Chapter Three

The Land and the People

Wingenund ran up the path to the sachem’s wigwam. He was angry and troubled and needed to speak to the old man, to receive his wisdom. 

Owechela will tell me what my vision means. He will tell me my destiny.

As he came into the small clump of trees where Owechela’s wigwam stood, Wingenund stopped.

I have not brought the sachem a gift!

Quickly, the boy looked around, then he remembered the piece of maple sugar he carried in his belt from the fishing trip. He snatched it out just as the old man came out of the door of his hut. Wingenund knew that the old man never tired of his visits, especially when he brought gifts.  He held out the sugar and the old man smiled. “Ah, Wingenund, my bold warrior. Bringing sweets for an old man. Come, boy, and sit by the fire with me while I warm my bones.”

He motioned toward the door and ushered the boy inside. The sachem lived in a longhouse that befitted his status as great Chief of the Lenape. Owechela pointed to one of the benches along the wall that was directly in front of one of the fire pits that ran down the center of the lodge, and Wingenund sat down. The old sachem sat next to him. The smoke from the fire drifted out through an opening in the ceiling. Corn and herbs hung from the roof, drying in the warm air. They were silent for a long time as the old man gazed at Wingenund’s face. Then he spoke. “My son wears a long face. He grieves for Lenapehoking, the Land of the Dawn. He wishes to punish the saltwater people for stealing the land given to us by the Great Spirit.”

Wingenund looked in wonder at the old man. Owechela always seemed to know everything about him, about all the children of the village.  In fact, he had given Wingenund his name. The old man saw the look on the boy’s face and smiled. He stretched out his hands toward the fire. “Do you know why I gave you the name, Wingenund?”

The boy shook his head.

The old man reached for his pipe. He rolled a coal out of the fire with a stick and pushed it into the pipe to light the tobacco. Then he began, “Long ago, the Lenape lived far to the west in a place by the Yellow River. They lived well until a great drought seared the land and brought much suffering and hardship to the Lenape. The great Chief Tamerand was very wise, and he knew that one day drought would come again to destroy his people. So he sought the guidance of the Great Spirit for wisdom. The Great Spirit told him to send three men, Maskansisl, Machigoloos, and Wingenund, to the Land of the Dawn where they would find a beautiful new home. Their names meant Strong Buffalo, Big Owl and Willing One. Wingenund, or Willing One, was chosen because he was willing and a priest.”

The old man tapped the boy on his forehead. “I gave you the name Wingenund because willingness is what you lack most. You are not willing to do what is needed to protect your people, but it is the one character trait you must develop if you are ever to come into your destiny and be a great chief.”

The boy turned to hide his frown, but the old man took Wingenund’s face in his hand and turned it back until the two were looking eye-to-eye. “You turn away because you know I am right. This is a time of trouble for the Lenape. The Swannuken come from across the great salt water and buy and steal our lands. The Iroquois have become our enemies and are pressing us from the north. We must go over the mountain, into the great forest and build new villages for our people. I shall not live to see this great change, but you will live through a time of great trouble, and our people will need strong warriors who are also wise and willing–willing to do whatever is needed to preserve our nation.”

Wingenund’s mouth went dry. The thought of losing the old man hurt. “Please, Owechela, you must stay with us. We need you; I need you.”

The old man smiled but said nothing and smoked his pipe quietly. After a while, he took a piece of coal out of the fire and began to write upon the floor. He first drew a circle, a little oval, to which he added four feet, a head, and a tail.  “This is a tortoise, lying in the water around it and so, at first, was the world. Then the tortoise gradually raised its back up high, and the water ran off of it, and thus the earth became dry. And there grew a tree in the middle of the earth, and the root of this tree sent forth a sprout and the sprout grew into a man, who was the first male.  This man was then alone, and would have remained alone; but the tree bent over until its top touched the earth, and another root came out and there grew upon it the woman, and from these two were all people produced.”

Wingenund listened intently. The old man was a master storyteller and had told him the story of creation many times. In fact, the boy could recite many of the stories exactly as the old man told them. As he listened, Wingenund suddenly realized that Owechela was training him. Just then, the old man reached forward and placed both his hands on Wingenund’s head. Owechela’s eyes were closed and his lips moved, but there was silence in the wigwam. Wingenund held still, motionless, as the old man continued to pray silently. Then Owechela spoke.

“A mist surrounds each of us when we come into this world. As children and youth, we begin to see through the mist and look into the past to find out who we really are and where we came from. We learn of our ancestors and the past opens to us. We learn of the forces that surround us. Because we are limited within our flesh we cannot see clearly. So we only see part of what is there. Struggles come upon us whether we want them or not. Storms rage and tear at all that we hold to be true. In turn, we fight the forces that rage around us, or we yield and are conquered by them. Our one path is the path of truth. Even though we cannot see clearly, from time to time a seed of truth appears in the mist, and we must reach out to grasp it and then plant it in our hearts. We must always seek truth. Only truth can free us from ignorance and darkness and let us see what lies ahead.”

The old man paused; his hands still on Wingenund’s head, and then the soft voice spoke again. “I see the path that lies ahead for this one. He shall be a defender of his people and a force for life and hope. Blood and death shall rage about him, but he shall not be killed. Strange ones shall come to him. He shall have a child that he will love as he loves his own life, but the child will seem to turn away from the path of the Lenape. But the Great Spirit is guiding all, and one shall come to the ‘willing one’ who shall make all the stories and all the legends of the Lenape become clear at last. The child whom he loves will lead him to the greatest truth and, though all seems dark around him, a great light will shine in his heart. The arrow and bow shall fall from his hand and his voice shall be the voice of peace, for he shall speak the words of the greatest one who shines through all the darkness. And then this one shall use the truth as a hunter uses the sight on his gun. He shall aim his life by the truth. But before he knows the truth, he will know great pain, sorrow, and loss. For he is the ‘willing one’, and, in time, he will learn to be willing to bear the burden of his people with a true heart.”

Owechela stopped. He took his hands off Wingenund’s head and smiled. “Now you are a man, Wingenund, and your life will not be the same.  I have taught you the stories so that the Lenape will depend on you to preserve their past. You must remember every story I have taught you and never forget. But you must also become a hunter and a warrior. You must learn the tongues of the saltwater people who have come to our land so they cannot offer friendship with one hand and lies with the other. Tomorrow you will leave Lenapehoking for the dark lands to the west. You will never return. Your path will lead through fire and battle, but you must remain strong and remember all that I have taught you. And in your time of greatest sorrow, you will remember the words I spoke to you today. You will remember old Owechela and the day that I spoke the words of manhood over you. And in the end, you will find the peace that you seek.”

The old man turned to the fire and spread his hands again. Wingenund knew that all had been said and it was time for him to go. Silently, he rose and went out from the wigwam. Owechela did not turn or ever speak to him again.

The gray of dawn was pushing the stars back to their resting place, and the indigo heavens were surrendering to the slowly awakening sky. Wingenund stood at the door of the family wigwam, listening to the voices of Lenapehoking speaking around him. The first blush of pink began to spread over the land, and the trill of a songbird broke the solemn stillness. Far off on a hill, an elk bugled and finally the top of the sun rose over the hills to the east, and all of nature took its first breath. A small breeze shook the leaves of the ackmatuck trees, but Wingenund’s heart was heavy within him. It had been two days since Owechela spoke over him, and now the old man was dead. He had passed a few hours after the boy had left him, and his voice would never touch the councils of the Lenape again. He heard his mother stirring inside the hut as she gathered the last few possessions and wrapped them up for the journey. Then she appeared in the door of the wigwam with the large bundle on her back, the tumpline that supported it already digging into her forehead. Wingenund picked up his bundle and together mother and son walked out of the village. Behind them the rest of the women and children followed. The men had gone ahead to blaze a trail and their path headed straight toward the west. Behind them, the sun rose into the sky, but the chill fall wind kept it from warming them. Silently, the procession made its way into the forest. Wingenund walked alone at the head of the people, his thoughts turning over the many words Owechela had spoken:

“Days of war and bloodshed lie ahead, great sorrow but also great light.”

Wingenund kicked at a pebble.

Ah, this morning I feel the mist gather about me, and I cannot see my way.

Wingenund sighed and tried to concentrate on the trail before him. Then the hatred for the whites rose in his heart again until he almost choked. He knew the bitterness would displease Owechela, but the old man was no longer there to warn him. The miles fell behind them, and after many hours, Wingenund did not recognize the forest they were walking through. Soon they reached a point where Wingenund stopped and looked back one last time, but he could no longer see where his village lay.

So passed the Lenape from the blessed homeland of Lenapehoking. As he turned to the west, the boy spoke out loud. “Oh, Owechela, how I wish you were here to guide me. I do not have the wisdom of Chief Tamerand or the willingness of the first Wingenund. I feel that I will fail my people. Can’t you speak to me from out of the mists and tell me what I must do?”

But no answer came. Only the crunching sound of the fallen leaves beneath his feet as he walked the path of sorrow.