outward appearance causes others in his village to suspect he is a presage of evil, but his mother believes he is a gift from the spirit world. The young brave will become known as Shadow the Wolf Spirit.
At fourteen, Archibald Weed is already taller and stronger than any other fully grown man. He is also an albino. He confronts two slave catchers brutally whipping runaway slaves on the docks of Ellsworth, Maine, but it is Archie’s own family who must ultimately flee when slave catchers are sent to capture his mulatto father.
At age fifteen, Anna is sold as a Fancy Girl at a New Orleans slave market, and taken to serve as a sex-slave on a paddlewheel steamer, the Mississippi Belle. The man who bought her, the Belle’s captain, Phineas Morgan, has a change of heart, but before he can do anything to improve her prospects, the Belle explodes and burns to the waterline.
At sixteen, George Blackhorse lives a sedentary life with his Indian mother in Cairo, Illinois. His father is a black Indian, living and working in the northeast as a lawyer and abolitionist. One night, while fishing on the river in his canoe, George witnesses a paddlewheel steamboat explode and burn.
Five years later, in 1847, these four very different people serendipitously meet and begin a journey on the wild upper Mississippi River to a place they call Eden. They are seeking freedom, equality, and the opportunity to pursue their dreams. And for Shadow, it is home, a home he and his people will soon lose.
They all have one thing in common. They are all half-breeds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John York
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9780999387061

John York

I grew up in a rural town in central Ohio and have fond memories of working on the extended-family farms during the summer months of my youth. I had hoped to attend Ohio State University after high school, to study art, but we couldn’t quite manage the costs, so I joined the Air Force. I served with the 3rd Air Rescue and Recovery Group in Viet Nam and then on to Thailand with the 40th Rescue and Recovery Squadron toward the end of that unpopular war. I left the military in 1974, and bumped around for several years as a kind of vagabond, doing all kinds of crazy jobs in several different places. I called that period of my life the pirate years.I finally attended college at Florida Atlantic University and received my bachelor’s degree in computer science. I worked in that industry for the next 24 years. The beginning of this period was when the Internet was being born, and I was lucky enough to have been involved in many of the historic efforts to create and evolve those technologies.Along the way, my wife, Paula, and I built our beloved Hellanback Ranch in the back country of San Diego County. This was our little piece of paradise where we raised livestock, planted wine grapes, and started a winery. Ramona, the little town a few miles from the ranch, was a great place to live, and, over the years, we became very involved in the community, getting to know just about everybody. The time came, however, when ranching and winemaking were a bit overwhelming and we made the painful decision to sell the ranch. We relocated to New Port Richey on the west coast of Florida so that I could focus on writing.I got the idea to start writing novels around 2014. I did a lot of professional writing dealing with management and technology during my career, but I always loved just telling stories. It was in my blood, as they say. I retired in 2016 and I’ve been writing ever since. I’ve published books in several different genres and have really enjoyed working on each one. The stories just keep pouring out of my head. I also love to cook, play the piano and sing, and I’ve composed several songs. Of course, I love to drink wine — I was a winemaker. I’m still involved with winemakers back in California, and enjoy mentoring a few people who are just getting started in that industry.

Book preview

1826

CHAPTER ONE

The young woman was struggling to make her way down through the woods to the bottom of the bluffs. She was seventeen years old and in labor. Her name, Zi Zintkala, means Yellow Bird in English. The father of the child was a young Irish immigrant named James Mahoney, who was stationed at nearby Fort Snelling. Being fascinated with the indigenous people of the region, he had visited the Mdewakanton Dakota village several times, but Yellow Bird had not seen him for many months. He was an akicita, a white man’s warrior, so she knew she might never see him again.

The land of her people, the land white Americans were calling the Unorganized Territory, was becoming increasingly dangerous. Other native tribes from the north and east, people who were the Dakota’s traditional enemies, were being pushed out of their lands by the whites. Her people knew it was just a matter of time before the white man would pour across the Mississippi into their lands as well. Things were changing in her world; changes she knew would be difficult to endure in the future. But she could not dwell on those things now.

The place she had chosen for giving birth was on a hummock near a small creek that flowed into the river. The place overlooked the river her people called the Minnesota. Her older sister, Sky Water, accompanied her, walking a few steps behind. It was early spring and the weather was still quite cold. Most of the snow had melted, but the ground was hard with frost. She knew the bluffs and the forest would provide her with some protection from the worst of the predominate winds. That was some comfort.

They built a small fire near the rough shelter she had constructed a few weeks earlier. The labor pains were growing in intensity and frequency. Yellow Bird was trying to put on a brave face, but she was frightened. Her father had not approved of the mating with the white man. In fact, he had been furious and threatened to disown her. Sky Water was not supportive of this birth either, but she could not bring herself to abandon her sister. The mystical White Buffalo Calf Woman had given the Dakota people seven essential qualities to live by. Among these was love, which implies compassion. And there was also a strong sense of duty to tiyospaye, the family and clan, which could not be ignored.

Yellow Bird shifted all her thoughts to the task at hand. After a difficult labor, a male child was born. To their horror, he was completely covered in hair from his neck up. Sky Water refused to touch the baby. When Yellow Bird saw the wretched little thing, she let out a reflexive gasp and recoiled, but then collected herself and began to methodically clean the infant. Perhaps this was a sign from the Great Spirit, a portent of something she could not yet understand.

This child is possessed of an evil spirit, Sky Water hissed. This is a punishment for laying with the white soldier. You must give it back to the spirit world. It is the custom. She rose and backed away. You cannot come back to the village with that thing. She turned and walked back up the path.

Yellow Bird was only vaguely aware of the People’s expectations regarding an abnormal infant. The custom of her people was to send unfortunate babies back to the spirit world. Did that include one such as this child? She would be expected to wrap it up and put it in the river, allowing Wyzia, the Old Man spirit, to take the child with him to the underworld.

She cut and tied the cord connecting her to her baby. It would be necessary to prepare the infant for his journey to the underworld. As she bathed the baby and rubbed him with sage, she could see that the rest of his body seemed completely normal. He was crying now, so she cradled him close to her body to comfort him and eventually allowed him to nurse at her breast. The baby’s face looked normal, other than all the hair. Despite his appearance, she found herself growing attached to the infant. She realized it wasn’t pity she was feeling, and it was more than the inherent love a mother feels for a life she has borne into the world.

After cleaning and feeding the infant, she buried the afterbirth and carefully cleaned the birth area, carrying away any dirt and leaves which had remnants of the birth fluids. This was necessary to avoid attracting scavengers. She wrapped the baby in a small blanket she made from fox pelts and walked down to the river. As she stood there, looking out over the muddy water, she was conflicted between her duty to fulfill the People’s expectations and the feelings in her heart. She looked down at the sleeping child and was suddenly overcome by a feeling that shook her to her core. Perhaps this new life she held in her arms was a gift rather than a curse from an evil spirit. As she continued to stand by the water’s edge, the feeling grew stronger.

Ohanzee Sungmanito, she muttered. You are a gift from the spirit world, aren’t you, little one? She began to tremble, not from the cold but from excitement. I shall keep you and help you grow strong. You will become an important figure in the People’s struggle, and they will call you Ohanzee Sungmanito, the Shadow of the Wolf Spirit.

She turned away from the river and headed back to her rough shelter, a lean-to built against an exposed rock face in the bluffs. She would spend the required four days and four nights with her child, then she would have to figure out how to arrange for the proper ceremony for a first-born child. She doubted the clan’s Holy Man would agree to come sing the songs, or prepare the sacred foods, or apply the sacred paint. She would have to improvise. Her resolve increased.

As she sat in her shelter, contemplating her immediate predicament, she heard a rustling of the vegetation on the path nearby. Her heartbeat quickened. Could this be someone coming to make sure the deformed infant was returned to the spirit world? As she moved to put herself between the intruder and her baby, she was quite surprised to see Ojinjintka’s face moving out of the thicket and into the clearing.

Ojinjintka, the Dakota word for rose, was called an Iron Woman by the people of the tribe, a term used for women who were considered to be of two spirits. It was the People’s way of recognizing those individuals who were biologically one sex, but who identified with the opposite sex. Rose was a female, but preferred, and was quite good at, all the activities usually associated with the men of their clan.

Yellow Bird was immediately apprehensive. She stood on shaky legs, prepared to defend her child if necessary. Rose stopped a few feet away from the shelter. She was dressed like a man, wearing a breechcloth over leather leggings and a buckskin shirt. A bone knife in a leather sheath was fastened to the ornately beaded belt around her waist.

Why have you come? Yellow Bird asked suspiciously.

Rose smiled. It was obvious that Yellow Bird could barely stand, still weak from just giving birth. Yet she was clearly prepared to protect her child.

Your sister has announced the news of your new child’s affliction. The People are anxious. There was no one willing to come down here to help you. Are you and the baby well?

After some hesitation, Yellow Bird sat back down, wincing. Yes, we are well, but the child is not right. His face is very different, but he seems healthy. I do not want to release him to the spirit world, Rose. I had a revelation down at the River. Perhaps it was one of the spirits. I intend to keep the child, and I will call him Ohanzee Sungmanito.

Rose started. That is a powerful name, Yellow Bird. May I see him?

Yellow Bird was surprised by this request, but she couldn’t think of any reason to deny allowing Rose to see the baby. She looked into Rose’s eyes to see if there was any malice in her intentions, but could find none. She turned and picked up the sleeping infant, and, cradling him in her arms, pulled back the cover from his face. To her amazement, Rose made no outward sign of revulsion or surprise.

Rose stared at the baby for a long time, as if trying to see through its deformity or beyond its mortal trappings. She then shifted her gaze to Yellow Bird. He is unusual, very unusual. I understand why you might think he is special.

There was a long silence between them. I will take care of you and Shadow Sungmanito, Rose announced. I will try to convince Black Bear to come here to administer the proper ceremonies. If he refuses, you and I will do it. Her voice was resolute and defiant.

Yellow Bird stared at her in confused relief. Why would this unusual Iron Woman want to help her? She could not fathom why, but was overwhelmed with gratitude. A small tear trailed down her cheek.

Thank you. Your heart is strong and you are kind to help us.

Rose said nothing, but turned around and headed back up toward the village. She returned late the next day with Black Bear in tow. Yellow Bird was quite astounded by the Holy Man’s visit. She immediately suspected the grizzled old man had come more out of curiosity than any sense of duty. She also supposed that Rose had coerced him in some way. Rose was a tough woman, her title of Iron Woman being well deserved.

Yellow Bird picked up the baby and presented him to the Holy Man. Black Bear flinched and gasped at the sight of the little one, though he quickly recovered, and gave the child a long, hard look. The expression on his face began to transform from repulsion to curiosity to comprehension.

He looked up at Yellow Bird. This child is special, very special.

Yellow Bird told the Holy Man of her revelation at the river and then told him the name she had given her son.

Uhm, Black Bear grunted through his grimace. Naming a child so early is not proper. He looked back at the child. You may call him Ohanzee. Only a Holy Man can give a child a spirit name. He paused for a long moment. I will name him Sungmanito, Wolf Spirit. It is obvious this should be his spirit name, as you say.

The Holy Man then commenced with the traditional ceremony. He sang the blessing song for a long and healthy life on earth. He then placed a tiny bit of the sacred foods he brought with him on the child’s tongue: wasna, dried cornmeal mixed with dried meat, wojapi, a chokecherry pudding, and water. With his finger, he painted the child’s face with the sacred paint of red, yellow, and white, the colors that mark the spirits of the child as a member of the clan, his tiyospaye, and pronounced the child be named Ohanzee.

Shadow was awake and very still during the ceremony, his eyes fixed on the Holy Man. The baby occasionally shifted his eyes toward Rose, causing her no little discomfort. The intensity of the newborn’s gaze was not typical of one so young. Yellow Bird was feeling increasingly strengthened by the event.

The Holy Man then presented the boy with a turtle-shell rattle, an eagle feather, and two porcupine-quilled amulets. One of the deerskin amulets was stuffed with cattail fluff, to be used as a decoy to confuse the spirits. The other would be used to hold the dried umbilical cord and then be wrapped in sage and put away into a sacred bundle for protection

The sacred ceremony now completed, the Holy Man stared intently at the tiny infant. He gently placed one of his wrinkled, claw-like hands on the baby’s head. The child made a small gurgling sound at the touch, causing Black Bear to close his eyes and slowly nod his head. The sun was setting, casting long shadows among the trees and the wind had calmed. An eagle screamed overhead and then the call of a lone wolf was heard in the distance. All three of the witnesses to this event felt a shiver run through their bodies.

Over the next several days, Rose established a more permanent lodge, selecting a wide ledge further up on the bluff, several feet above Yellow Bird’s original shelter. She used her own tipi to replace the lean-to and cleared a large area around the site, providing an excellent view of the Minnesota River Valley below. Yellow Bird and Ohanzee moved in.

Rose provided the new family with food. She was a skilled hunter and brought a wide range of game to their fire, including rabbit, squirrel, pheasant, duck, and turkey. The bison and elk were already mostly gone from this area, but there were still abundant deer. When Rose was able to take a deer, she shared it with others in the clan, as was the tradition. Both Rose and Yellow Bird gathered wild rice from the lakes nearby, as well as berries and roots. The lakes and river also provided them with fish.

As Shadow grew, he appeared healthy and normal in every way except for his facial appearance. Of course, there were his eyes. They were a disconcerting, sparkling blue. It would be a couple of years before the boy would learn to talk, but it was immediately apparent from his baby babbling that he was going to have a different kind of voice, one that was deep and raspy.

The fact that his entire head and neck were completely covered with hair made the boy unsettling to look upon, especially for the first time. When he grew older and began to do things that most young boys want to do, it would become increasingly difficult to keep young Shadow from unexpectedly running into other people. These incidents were often quite traumatic for others, but did not seem to bother the boy at all.

There persisted a deep belief by most members of the clan that Shadow’s appearance was the result of a malevolent spirit, or of a trickster spirit at the very least, and that his presence was sure to bring bad luck to the People. It was Black Bear, the Holy Man, who kept others from doing anything harmful to the boy. He assured them that the child was special, and would become a great asset to the People someday.

When Shadow was only three months old, a military patrol from Fort Snelling rode into the village. Patrols from the fort were not unusual, but they were infrequent. The lieutenant in command of the column requested a brief meeting with the clan’s chief to advise him that a group of Americans would be passing through their land. They were heading west toward California, and he wanted the chief’s assurance the group would not be harassed by his warriors.

One of the men in the patrol was a corporal named James Mahoney. James knew very few words of Dakota, but managed to communicate an inquiry about Yellow Bird to a young brave who understood a few words of English. The brave clucked his tongue and shook his head. He pointed away from the village toward the river and said something James could not understand. James knew the patrol would not be at the village very long, so he couldn’t go wandering off.

A woman approached James, looking him up and down in an appraising, critical way. She recognized this wasichu, this white man. She tugged at his shirt and motioned for him to follow her. James looked around with uncertainty.

Hey, Sergeant, he called out to the veteran soldier he reported to. Would it be alright if I go take a quick look for someone? I know a woman in this village, and I think this one knows where she is.

The sergeant gave him a hard look, but couldn’t think of a particular reason to say no. Alright. You got fifteen minutes. Don’t make me have to come lookin’ for you corporal.

The other soldiers sniggered as James followed the woman away from the village. It seemed to James that they were going off in an unlikely direction to find anybody. He was getting a little uneasy as they moved down a low hill toward the trees. He looked back to discover the village was no longer visible. The woman leading him began to call out toward the forest’s edge, then she suddenly stopped. She motioned in the direction of the trees, turned, and headed back to the village.

James stood there for a while, confused. He pulled out the cheap pocket watch he always carried. He didn’t have time to go traipsing around in the woods. He was beginning to think the village woman had played some kind of odd joke on him, but then a figure emerged from the trees. He could see right away it was Yellow Bird. He smiled and headed toward her.

As he got closer, he noticed she was carrying a bundle of something. It looked like a small animal from where he stood. She had a serious look on her face. His smile faded. When she was about ten paces from him, she stopped and said something in Dakota he was not able understand. The bundle in her arms was covered with a small blanket made of deerskin, but he could see one side of what looked like a face, the face of some kind of animal. Yellow Bird took a couple of steps closer to him and rearranged the bundle so he could see what she was carrying.

His mind could not readily process what he was looking at. What was this, and why was Yellow Bird carrying it around? With one hand she gestured toward him, then toward herself. She pointed to his groin, then to hers. She made a curving motion over her belly, then pointed to the face James was unable to classify. Just then, Shadow awakened, making his customary guttural sound, and looked straight into James’ blue eyes.

Oh my God, he said, suddenly comprehending what Yellow Bird was trying to tell him. No. That’s not possible. What is that?

Yellow Bird pointed at James. She removed the skin from Shadow so James could see that it was a normal human child below the neck. Ohanzee, she announced, looking at the baby.

James stood there in shock. He didn’t know what to say, or do, or even think. He forced himself to calm down, then took a few tentative steps closer, not taking his eyes off the child. He couldn’t stop looking at it. He saw that it was a boy. He shifted his glance to Yellow Bird, who was watching him intently. James made an awkward series of hand gestures as if to ask, From you and me?

She nodded her head. He shook his head in disbelief. He came closer and touched the child’s face, and then looked into its blue eyes.

Sweet Jesus, was all he could say. He heard the sergeant yelling his name behind the rise. He looked over his shoulder, then back to Yellow Bird. I have to go. I, I have to go. He pointed behind him. I’m sorry, Zi Zintkala. He used her Dakota name. I’ll come back. He reached out to touch her face, but she pulled away. The sergeant was hollering louder. He turned and ran back.

James Mahoney returned to Fort Snelling with the other men in his unit upon completion of the patrol. He was still shaken from the unexpected introduction to the creature who was apparently his son. He had several days during the patrol to think about the encounter. It was not too difficult for him to accept the possibility that his liaison with the attractive Indian maiden had resulted in a pregnancy. He could and would accept his responsibilities for the child. But it was very difficult to even comprehend what he had seen, much less understand how something he helped create could look like the thing Yellow Bird had shown him.

CHAPTER TWO

When he spotted Yellow Bird on his first visit to her village, she had boldly met his gaze. When he smiled shyly, she had returned the smile. The next time his patrol stopped at the village, he gave her a small hand mirror and tried to communicate with her using a few Dakota words he had learned back at the fort. She had been quite pleased with the gift, but they had little success in their effort to communicate with each other, at least in words.

Back at the fort, he redoubled his efforts to learn more of the Dakota language. A man named John Marsh had arrived at Fort Snelling the previous year for the purpose of establishing a school for the officers’ children. Marsh developed an interest in creating a dictionary of the Dakota language, and James asked Marsh if he would help him learn some of the language. Marsh agreed and, in return, asked James to assist him in gathering interpretations during his patrols.

Over the following months, James made sure he was assigned to the troop columns that patrolled the Indian Territory to the west. The patrols were considered necessary to keep the peace between the Dakota, who had inhabited this land for centuries, and other indigenous groups who were being pushed out of their ancestral lands east of the Mississippi.

When the patrol stopped at the Mdewakanton Dakota village, James would seek out Yellow Bird and spend time with her practicing his nascent language skills. She was amused by his attentions and his obvious enthusiasm for learning her language. She thought he was handsome, for a white man, and found his auburn hair and blue eyes quite fascinating. He was very polite, unlike most of the other white men she had encountered, and this is what, in her mind, set him apart. He seemed to respect her people. This was an important Dakota value.

On one of these visits, the lieutenant leading the column decided they would bivouac overnight on the edge of the village. A band of Ojibwe, the Dakota’s traditional enemy, had been seen moving about in the area north of the village. The lieutenant hoped the presence of the military would dissuade them from causing any trouble with the Dakota in this village. While the other soldiers grumbled complaints about the unexpected stay, James was quite delighted. He suggested to Yellow Bird that she might show him around the local area that evening. Despite her father’s disapproval, she agreed to go out onto the prairie with James.

It was mid-summer and, as they wandered away from the village, a full moon was beginning to reveal itself on the eastern horizon. It was called by the Dakota the Moon of Cherries Blackening, the Canpasapa Wi. It also marked the time of the Sun Dance, one of the most sacred Dakota rites. James had not planned to be intimate with Yellow Bird, but as they stood in the warm summer evening, holding hands, and listening to the night sounds, their youthful passions ran away with them and took control.

James didn’t know what to do. He told no one about the baby, but wanted to, needed to talk to someone about it. He had to know how such a horrible thing could happen to a human child. James knew that Marsh had studied medicine back east and was continuing his medical training under the tutelage of the fort’s physician. He thought he knew Marsh well enough to ask him about his son’s hideous deformity, and finally drummed up the courage to pay him a visit.

Good evening, Mister Marsh, James said tentatively. I wonder if I might have a word with you. I have a question about something I saw at the Indian village near the fort.

Marsh looked up from his reading. Yes. Yes, of course James. Come in. Have a seat. Marsh kindly shifted his full attention to James.

I recently saw a baby out there at that village by the river, the one that’s about 10 miles west of here. It didn’t look human, but, but it was. That is, I could see his whole body and it was a regular little body, but its head looked like a… His voice trailed off, trying to find the words to describe what he saw. Its whole head, face, and neck, everything was covered in long hair. It looked like an animal of some kind. I was wondering how something like that could be real. How could something like that happen?

Marsh’s eyes widened. He considered James for a few seconds before answering him. Was this creature you observed living?

Yes, sir, James answered. It was definitely alive. I heard it make sounds and saw it move.

Interesting. Hmm. Many cultures believe it is necessary to dispose of deformed children. This sentiment goes as far back in recorded history as Aristotle.

James didn’t know who Aristotle was, so he said nothing, but remembered that Yellow Bird was apparently no longer living within the village. He wondered if she and the baby might have been banished.

All I can tell you, James, is that there is a long human history of deformities, Marsh continued. Some are quite terrible and debilitating. They are anomalies. Do you know what that word means, James?

I think so, sir. It means something that doesn’t happen very often. Right?

Yes. Medical study does not have much information about the cause of deformities I’m afraid. We know that long term inbreeding, such as was the case in many noble families in Europe, can be the cause of some deformities. The case you have described sounds quite rare and would probably have to be explained as God’s will.

After some hesitation, James said softly, It’s kind of hard to understand why God would do such a thing to a little baby.

Well, I’m afraid that is about all I can tell you, James. Is there anything else?

No, sir. Thank you for your time, Mister Marsh.

James could not sleep that night. He wondered what he should do. He wanted to go back to see if there was something he could do to help Yellow Bird. He didn’t want her to think he was the kind of man who would just abandon her in a situation like this. He wondered how she could manage by herself if she was being shunned by her clan.

The next day he reported to his sergeant. Sergeant Hennessey?

The sergeant didn’t look up. What is it, corporal?

I’ve been out here at this post for almost three years now. I was wondering if I could take a leave. Maybe a week or so. I don’t rightly know the policies on that sort of thing.

The sergeant slowly looked up from his work. Where in the hell would you be able to go in a week, Corporal Mahoney? There ain’t no place worth goin’ to that you can get to and get back from in a week. Are you thinkin’ of desertin’?

Oh, no sir. I assure you. I just want to see some of the local countryside, you know, take a bit of a rest.

The sergeant gave him a suspicious, penetrating look. You want to go see that squaw at the Dakota village, don’t you?

James’ fair-skinned Irish face reddened dramatically, which told the sergeant all he needed to know. You ain’t foolin’ me, son. You’ve been all over this God forsaken prairie on dozens of patrols. You’ve seen everything there is to see out there. He paused, and his face softened. I’ll tell you what though. You’re a good trooper. You do your work and then some, and you’re a smart one. I know you’re a workin’ with Mister Marsh on some kind of Dakota dictionary.

The sergeant sat there staring at James for several seconds. We gotta get a message to Chief Shoto out there at that village. There’s more trouble a brewin’ with another bunch of Ojibwe comin’ down north of here. They mean to cause mischief; you can be sure of that. Shoto needs to keep his braves under control while we try to head off them other Injuns. We gotta keep those flea-bitten fur trappers safe around these parts, so we don’t need no more Injun wars. I’ll send you out there to give Shoto that message. You got a week, one week.

James couldn’t believe his luck. Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll get that message to him alright. You can count on me.

You will ride out tomorrow and be back here in seven days, the sergeant said as he casually returned his attention to the papers on his small table.

Ride, sir? The rank-and-file soldiers of this time rarely rode horses. They either marched on foot or were carried on horse drawn wagons. Only officers could afford horses. As a poor Irish immigrant, James had never even been on a horse.

Take one of them pack horses from the stables. Here’s a requisition order for your supplies and the horse. Hennessey looked up and handed James a piece of paper.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. James decided he would not look the gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. He would work out the details later.

James ran across the parade ground inside the fort to tell John Marsh about his upcoming assignment. Marsh was delighted and recommended James take with him a list of words and phrases they had recently compiled for the dictionary. Try them out. Make corrections as necessary. He also urged James to try to add new words and phrases to this work. James enthusiastically agreed. As an afterthought, Marsh then retrieved two trade blankets from a chest behind his desk.

Give Shoto these blankets. Tell him they are a gift from me as a token of my gratitude for his help with my project. Marsh opened one of the small drawers in his desk. Give these to him as well. It was a handful of fish hooks in a little round tin. The Dakota love metal implements like these.

Yes, sir, James said eagerly. I’m sure he’s going to like these gifts. He was thinking that these items would also go a long way toward ingratiating himself to the old chief. It sparked an idea of his own.

James headed over to the St. Peters Indian Agency, located near the fort. He asked to see the Indian agent, Lawrence Taliaferro, and was admitted. He explained that he was working with John Marsh on a Dakota language dictionary project and that he was about to leave on an assignment to visit Chief Shoto’s village along the Minnesota River to deliver a message. He wondered if there might be some task he could perform for the agency while he was there.

Taliaferro had been the agent there at the St. Peters agency since 1820. He was the first agent to be assigned to this post. The Fort Snelling area was sparsely populated with white men, so it was not surprising that Taliaferro knew of James Mahoney.

There are several Dakota villages along the St. Peters River, Taliaferro said. The early name used by trappers and traders for the Minnesota River was the River St. Pierre. Why would you be sent to give a message to just one of the villages?

James had no idea. I don’t know, sir. I’m just following orders. I just thought you might want me to do something else while I was out there. He thought it best not to say anything about the real reason he wanted to visit the village.

Rubbing his chin, Taliaferro regarded him carefully. He thought the young man, although clearly Irish, seemed earnest and honest enough. When do you leave, Corporal?

Tomorrow morning, sir. I’ll be back in seven days. Those are my orders.

Do you imbibe spirits? he asked.

No, sir. I don’t never touch the stuff. Taliaferro looked at him skeptically. I don’t drink whiskey, sir, James reiterated firmly. Not all the Irish are drunks, sir.

A small hint of a smile appeared briefly on one side of Taliaferro’s face. Alright. I want you to take a small gift for Chief Shoto, with my regards, Taliaferro said finally. It is important to keep up the appearance of cultivating good relations with the Natives. He walked over to a door at the back of his office and disappeared into the room on the other side. He returned momentarily with small flask and handed it to James. Give this to Shoto. Be sure to tell him it is a gift from me.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure he gets it. James gave a casual salute, then turned and left the office. He was feeling quite important now. He decided to visit the American Fur Company’s trading post to see about purchasing a couple of gifts of his own.

James earned $15 a month as a soldier. It wasn’t much, but there was very little to spend it on out in this part of the world, especially if you didn’t imbibe spirits, as Agent Taliaferro put it. He paid $5 a month to have his cloths laundered and occasionally invested in a few articles of replacement clothing. There was also the rare purchase of a pouch of tobacco. Any money he had left over he kept with the sergeant, who assured him that the savings were kept in the commandant’s safe in an envelope with his name written on the front. The last time he asked to look at that envelope he counted over $200.

He purchased a metal cooking pot, some metal needles, a hatchet, and a knife. After some consideration, he decided he would also buy two yards of yellow ribbon. He then reported to the fort’s quartermaster to requisition the supplies he would need for the week-long trip. He took all his goods to the livery and arranged for a pack horse and the necessary tack.

By the time he had everything ready for the trip it was late in the evening. He was tired, but didn’t think he would be able to sleep. The preparations had temporarily taken his mind off of Yellow Bird and her strange baby. What if she didn’t want to see him? She wasn’t very friendly at their last meeting. Perhaps the gifts he had selected for her would improve her attitude. Despite his worries, sleep eventually overtook him.

CHAPTER THREE

James left Fort Snelling at dawn and headed toward Shoto’s village. He used a well-worn trail that followed the meandering Minnesota River, which was about a mile or so away. Riding the packhorse wasn’t so difficult after all, but he was getting powerful sore. He eventually decided to dismount and walk the rest of the way. After a few miles, he turned off onto a less used path he knew would take him close to a large bend in the river which ran between two lakes. This is where the village was located.

The woods grew thicker the nearer he got to the river, but the path was easy enough to follow. Many of the trees were beginning to display their fall colors. He wondered if the tribal hunters had already left for the open prairies on their annual bison hunt. It was late-morning and the sky was nearly cloudless. James was daydreaming about the kind of reception he hoped he would receive in the village. He was rehearsing the Dakota words he intended to say to Yellow Bird. He wanted this meeting with her to go better than the last.

He heard a stirring of fallen leaves to his left and glanced in that direction. He saw nothing, but suspected it might be a deer. After a few more yards, he heard the rustling again and stopped to take a closer look. What he saw sent a chill up his spine. He counted five young Indians coming out of the trees and heading toward him. What alarmed him most was the paint on their faces. He knew immediately that they were Ojibwe, and they were a long way from home. He was sure they were looking for trouble. They looked like young bucks, possibly out on their first raid, intent on proving themselves by stealing horses or taking one or two Dakota prisoners. If most of the Dakota warriors were away on their annual hunt, as James suspected, the village would be vulnerable.

James figured he was still at least two miles from the village, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t out run these young braves. He thought about jumping up on his pack horse, but reminded himself that he really didn’t know how to ride and would probably fall off if he urged the horse to go into a gallop. He decided he would have to stand his ground. He was dressed in his uniform, so there was a good chance these Ojibwe would not attack him. They were probably in the process of sneaking up close to the Dakota village to assess their opportunities when he had stumbled upon them.

When they were about thirty paces away, they all stopped and glared at him, no doubt judging his ability to fend them off. They were all armed with traditional weapons, an assortment of bow and arrow, lance, and club. His military issue, five-shot revolver hung visibly from a belt around his waist.

"Hinhanni. Hao. he said as casually as he could muster. Hello."

The young braves said nothing, but continued to stare.

James wracked his brain for another phrase, but all he could come up with in this stressful situation was, "Anpetu waste yuha yo. Have a nice day."

The braves all exchanged looks, then one of them abruptly raised a bow and loosed an arrow, striking James in the upper thigh. He let out a yelp, as much in surprise and shock as from pain, and grabbed his leg. The Native boys rushed him as one, hooting and whooping with weapons raised. James pulled out his revolver and took careful aim, despite his growing panic. He fired. One shot, then a second shot, and two braves fell. He delayed firing a third shot, hoping the others would lose their nerve, but they kept coming.

By the time he fired the third shot, they were only a few feet away. James suddenly recalled the word for stop. "Aysutan yo!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He hoped they understood Dakota.

The two remaining attackers stopped in their tracks as the third member of their group fell face first at their feet. They were now at arm’s length from James. One turned and ran, the other smashed James on the side of his head with a war club at the same moment James fired his fourth shot.

As he tried to clear his aching head, James heard voices. He tasted dirt. He struggled to put a hand to his head to ease the throbbing. He opened his eyes, but one was clogged with blood-soaked dirt and was useless. With the other, he saw his hand, smeared with dark red blood mingled with dirt. He wondered if he had been scalped. Did Indians still do that? Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

A voice was speaking to him in a Native language. Was it Dakota? His brain didn’t seem to be functioning at the moment. He tried to move. He wanted to get his face out of the dirt. He felt hands helping him turn over. More words he didn’t understand. He thought he should say something, but what?

"Tanyan omani, was all he could manage to conjure up in his addled state of mind. Have a good journey."

He thought he heard mild laughter. He was given water. Oh, that was good. Thank you. Did he say that in Dakota or English? He felt someone washing the side of his head and then wrapping it in something. Then he passed out.

When he opened his eyes again, he was able to establish that he was in a tipi, at least he thought so. He had never actually been inside a tipi before, but he was quite certain that this was where he was. There was a strong smell of smoke and must and body odor. He was acutely aware of the pain in his head. He was afraid to move it for fear it might explode. In the gloomy interior of the tipi, he could make out a shadowy figure sitting close to him. The figure leaned over and put a gourd of water to his lips. His throat was so dry, so incredibly dry. The water was cool, it was wonderful.

He lost all track of time. He didn’t know if he had been in this place for hours or days. The person next to him occasionally fed him some kind of bitter, mushy concoction, and eventually he began to feel as though he might actually live through this ordeal. He could hear activity all around the outside of the tipi, and, as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he sometimes called out Yellow Bird’s name in both English and Dakota.

The time came when he could finally stay awake, and he made an attempt to sit up. With the help of someone close by, he was propped up against a bundle of blankets or skins, he couldn’t tell which. Shortly, the flap of the tipi was thrown open, scalding his eyes with the bright daylight outside. He heard someone enter, but it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust before he recognized this person. His visitor was Shoto, the village chief. Shoto sat down, cross-legged, in front of James.

In halting English, mixed with Dakota words, he spoke. You alive. Good. You attack by Ojibwe. You win, but hurt bad. Why you alone?

James took several seconds to process the chief’s words. "I was sent to warn you about Ojibwe. More north, ah, waziyata."

Umm, Shoto replied shaking his head. He looked