Indian Captive Page 15

“But you are a white girl, aren’t you? Why should a white girl carry burdens?” asked Running Deer.

  “I have to work like the Indian women,” said Molly simply.

  “You do? Do they make you?” asked the boy in astonishment. “What are you doing here, anyhow? Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  There was so much to tell, it was hard to begin. The happy English words flowed swiftly back and forth as Molly explained her situation. Then it was the white boy’s turn. His name was Josiah Johnson and he talked a long time about his home in Virginia and told how he was taken.

  “The Indians liked you,” Molly said. “You showed no fear or sadness, no irritation when you ran the gauntlet. Not a muscle of your face betrayed what you were thinking. They decided you would make a good Indian.”

  “A good Indian?” cried Josiah, in amazement. “What do they think? I’ll never be an Indian as long as I live!”

  “I said that, too, at first,” replied Molly, sadly, “but there’s no other way. When once you are adopted into their tribe, there’s nothing can be done about it.”

  “We’ll see about that!” said Josiah, fiercely. “See here! Don’t tell me you believe all they say about our white blood being washed away and there’s nothing now to fear from them and how they’re going to love us like one of their own people—all those things that old fellow, Shagbark, was saying. Don’t tell me you believe that the cruel, revengeful Indians who can half kill a poor captive in the gauntlet, know what kindness is! You don’t think they mean what they say, do you?”

  Molly hated to disappoint her new friend, but she had to speak the truth. “I’m afraid I do.” The words came softly. She looked over to Earth Woman and watched her brown fingers busily weaving delicate bark threads over and under. “I believe every word they say,” she added. “I never knew what kindness meant until I came here—perhaps because I never needed it so much till then.”

  12

  Porcupine Quills

  “YOU LOOK AS HANDSOME as an Indian Chief!” exclaimed Molly. “I’m not an Indian Chief!” protested Josiah. “And you must not tease me. I only put these clothes on to please Earth Woman.”

  “Your Indian mother worked so hard to make them for you,” said Molly. “She must be very proud….”

  “She is a good woman and she is always very kind to me,” said Josiah, interrupting, “but I can never call her Mother.”

  Molly looked up and down at the white boy’s splendid new Indian clothes. His long shirt was held in at the waist with a wide belt. A broad red sash, strung across shoulder and chest, was tied with long-fringed ends on his left hip. His red broadcloth leggings, richly embroidered with beads, were held with garters below the knees. He wore a close-fitting cap with a hawk’s feather emerging above a cluster of smaller feathers. He carried no tomahawk or weapons. Except for his face, he had all the outward appearance of a Seneca.

  “I’m to have a new gown…too,” said Molly, slowly, “after I finish the moccasins I’m making.”

  “You are?” asked Josiah. “Bright red leggings like mine? Broadcloth all trimmed up with fancy beads? It will look mighty pretty on a girl.”

  “No,” said Molly, biting her lip. “Not cloth… only deerskin.”

  “Deerskin! Backwoodsman’s deerskin would be good enough for me!” growled Josiah, savagely. “I feel like a fool, dressed up like this.”

  “How funny!” said Molly, laughing. “You have a handsome cloth outfit and all you want is deerskin. I have to wear deerskin—but what I want is cloth, embroidered with beads.”

  “I would trade with you, if I could!” answered Josiah. Then, changing the subject: “How do you like the way the Indian girls play football?”

  “I don’t like it,” said Molly, emphatically. “Star Flower and Gray Mouse keep throwing me over in the snow banks. I could kick better, too, if my stomach wasn’t so empty.”

  “What? Are you hungry too?” asked Josiah. “Earth Woman had no meat in her pot today and I’m half-starved.” The two captives looked back where a group of Indian boys were throwing long sticks along an icy trough made by dragging a log through the snow. “That snow-snake game, as the boys play it, is great fun,” added Josiah.

  “Did you throw the gawasa, the snow-snake?” asked Molly.

  “I did!” laughed Josiah. “I threw it farther than any of them. My side always won. “That’s why I stopped playing. They place a colored stick in the snow to show how far each snake goes, and then keep moving along. Those snow-snakes can travel fast—they are polished as smooth as rattlers.”

  “Come, let’s go to Red Bird’s lodge and get warm,” suggested Molly, pulling her blanket more tightly about her. “The story-teller’s coming tonight and maybe there will be something boiling in the pot. Squirrel Woman won’t be there. She’s gone to help Panther Woman today.”

  The village below the great Falling Waters looked bleak and cheerless now that the freezing moon had come and the ground was covered with snow. The trees in the forest with their bare branches stood out more plainly, silhouetted against dark evergreen pines and hemlocks. In the frozen fields, dried-up cornstalks shook and rattled in the wind. The thunder of the pouring water was stilled, for the river was partly frozen over and in the center of each of the falls, only a trickling stream kept running. All the canoes had been buried deep under mounds of sand on the river’s bank. Except for the Indian children at play and the columns of smoke pouring from the roofs of the lodges, there were no signs of life.

  The two captives walked slowly, making criss-cross patterns in the snow with their snow-shoes.

  “Squirrel Woman doesn’t hurt you, does she?” asked Josiah.

  “She’s never plunged me in water yet,” laughed Molly. “Red Bird told her once that she must not use violence, but that she might plunge me in water till I promise to do better. She hasn’t—yet!”

  “She’d better not try!” muttered Josiah, fiercely. “It seems funny with the men away, doesn’t it? Only Log-in-the-Water, ancient and lazy; Shagbark, laid up with a lame foot; and Running Deer, a good-for-nothing white captive.”

  “Running Deer is good for a great deal,” said Molly, softly. “Earth Woman never lacks meat now that she has a man in her lodge.”

  “You mean she did have meat until the ground froze up and all the squirrels and small animals hibernated. Even then, what could I do with a miserable small boy’s bow and arrow? They won’t even give me flint arrowheads. If Running Deer isn’t allowed to go out with the men, he will soon grow as lazy as Log-in-the-Water and as fat as Big Kettle. I tell you, I need something to do! This thing of sitting around all day doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Chief Burning Sky knows you would give them the slip and never come back here again,” said Molly.

  “I can understand why he doesn’t want me to go with the warriors on any of the expeditions against the white people,” said Josiah, “but he might give me a gun and let me go with the hunters down the Allegheny to the Ohio country. At least I can hunt. I’m as good a shot as any of the Indians.”

  “If they had taken you with them,” said Molly, “I would have no one to talk to.”

  “I’d hate to start off anywhere,” said Josiah, thoughtfully, “without taking you along.”

  “Oh, Josiah!” cried Molly, trembling. “Promise me if you ever try to go back home you’ll take me with you.”

  “I’ll try every way I can to take you,” said Josiah, soberly. “I swear I will. But if I can’t—then I must go without you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t bear it…” said Molly, “to be left behind.”

  “Well, don’t worry now,” said Josiah. “We can’t try a thing till spring. With the streams frozen up and ice and snow everywhere, we can’t take a step. We must just lie around and wait. If only I could have gone with the hunters, it would have been something to keep me busy.”

  “Do you know,” said Molly, “the deer meat is gone in Red Bird’s lodge, too. There’s been none in the hominy
for over a week. That’s why my stomach feels empty all the time. Why don’t you ask Log-in-the-Water for his gun and go out and take a deer?”

  “He won’t let me have it,” said Josiah, crossly. “I’ve asked him already. He won’t trust me.”

  “If only it were Shagbark…” ventured Molly.

  “He’s just as bad,” said Josiah. “I asked him, too, and he said a male captive must not leave the village.”

  Leaving their snow-shoes leaning against the outside wall of the lodge, Molly lifted the bear-robe flap and the two entered. Turkey Feather and Earth Woman were inside. Earth Woman threw a proud glance at her adopted son, but did not speak as she followed Red Bird and Shining Star into the adjoining room.

  “Where’s that new gown you were talking about?” asked Josiah, grinning. “And those red broadcloth leggings with fancy beads?”

  “Oh—it’s not started yet,” replied Molly, in a disappointed tone, “and it won’t be cloth at all—only deerskin. Squirrel Woman and Shining Star bought fine cloth from Fallenash, the white trader. Perhaps they mean to make new costumes for themselves. I had hoped for broadcloth too, but Squirrel Woman says deerskin is good enough for me. But first, I’m making a new pair of moccasins—just to learn how.”

  Molly went to her bunk and came back with a finished moccasin in one hand, a large half-circular piece of deerskin and several smaller pieces in the other.

  “Wouldn’t you like a blue homespun gown better than either broadcloth or deerskin?” asked Josiah, softly.

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course I would—if I could have it. But if I have to live with the Indians, I might as well dress like them. Beaver Girl and Star Flower have beautiful cloth gowns and I thought …” Molly fell into silence as she set a bowl filled with colored porcupine quills on the ground.

  “Are these quills from my porcupine, Corn Tassel?” asked Turkey Feather eagerly.

  “Yes, they are,” answered Molly. She sat down on a mat, picked up a piece of deer sinew and started to work. “Moccasins are easier to make than I thought they would be,” she went on. “They are cut in one piece and held in gathers over the toe. The flaps at the top are cut separately and so is the pointed patch in front. I’m working designs on these small pieces now.”

  “See!” cried Turkey Feather, happily. “In what beautiful colors you have dyed the quills!”

  “I helped Grandmother Red Bird,” said Molly. “We used blood-root and sumac for the orange and red ones, yellow-root for the yellow, and butternut hulls for the black. Before I embroider with them, I soak them in water and flatten them with this bone. It’s not much like sewing because I don’t use a needle. I have to make holes in the deerskin with this awl and push the sinew through, fastening the quills at each end and bending them over to hide the fastening.”

  “The quills will make your moccasins and your new gown very beautiful, will they not?” asked Turkey Feather. “Porcupine quill embroidery is much more beautiful than bead-work, is it not? If your new gown were broadcloth, you could not use the quills, could you?”

  “No, I couldn’t,” said Molly, thoughtfully. Then she looked up, smiling.

  The Indian boys enthusiasm was infectious. Suddenly she was ashamed that she had wanted a cloth gown so much. Deerskin was good enough and Turkey Feather’s quills were more beautiful than any beads.

  “Your quills will make my new gown beautiful,” she said to the Indian boy. Then she explained to Josiah: “I’m glad it’s to be deerskin, after all. It means so much to Turkey Feather—he brought me the porcupine. When I first came to live with the Indians, I hated the sight of deerskin—even the touch of it. But I’m used to it now. It’s more practical than cloth, especially in the woods. It doesn’t soil easily nor tear on sharp thorns and branches. I am sure Squirrel Woman knows best—a girl should learn how to embroider with porcupine quills before she tries beads.”

  “He was a fighter, this old porky was!” Turkey Feather exclaimed with delight. “Grandfather Shagbark said it would be easy. He told me just to go out and hit him with a club.”

  “An arrow wouldn’t get a chance in his prickly hide, I suppose,” said Molly.

  “All you need is a stout club,” said Turkey Feather. “Grandfather says a porky never throws its quills, but I can tell you he puts them in everything he touches. When I hit him on the snout he didn’t even feel it. Then I hit him again and he switched his tail back and forth, filling everything in sight with quills—the club, tree trunks and everything he could reach with that tail. What a fighter he was! Then all at once he rolled over dead, and I brought him to you.

  Proudly Turkey Feather watched the design grow under Molly’s busy fingers, as she fastened down one quill after another. “The moccasins will be beautiful,” said the Indian boy. “May they make Corn Tassel’s path an easier one.”

  Even Josiah looked on with a show of interest. “Do you like doing it?” he asked.

  “Better than I ever liked sewing at home,” confessed Molly. “I always left my seams for Betsey to finish and ran outdoors to be with Pa. Betsey was such a good sister.” Molly was surprised to find that for the first time she could talk of her family calmly.

  “Your Ma would be surprised if she could see you now, wouldn’t she?” asked Josiah.

  “Yes,” said Molly, “but pleased too I think. I can sit still easier than I used to. The Indians have taught me that—and so many other things. I never thought I’d like to sit still and do embroidery, but I do. The Indian designs always mean something—whether quill work or bead work. Did you know that?” She pointed to the designs outlined on the deerskin.

  “The half-circle resting upon two straight lines is the sky-dome resting upon the earth,” she explained. “The little curly sprig on top is the celestial tree. Here are the sleeping sun and the sun awake. These lines that curl inward mean sleep or death. The Indians have so many ideas that never occur to the white people.”

  “How do you like your new comb and brush, Corn Tassel?” asked Turkey Feather.

  Molly ran to her bed, lifted the top and took them out. “See, Josiah, Turkey Feather made them from the porcupine’s tail,” she explained. “I comb and brush my hair with them every day.”

  “I never knew that a porcupine was good for anything except gnawing hemlock trees,” said Josiah, chuckling.

  “Then you’ll be surprised to hear that there is a woman sitting in the moon, embroidering with porcupine quills!” exclaimed Molly.

  “Is there?” laughed Josiah. “What next? Who told you?”

  “Earth Woman told me,” replied Molly. “Near the woman there is a bright fire and over the fire hangs a clay pot with succotash boiling in it. By the woman’s side sits a large dog that always keeps his eyes on her. Sometimes she gets up, lays aside her work and stirs the food in the pot. While she is doing this, the dog unravels her work.”

  “Then what happens?” asked Josiah, eagerly.

  “The same thing happens over and over again,” Molly went on. “As fast as the woman embroiders, the dog unravels. If she could finish her work, or if she ever does, the end of the world will come that instant.”

  “Good!” laughed Josiah. “Earth Woman has it all figured out, hasn’t she?” Then he added in a low voice: “You don’t seem to think about home as much as you did, Molly. I don’t like to hear you repeating these Indian tales and talking about wanting red broadcloth leggings and a fancy gown with beads on it—so you will look like the Indian girls. You are not getting to like the Indians too well, are you?”

  “Oh, no!” laughed Molly. “Of course when you know and understand them, you can’t help liking the Indians. But it’s not that. I shall never like them better than the white people. It’s just that since you’ve come, Josiah, I’ve been much more contented living with them. Before, I had nobody to talk to and now I have you.”

  The bear-robe flap was lifted and Squirrel Woman entered.

  “There she comes!” whispered Molly. “She does
n’t like for me to talk English to a pale-face. She always suspects I am trying to get away.” She closed her lips tightly and bent over her work.

  Red Bird and Earth Woman came in from the adjoining room. Wooden bowls filled with steaming hominy were passed around. The two captives ate in silence, as Squirrel Woman crouched on the ground not far off. Molly looked at Josiah from time to time and wondered what he was thinking. As the women on the other side of the fire began to talk in low tones, she listened carefully. But she did not speak until Squirrel Woman went outdoors for firewood.

  “Red Bird says the hunters are late,” said Molly, interpreting. “They should have been back several weeks ago. All our meat supply is gone and so is Earth Woman’s. They say the other families have none left. They are all eating hominy every day and if they keep on, the corn will be gone before it is time for the fresh crop to be ripe. Panther Woman is putting all the villagers on short allowance. We are to have our bowls only half full from now on. Earth Woman says she can find some good roots in the woods to help out.”

  “How can she dig them when the ground is frozen?” asked Josiah, gruffly.

  “I don’t know,” replied Molly. “Shining Star says she had a dream last night. First she heard children crying, then she saw deer tracks in the snow. It’s clear they are worried. They say that when the men return from the winter hunting-trip, there’s to be a great feast—a nine-day celebration for everybody.”

  “But in the meantime we starve, eh?” burst out Josiah, bitterly. “That’s the way the Indians manage. The white people do better than that.”

  “Perhaps we can get used to being hungry,” said Molly, slowly. “If only I could be as cheerful as the Indians about it. They are accustomed to such things, I suppose.”

  As Squirrel Woman returned to her place, Josiah rose abruptly and put on his cap.

  “Oh, are you going?” cried Molly. “I thought you were staying for the evening.”

  “Why should I stay?” asked Josiah, crossly.